The Emperor Exchanged Me for a Mistress, But I Found Another

chatper 15

The tea had grown stone cold in its delicate porcelain cup, but the chill did not bother Diana. Her heart was beating with a frantic, newfound heat that defied the icy winds of the Northern Empire. She reached out and set the cup down on her vanity with a soft, final click. The simple sound seemed to echo through the dim, candle-lit chamber, signaling the end of her life as a dutiful, suffering wife. She stood up slowly, her long, silky black hair rippling down the back of her modest robe like a river of shadow.

Alistair watched her every movement, his blue eyes dark with a mixture of reverence and hunger. When she turned to him, she didn't stop until the tips of her slippers met the toes of his heavy leather boots. Without a word, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest, her hands clutching the fine fabric of his doublet. She could hear the steady, powerful thrum of his heart—a heart that, unlike Caspian’s, beat with a fierce protective love for her.

"I have been a ghost for ten years, Alistair," Diana whispered, her voice muffled against him but vibrating with a raw, desperate resolve. "I have followed every rule, endured every argument, and watched my dignity be stripped away piece by piece for a man who treats me like a stone. I am tired of being wise. I am tired of being the 'older, sensible' one while he plays house with a manipulative child."

Alistair’s large hands came up to rest on her waist, his touch firm and grounding. "Then stop being the Empress of the North for one night, Diana," he murmured, his breath warm against the crown of her head. "Be only the woman I have dreamed of since the moment I first saw those amethyst eyes."

Diana pulled back just enough to look up at him. The fire in her eyes was no longer suppressed; it was a shimmering, purple flame of desire and rebellion. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before tangling in his golden hair. "If I am to be divorced, if I am to be cast out... then I want to give Caspian a reason to truly hate me," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous low. "I want to feel the fire he claims I lack. I want to bed you, Alistair. I want to know what it is like to be held by a man who actually wants me."

Alistair’s breath hitched, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his handsome face—the smirk of a predator who had finally been invited into the inner sanctum. He didn't look at her with the cold judgment of her husband, but with the burning approval of a lover who had waited a lifetime for this invitation.

"You have no idea how long I have waited to hear you say those words," Alistair breathed, his voice a low growl of satisfaction. He leaned down, his forehead pressing against hers, his eyes locking onto hers with a piercing intensity. "If it’s pleasure you seek, Diana, I will give you enough to burn away every memory of this cold palace. I will make you forget that Caspian Agriche ever existed. Tonight, you aren't a wife or a title. You are mine, and I am going to worship you until the sun rises over the Western horizon."

He didn't wait for her to change her mind. He swept her up into his arms, his strength effortless as he carried her toward the heavy, silk-draped bed. Diana leaned her head back, a small, triumphant smile touching her lips. In the darkness of her chambers, surrounded by the beautiful jewels she no longer cared for, she finally let go of the North. As Alistair lowered her onto the soft pillows, the f*******n nature of their union only added to the heat between them. She was reclaiming her body, her heart, and her future, one scandalous, heated breath at a time.