Please Divorce Me, My Emperor

Chapter 2

The morning sun had barely cleared the spires of the Sun Palace when Empress Aurelia initiated Phase Two of her exit strategy: total, unmitigated social self-sabotage.

In the Suncrest Empire, an empress was expected to be a paragon of icy perfection, aristocratic restraint, and flawless decorum. If a petition for divorce based on logic failed, she would simply prove herself so entirely unsuited for the crown that the Imperial Council would beg Kaelen to cast her aside.

Her target for the morning was the monthly high tea hosted by the Dowager Empress Grand Duchess Solene—Kaelen’s formidable aunt, the undisputed sovereign of imperial etiquette, and a woman whose displeasure could banish a noble family to the frontier with a single raise of her painted eyebrows.

"Your Majesty, are you... entirely certain about this ensemble?" framed Marchioness Delilah, Aurelia’s loyal chief lady-in-waiting, her voice trembling as she held up a hand mirror.

Aurelia inspected her reflection with deeply satisfied approval. Instead of the traditional, regal silk gowns adorned with complex silver filigree, Aurelia had chosen a dress of glaring, clash-heavy crimson and canary yellow—a color combination traditionally reserved for low-tier circus acrobats or loudmouthed tavern bards. To top off the visual assault, she had demanded three ridiculously large peacock feathers be stuck awkwardly into her braided hair.

"It is magnificent, Delilah," Aurelia declared smoothly, adjusting a peacock feather so it flopped aggressively over her left eye. "It screams 'unhinged' and 'utterly devoid of taste.' The Grand Duchess will have a migraine within five minutes. By noon, she will demand Kaelen strip me of my title."

Ten minutes later, Aurelia strode into the Rose Pavilion, where thirty of the highest-ranking noblewomen of the empire were quietly sipping imported white tea from porcelain cups delicate as eggshells.

The moment Aurelia stepped over the threshold, the quiet clatter of teacups ceased. The room fell into a silence so absolute you could hear the flutter of a butterfly's wings outside.

Grand Duchess Solene, seated on a raised velvet settee, froze mid-sip. Her sharp, hazel eyes tracked Aurelia from her garish yellow skirt up to the drooping peacock feather tickling her nose.

"Empress Aurelia," Solene spoke, her voice laced with deadly composure. "You are... vibrant today."

"Thank you, Aunt Solene!" Aurelia announced, deliberately projecting her voice loud enough to rattle the crystal chandelier above. She dumped herself into the silk armchair opposite the Dowager with zero grace, flopping her legs out and crossing her ankles—a posture so barbaric for an empress that two young countesses in the back row audibly gasped.

"I decided the court was far too gloomy," Aurelia continued brightly, grabbing a tiny cucumber sandwich with her bare hands instead of using the silver tongs. She stuffed the entire sandwich into her mouth at once. "Mmm! Excellent salt content. Tell me, ladies, why are we all sitting so stiffly? We should relax!"

Aurelia leaned back, loudly smacking her lips, waiting for the righteous outrage. She braced herself for Solene to slam her teacup down, denounce her as a vulgar rustic, and order her barred from royal society.

Solene stared at her for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, the old woman slowly placed her cup on its saucer, a strange, calculating glint entering her eyes.

"Fascinating," Solene murmured.

"Pardon?" Aurelia swallowed hard.

"For years, this court has been suffocated by tired, predictable snobbery," Solene declared, turning her regal gaze toward the frozen noblewomen. "The Empress is intentionally making a political statement against the rigid, dusty expectations placed upon women of high birth! Look at her bold embrace of vibrant folk colors! Notice her rejection of performative, pretentious table manners! She is showing us that true royalty lies in authentic confidence, not prissiness."

Aurelia blinked. Wait. No. That is not what I’m doing.

"She is so visionary!" squeaked Lady Celeste, an influential young duchess, immediately grabbing a pastry with her hands and taking a huge bite. "I always hated using five different tiny forks!"

"Yes!" cheered another noblewoman, reaching up to mess up her own immaculately pinned hair. "Down with rigid formality! Long live Empress Aurelia!"

Before Aurelia could correct them, the heavy double doors of the pavilion swung open. Emperor Kaelen walked in, flanked by two imperial guards. He was dressed in his sleek black state coat, looking every bit the lethal, commanding monarch.

He paused, taking in the scene: thirty noblewomen frantically trying to eat cake with their fingers and mess up their hair, while his wife sat in a eye-searing yellow dress with a bird feather flopping over her left eyebrow.

Kaelen’s violet eyes locked onto Aurelia. For a fraction of a second, his composure slipped, and his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. He walked over to her settee, leaning down until his shadow enveloped her entirely.

"An interesting choice of attire, my Empress," Kaelen murmured softly, reaching out with long, gloved fingers. Gently, delicately, he adjusted the drooping peacock feather, brushing his warm thumb against her temple. "Though I must admit, crimson and yellow make you look remarkably like a very dangerous, very angry tropical songbird."

Aurelia glared up at him. "I am expressing my inner rustic nature, Your Majesty. Clearly, I lack the grace required for your exalted throne."

Kaelen chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated deep in his chest and sent an unwanted shiver down Aurelia’s spine. "Nonsense. My aunt seems thoroughly charmed. In fact, I believe you’ve just set a new trend for the spring season." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for her ears alone. "Nice try, Aurelia. But if you want to escape me, you'll have to do better than a pair of feathers."