Chapter 8
The Night Before the Storm
The golden gates of the Imperial Palace opened wide as Adrien strode through them, Lady Ophelia cradled in his arms like something too precious to let go of. His face was unreadable—serene, commanding—but the intensity in his eyes warned everyone: Speak, and you die.
Whispers exploded like wildfire behind embroidered fans and military crests.
"Isn't that…?"
"The Crown Prince—?"
"Wasn't he supposed to be at the warfront?"
"And Lady Ophelia…in his arms?!"
His steps echoed down the marbled corridors, slow and deliberate. His cloak billowed like a stormcloud, trailing gold-dusted cerulean over the polished floors. Lady Ophelia lay against his chest—stunned, silent—but undeniably close.
And the nobles saw. Every single one of them.
The Empress Dowager's ladies-in-waiting stopped mid-curtsy, fanning themselves furiously. Two visiting ambassadors turned to each other in disbelief. One of the high-ranking ministers nearly dropped his ink scroll. Every eye in the corridor was locked on the Crown Prince and the woman in his arms.
Even the Second Prince, watching from the far end of the corridor, narrowed his eyes.
Adrien didn't flinch.
"They just came from the hunt, didn't they?"
"No... He's taking her to his personal residence—"
"Together?"
"Alone?"
The Eastern Palace—the Crown Prince's private domain—had never seen a woman enter this boldly. Not like this. Not in his arms. Not while he looked ready to kill or kiss, and no one could tell which.
The heavy doors of the Eastern Palace creaked open as Adrien stepped through, Ophelia still nestled in his arms. The Crown Prince's personal knights dropped to one knee, startled by his unexpected return from the battlefield—but even more shocked by who he was carrying.
More whispers rippled through the air like falling leaves.
"The Crown Prince…?"
"That's Lady Ophelia…"
"He wasn't supposed to be back for another week!"
Adrien didn't spare anyone a glance. His entire world was in his arms.
Later that night, the rumors would spread like wildfire:
"They bathed in the same residence, you know?"
"She wore his robe. His!"
"They shared a bed—my cousin serves in the East Wing. She saw it herself!"
"If she isn't Crown Princess yet, she will be soon. Why else would he bring her back like that?"
By morning, every courtier, noblewoman, and even stableboy had their own embellished version of what "must have happened" behind the veiled doors of the Eastern Palace.
One thing was clear:
Crown Prince Adrien von Kaiser Ciel had made a claim.
And the entire Empire had witnessed it.
The corridors were quiet, the light dimmed by evening veils and silk curtains. The maids scrambled silently ahead to prepare the chambers—hot water drawn, food laid out, clean robes arranged in preparation. Servants bowed low and scurried away at his icy gaze.
Inside his inner chamber—soft with pale blue silks, moonlight draped over gold-etched furniture—he gently set her down on a velvet chaise and knelt before her, untying her dusty riding boots.
Adrien: You should've stayed behind.
His voice was low. Not angry—aching.
He cupped her ankle lightly, brushing his thumb over a faint bruise forming beneath her stocking.
Adrien (quietly): Do you know how mad I went not knowing if you were safe?
She laughed, softly, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her knee through the fabric. Then another—up to her hand.
Adrien: You're mine. You don't get to be reckless without me anymore.
He rested his forehead against her thigh.
Adrien: I'm your Crown Prince, your sword, your shadow. If you fall—I fall too.
They ate together quietly, something warm and comforting. He fed her pieces off his plate, making small teasing remarks and smiling each time her fingers brushed his.
Later, once they had bathed and changed, the storm outside deepened. Ophelia sat by the fire in a robe far too big for her—it was his—and he watched her as if he couldn't believe she was real.
Adrien (softly, almost a murmur): You looked like a ghost out there, on that cliff. When I found you… Ophie, I was ready to die if it meant pulling you back.
He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind, tucking her against his chest.
Adrien (with a faint grin): But now you're here, and I've officially decided: you're never leaving my side again.
