Please Divorce Me, My Emperor

CHAPTER 7

The c****x of the festival week was the Grand Imperial Banquet, held in the Sun Palace’s glittering Crystal Conservatory. The room was surrounded by blooming night flowers and illuminated by floating candles. However, the mood was tense: a high-ranking diplomatic delegation from the neighboring Valen Empire had arrived unexpectedly, led by Duke Malakor—an arrogant, calculating diplomat notorious for pushing aggressive trade demands.

Aurelia sat beside Kaelen on the high dais, dressed in a sweeping gown of dark sapphire velvet.

"Ah, Your Imperial Majesty," Duke Malakor drawled, bowing with exaggerated, insincere courtliness before the throne. "We bring gifts from the Valen Court. Though... rumors have reached our borders that the Suncrest Empire's internal affairs are somewhat... unstable."

A whisper swept through the gathered nobles. Malakor was blatantly poking at the lingering rumors of imperial discord and Aurelia's public divorce petition.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne until his knuckles turned white. Before he could speak a word that might trigger a diplomatic incident, Aurelia leaned forward, a brilliant, ice-cold smile on her lips.

"Unstable, Duke Malakor?" Aurelia asked, her melodious voice carrying easily over the hushed hall. "Pray tell, what metric does the Valen Empire use to measure stability? Is it our booming agricultural reserves? Our newly reinforced southern trade dikes? Or perhaps your court confuses a lively, transparent debate with weakness?"

Malakor’s eyes narrowed. "I merely meant, Empress Aurelia, that a house divided against itself cannot command respect across borders."

"A house that blindly agrees on everything is not a house—it is a graveyard of minds, Duke Malakor," Aurelia replied crisply, sipping her wine with effortless elegance. "My husband values sharp minds over blind obsequiousness. If your empire prefers silent, submissive rulers, perhaps that explains why your northern trade routes collapsed last winter due to unaddressed administrative errors."

A dead silence fell over the room.

Malakor’s face turned an embarrassed shade of crimson. He opened his mouth to retort, but Kaelen let out a deep, booming laugh that cut through the tension like a blade.

"Well said, My Empress," Kaelen said, his eyes glittering with fierce pride and absolute delight. He turned his cold gaze toward the Valen diplomat. "You have your answer, Duke Malakor. My Empress speaks for the crown. Unless you wish to discuss your failing northern routes further?"

Malakor bowed hastily, sweating profusely. "N-no, Your Imperial Majesty. My apologies."

As the diplomat retreated into the crowd, Kaelen leaned sideways toward Aurelia. Underneath the heavy tablecloth, his hand found hers, wrapping around her fingers and squeezing tightly.

"That was magnificent," Kaelen whispered, his voice thick with admiration. "You shredded a foreign diplomat without lifting a single weapon."

"I dislike arrogant men," Aurelia said, trying to pull her hand away, but Kaelen held fast, tracing small, intoxicating circles against the back of her palm with his thumb.

"Does that apply to me as well?" he asked, a teasing smirk touching his lips.

"You are at the top of the list, Your Majesty," she retorted, though she didn't try to pull her hand away a second time.

------

Two days after the banquet, winter arrived early in the capital, bringing a sudden, freezing rainstorm that battered the palace windows.

Aurelia was in her private study, reviewing trade reports, when Chancellor Vane rushed in without knocking, his face pale with worry.

"Your Majesty!" Vane gasped. "It is the Emperor! He collapsed in the war council chamber!"

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat. A cold wave of panic washed over her. "Was it poison?! Another assassin?!"

"No, Your Majesty," Vane stammered. "The imperial physicians say it is exhaustion and severe lung fever. He has been working through the night for three weeks straight, ignoring his health..."

Ten minutes later, Aurelia stepped into Kaelen’s private bedchambers. The room was dim, heated only by a roaring stone fireplace. Kaelen lay on the massive canopy bed, stripped down to a thin linen shirt, his skin pale and flushed with fever, his chest heaving with heavy, labored breaths.

The imperial physicians were hovering nervously around the bed, wringing their hands.

"Out," Aurelia commanded, her voice ringing with unquestionable authority.

"But Empress, His Majesty requires—"

"I said out. All of you," she snapped. "Fetch clean water, fresh linen, and the willow-bark tonic. I will tend to him."

Once the room was cleared, Aurelia walked over to the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress and gently placed her cool palm against Kaelen’s forehead. He was burning up.

At her touch, Kaelen groaned softly, his heavy eyelids fluttering open. His usually piercing violet eyes were hazy and unfocused with delirium.

"Aurelia...?" he rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper.

"Hush, you i***t," she said softly, wringing out a cloth in ice water and resting it gently on his forehead. "You lead armies and rule an empire, yet you don't have the common sense to rest when you're ill?"

Kaelen weakly reached out, his large, hot hand catching her wrist. He didn't push her away; he pulled her closer, leaning his face against her palm, seeking the cool relief of her skin.

"Don't go..." he muttered weakly, his voice laced with vulnerability she had never seen before. "Please... don't leave..."

Aurelia froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The feared, cold-hearted Emperor of Suncrest looked small, frail, and utterly human laying before her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kaelen," she whispered softly, her fingers gently stroking his damp black hair away from his face. "I am right here."

For three days and three nights, Aurelia did not leave his bedside. She turned away government ministers, personally administered his medicine, changed his cool compresses, and held his hand through the worst hours of his feverish chills.

On the third night, as the storm raged outside, Aurelia sat slumped in an armchair beside his bed, completely exhausted, her eyes heavy with sleep.

A soft movement stirred her. She opened her eyes to see Kaelen sitting up slightly, his fever finally broken, his violet eyes clear, intense, and fixed entirely on her.

"You stayed," Kaelen said quietly, his voice raspy but steady.

"Someone had to make sure you didn't die and leave me with state paperwork," Aurelia grumbled, sitting up and trying to smooth down her wrinkled dress.

Kaelen reached out, his long fingers catching her hand, gently pulling her toward him until she was sitting on the edge of the bed again.

"Thank you, Aurelia," he said softly, his gaze locked onto hers with a profound depth of emotion that made her chest ache. "Not as an Empress. As my wife."