King Sinnabad walked beside Empress Lola with the swagger of a man who believed no woman could resist him. His boots clicked lightly on the polished stone floor as he matched her slow, recovering pace.
Meanwhile Lola moved with quiet grace, her breath still shallow from childbirth but her posture unmistakably imperial. Every step she took seemed to remind the walls who truly commanded the air.
Sinnabad didn't notice the dignity—only the curves.
He stole glances shamelessly:
• first at her waistline… as if assessing how quickly she'd recover her old figure,
• then at her chest… his eyes lingering too long,
• then at her legs… tracing them with an indulgence that would have earned any other man immediate death.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to maintain composure.
Control yourself, Sinnabad, he scolded internally. She's an empress, not a tavern dancer.
"When I heard the stories about the foreign Empress," he said, voice low and theatrical, "I assumed the rumors were exaggerated. But now that I see you…" He chuckled—soft, oily. "I fear they still didn't do you justice."
Lola's cheeks warmed, a gentle flush betraying her despite her attempts to maintain the calm composure of royalty. She looked ahead at the winding corridor, pretending not to notice the king's wandering eyes, yet she felt each hungry glance like a touch on her skin.
Still she remained silent, letting only her soft breaths answer him.
Her silence unnerved him.
Sinnabad's smile faltered by a fraction. Why isn't she responding? Am I losing my charm? A nervous flutter crawled up his spine. He needed to regain control—needed to impress her.
So he reached inside the folds of his royal coat and produced something wrapped delicately in a silken cloth.
A flower.
Not just any flower.
Eight golden petals glowed under the torchlight like miniature suns. A black sepal contrasted sharply against its brightness, giving it an exotic, almost divine appearance. At the center sat a dark bud dusted with yellow pollen, shimmering like powdered gemstones.
The Yellow Life Flower.
A collective breath was drawn from the shadowed guards stationed discreetly around them. Even warriors who'd survived ten wars had only heard of it.
"It blooms only once every ten years," King Sinnabad announced with a flourish. "They say a single breath from it can mend all internal wounds. A deeper inhale can add a full year—three hundred and sixty-five blessed days—to a person's life."
He offered it to her with the dramatics of a man presenting a treasure to a goddess.
Lola accepted it gently, the petals soft against her fingers. Without hesitation, she lifted it toward her nose and inhaled.
Warmth spread through her body instantly—first a tingle in her fingertips, then a bloom of heat across her cheeks, then a rush of lightness in her chest. For a heartbeat she felt like she was in her twenties again—strong, radiant, untouched by pain or exhaustion. It was as if time had bowed before her.
Sinnabad watched her with an expression that hovered between worship and desire. Every blink she made seemed to swallow him deeper into her presence.
"And of course," he added quickly, leaning in slightly, "its beauty does not compare to yours. I fear the flower may wilt from envy."
Lola lowered the flower, her lashes fluttering shut for a moment as she steadied her breath. She did not answer him, but the faint smile on her lips was enough to send the king spiraling into self-congratulation.
What Sinnabad did not see, however, was the shifting figure in the shadows.
Naze was just a scream away from attacking the king with a full forced attack of the strongest warrior in arguably the entire east continent.
He moved like a phantom—silent, colourless, almost indistinguishable from the dark columns of the palace. But his presence was lethal enough to bend the atmosphere.
And Sinnabad had no idea how close he came to dying the moment he extended the Yellow Life Flower toward Lola.
If her breath had trembled…
If her heartbeat had stuttered…
If her fingers had flinched…
Naze would have cut the king into seven pieces before Sinnabad's guards even blinked.
But Lola kept her cool.
She always did.
To her, Sinnabad's flirtations were nothing more than drops of water sliding off stone—noticed, but incapable of leaving a mark.
She accepted his compliments with grace, not because she was swayed, but because deep inside her, buried beneath responsibility and titles and motherhood… she did crave the warmth of a man again.
Her husband died long ago.
And Josh—her beloved, beautiful, brilliant son—had not been gentle with her lately. His overprotective nature was a blade that cut without meaning to.
For a moment, she let herself feel the weight of loneliness on her shoulders… then she straightened, burying it under her imperial mask.
She paused mid-step and looked directly into the king's eyes.
The sudden movement startled Sinnabad. His flabby midsection wobbled slightly as he halted, blinking rapidly at the intensity of her stare.
"I have heard all your words," Lola said, her voice sharp as polished steel. "But enough riddles. Explain yourself. What do you want? What is this political proposal?"
The flirtation died in Sinnabad's throat.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again, struggling like a fish flopping on a riverbank.
For a heartbeat, his brain raced—calculating, panicking, rehearsing.
Then he exhaled, puffed out his chest, and spoke with unearned pride.
"This is my proposal, Empress Lola…" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "I want you. I want all of you. Marry me. Let us unite our powers and forge a new dynasty. Together, we can expand the kingdom, annex our enemies, and rule as one. And you—" He winked. "—you can bear more children for me, children who will shine brighter than all fourteen princes combined."
The audacity hung in the air like a foul scent.
Lola raised an eyebrow.
"You want to add me to the list of your conquests?" she asked, voice calm but edged with disbelief. "Tell me—how many women have you told this same line to?"
Sinnabad froze.
"I have been informed," she continued, unfazed, "that you have sixty-seven wives—and that is just considering the legitimate ones. Your mistresses cannot even be counted. Your concubines multiply like rabbits. And your heirs? Two thousand, at last count. Each day more women appear with newborns, each claiming their child is yours and should be a prince."
She leaned forward slightly.
"So tell me, King Sinnabad… how could I—why should I—an Empress—tie myself to that chaos?"
The king's mouth fell open.
For the first time in years—perhaps decades—Sinnabad was truly, utterly speechless.
His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. His many sins pressed on his spine like a mountain. For a fleeting, humiliating moment, he wished he had lived a simpler life. A cleaner one.
"I…" He swallowed, eyes darting. "I really do want you, Empress Lola. I can change. For you—I will change." He bowed his head slightly, desperation leaking through his tone. "How about this: we announce it before the court. And… whatever your son decides, we abide by it."
That was no small concession.
The entire empire knew the Empress's weak point wasn't politics.
It was Josh.
Lola inhaled softly.
"Very well," she said. "If my son agrees, then I will accept your proposal."
She didn't want him. She didn't want this marriage.
But she needed to see how the situation would unfold.
An Empress could not take a lover
Nor could she choose disgrace, if not she would have picked from one of her male servants to service her needs, but now she felt if she could reach a concession through her son maybe she might be lucky.
So she walked forward, allowing the drama to blossom and reveal its true shape.
And somewhere in the dark…
Naze's fingers tightened around his sword.