Adrien: Even if I have to kidnap you from your own palace.
Later that night
They sat together on the edge of a silk-canopied bed, candlelight flickering like stars reflected in golden wine.
Adrien had insisted she eat. Insisted she sit down. Insisted she not move unless he said it was safe. He even tried to brush out her tangled hair himself—poorly.
She winced once, and he immediately dropped the comb.
Adrien: Did I hurt you?! I swear, I will have this comb exiled.
She burst into laughter.
He looked proud. Ridiculously proud.
Adrien: There's that smile, I'd destroy empires just to see that again.
He kissed her fingertips one by one, soft, reverent. Then her wrist. Then her shoulder, where the fabric of her dress had torn.
When she started to speak, he hushed her with his lips on her brow.
Adrien: Tonight, you don't have to do anything. No explanations. No strength. No pretending. Just let me be here. Let me be yours.
Later, she lay curled beside him under a cascade of moon-kissed silk. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her cheek pressed to the firm warmth of his chest.
Adrien: You know, if you ever fall again, I want it to be into my arms, not off a cliff.
Ophelia: I'll keep that in mind.
Adrien: And if anyone tries to hurt you again—
He paused, drawing a breath.
Adrien: Actually, no. I won't say it. I promised I'd behave like a gentleman tonight.
He grinned, eyes half-lidded, voice low.
Adrien:…But tomorrow? All bets are off.
The moonlight poured gently through the high glass windows, casting silver across the silken bedding. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and burnt incense—leftovers from a disastrous day that had nearly taken her life. But now, here in this quiet sanctuary, the world had shrunk to two people.
Ophelia sat on the edge of the bed, robe loosely tied over her nightgown, gazing absently into the crackling hearth. Her thoughts wandered, tangled in the events of the hunt, the accusation, the danger.
And then there was Adrien.
Leaning on his elbow beside her, his armor discarded piece by piece across the room, his snowy cape still damp from the journey, he reached out and took a lock of her hair between his fingers.
Adrien: Do you even realize how close I was to burning down the forest when I saw your empty horse?
He murmured, his voice low and teasing
Ophelia turned to him, arching an elegant brow.
Ophelia: Asriel, you wouldn't dare. That forest predates the empire.
Adrien sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back with one arm flung across his forehead like a tragic hero.
Adrien: Then I would have burned something else. The sky, maybe. The Evlencians. Definitely the Evlencians.
She let out a small laugh despite herself, and he immediately peeked through his fingers with a lazy grin.
Adrien: There it is again. That laugh. It's better than music.
Ophelia reached over and swatted his chest lightly, but he caught her wrist mid-motion, pulling her down gently until she was resting against him.
Adrien: You scared me today.
He whispered, his voice losing the playfulness.
Adrien: I've faced enemies on every front, but watching you fall toward that cliff—I felt something inside me just… snap.
She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
Ophelia: I knew you'd come.
Her voice was barely audible.
Adrien smiled against her hair, his arms tightening around her.
Adrien: Of course I did. You called me, didn't you? You used the chant no one else knows. Elciela...
He said it reverently, like a vow.
Adrien: I would have crossed oceans, torn through borders. Hell, I'd have flown if I had to.
Ophelia sighed, resting her forehead against his.
Ophelia: I should be the one protecting you. You're the one on the frontlines.
Adrien: No.
His hand cupped her cheek, firm and warm.
Adrien: You don't get to say that. You already protect me. Every single day. Just by existing.
She blinked, touched, and a little flustered.
Ophelia: You're getting poetic again.
He grinned, cocking a brow.
Adrien: Only for you. I don't do this for anyone else, you know. If Killian ever saw me like this, he'd never let me live it down.
Ophelia: He already suspects you're a sap
She teased.
Adrien: I'm not a sap.
Adrien protested, then immediately kissed the tip of her nose.
Adrien: …Okay, maybe a little.
They stayed like that for a while. Tangled together, with the palace a distant world beyond the heavy curtains. Her fingers found his and interlaced them. His breath slowed in rhythm with hers.
Ophelia: If the Emperor removes me from my position…
Ophelia finally whispered.
Adrien's eyes darkened—not with anger, but fierce loyalty.
Adrien: He won't. But even if he does…
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle slowly.
Adrien: I didn't fall in love with the Crown Princess. I fell in love with Ophelia. The woman who stands even when the world tries to shatter her.
Her eyes welled with unshed tears, and he caught them with the tip of his thumb.
Adrien: Besides….
He added, his smile curling devilishly.
Adrien: I'm quite fond of having you in my bed. If you lose the title, I'll just make you my Empress faster. Problem solved.
She hit his chest again, and he gasped dramatically.
Adrien: Abuse! Betrayal! After I rode through three provinces for you—
Ophelia: You arrived on a pegasus, Asriel. You were in the capital in two hours.
He blinked.
Adrien: ...Details.
Ophelia buried her face in his neck, muffling her laughter.
Ophelia: You're impossible.
Adrien: But yours, my Celeste.
He murmured, brushing his lips to her temple.
The next morning
The first pale blush of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and gold. The soft hum of birdsong stirred the quiet palace corridors, still cloaked in the stillness of early light.
Ophelia stirred awake, eyes fluttering open to the gentle brush of fingers against her cheek. Adrien sat beside her, fully dressed once more in his ceremonial armor—regal white edged with gold, cerulean accents catching the sunlight. He looked like a myth made flesh. A god of war preparing to leave his beloved temple.
Ophelia: You're leaving…
She whispered, voice thick with sleep and something else she wouldn't name.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Adrien: I have to. The front waits for no man—not even me.
She sat up slowly, pulling the silk sheet with her. Adrien took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse beat.
Adrien: But I didn't want to go without saying goodbye.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Ophelia: Will you be alright?
Adrien laughed softly.
Adrien: I've survived worse than battlefield politics. But you?
His tone turned serious.
Adrien: You're walking into something crueler than war. Be careful. They will smile at you while measuring the length of your fall.
If the Emperor tries to strip your title—let him try. I will fight a thousand wars to put the crown back on your head myself.
He walked back to her, cupped her face with both hands.
Adrien: Don't bow your head to anyone—not even my father.
And if he threatens your title again… remind him that his throne rests on my sword.
Then, in a whisper only she could hear:
Adrien: When this is over, I'm taking you far from this place. Somewhere only we exist. No crowns. No titles. Just us.
He stepped closer, voice low, almost a growl.
Adrien: You are mine, Celeste. And the world will know it.
He kissed her, slowly. Not desperate, but certain. The kind of kiss that seals promises and ignites kingdoms.
And with one final kiss to her forehead—slow, aching, and full of everything left unsaid—he headed to the palace gates, with her following behind.
She quickly got dressed and headed to the gates with him.
Adrien's gloved hand paused at the clasp of his golden military cloak, the fabric catching the light of Solciel's sun.
Adrien: I'll be back before the stars shift.
He murmured brushing a strand of Ophelia's hair behind her ear, voice steady—but eyes reluctant.
She smiled faintly, fingers clutching his lapel.
Ophelia: Don't say it like it's a farewell.
Just then, heavy boots echoed in the marble corridor. A steward, breathless, bowed low.
Steward: Your Highness. My lady. An urgent summons... from the High Council and His Majesty. You are both to appear at once. It is—nonnegotiable.
Adrien's jaw clenched.
Adrien: Now?
The steward confirmed.
Steward: They said it concerns… the future of the Empire.
Silence stretched between them. Ophelia felt it—something sour at the edges of fate. Like storm winds curling behind still skies.
And then she saw it.
Just for a second.
Blood on marble. A crown in firelight. A rose turned black.
She blinked. It was gone.
Adrien: We should go.
But Ophelia's fingers curled tightly in her skirts, heart racing. She didn't know why—
—only that whatever waited behind that Council door… wouldn't just change the war.
It would change everything.