Five o'clock in the morning. The air in Obsidiana was still frozen, but the silence in the palace's west wing had already been shattered by the thud of military boots in the granite corridors. Elara was not awakened by sunlight; she was awakened by the sound of metal spears being struck against the floor every ten steps. The sound was heavy, rhythmic, and felt like a hammer nailing her fate to the stone floor.
Her bedroom door opened without warning. Martha entered, leading a group of servants walking with heads bowed. On the silver trays they carried lay a gown more resembling a political instrument than women's clothing. The fabric was stiff charcoal-gray silk, so thick it could stand on its own without support.
"The council of ministers gave a unanimous vote at three this morning," Martha said. She placed the gown on Elara's work table, directly atop the pile of unfinished reports. "And the Emperor did not use his veto. You have two hours before the procedure begins."
Elara rose, her bare feet touching the cold stone floor. She stared at the gown, then shifted to Martha standing rigidly. "Empress? After he razed my city gates, he thinks a title will wash the blood from his hands?"
Martha didn't return the stare. She instead straightened the bodice section of the gown reinforced with silver thread embroidery. "This isn't about your feelings, Princess. This is about logistics and guarantees. Lord Vane and the finance minister need legal certainty over the Eastern mines. As a prisoner, you are an unstable variable. As the emperor's wife, every signature you make is a state contract."
Martha approached, her voice lowering to a sharp whisper that hunted Elara's ears. "Wear this, or let the palace tailors measure your body for a burial shroud. The Emperor doesn't like waiting, and the council of ministers has already prepared an execution order if you refuse."
Elara drew a breath, feeling her lungs constricted by the dusty morning air. "Get out. I will dress myself."
An hour later, Elara walked toward the Black Tower. On the summit balcony, wind blew fiercely, carrying the aroma of sulfur and hot iron steam from the weapons factory below. Kaelen stood at the balcony's edge, gazing at the capital's expanse still shrouded in ash fog. He wore only a black military shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tense arm muscles and traces of old scars.
"Sit," Kaelen said without turning. He pointed to a stiff oak chair.
Elara remained standing, her hands clenched behind the heavy fabric of her gown. "I didn't come here to sit. I came here to ask why you let your own bureaucracy strangle my neck."
Kaelen turned slowly. His eyes were dark, showing no guilt, only cold calculation. "Lord Vane wants to limit my room to maneuver through you. They proposed this marriage because they think an empress from an enemy nation will keep me politically busy. They're waiting for you to make one administrative mistake so they can bring me down for being unable to control my own household."
"Then why don't you behead them?" Elara challenged, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed anger.
Kaelen stepped closer, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor. He stopped directly in front of Elara, close enough that she could smell rain, dry tobacco, and steel from the man's body. A scent that instantly pulled Elara's memory back to the night of Astapura's fall. Elara forgot to breathe for several seconds; her heart beat irregularly.
"Executing the council of ministers when logistics routes are chaotic is amateur behavior," Kaelen answered, his voice low but authoritative. "This marriage is the most efficient legal instrument. With the empress title, your authority in the East is absolute. I don't need your love, Elara. I need stability so my war industry continues running without interference from chattering ministers."
"You're using me as a bureaucratic shield," Elara hissed.
"I'm giving you fangs," Kaelen replied sharply. "Without this title, you're just a girl who can be discarded at any time. Now, you are part of the crown. The choice: your pointless integrity, or the lives of your people in the East. If you refuse, tomorrow morning I will sign the order for total cleansing in Astapura. There will be no more rebellion, because there will be no more humans left there."
Elara's throat felt dry, as if she'd swallowed dust. Kaelen wasn't courting; he was presenting a contract that used lives as collateral.
"Very well," Elara looked up, staring directly into Kaelen's dark eyes. "I will sign this guarantee contract."
"Good. Wear the ring later. And don't tremble in front of the council. Obsidiana has a sharp nose for fear."
At ten in the morning, the Black Circle Hall felt like a freezing chamber. The pungent aroma of white lilies filled the air, attempting to cover the permanent damp and dust smell in the room. Sunlight entered through high slits, revealing dust particles floating in the air. Elara walked beside Kaelen, each step accompanied by the sound of stiff silk rustling harshly in the silence.
Before the granite altar cracked in several corners, Kaelen grasped Elara's right hand. His grip was strong, his rough fingers pressing against Elara's cold skin. This wasn't a lover's hold; this was an owner's grip on his strategic asset.
"To ensure permanent integration of the Eastern territories," Kaelen's voice echoed powerfully, without the slightest tremor. "I, Kaelen of Valerion, officially take Princess Elara of Astapura as my empress. From this moment, her commands are mandates from me. Any defiance against her is treason."
Deadly silence followed the announcement. Lord Vane bowed stiffly, but his narrowed eyes stared straight at the ring in Kaelen's hand. In the corner of the hall, Lady Lyra stood frozen, crushing her wooden fan until it creaked softly. There was a small cough from a minister in the back row, breaking the suffocating tension.
Kaelen took the ring from a black velvet box. Heavy gold with a roughly cut black obsidian stone. When Kaelen placed it on Elara's ring finger, the cold metal felt like it was sucking heat from her body. The sharp corner of the obsidian stone slightly pierced her finger's skin, providing a real and constant sensation of pain.
"Stay upright," Kaelen whispered, so softly only Elara could hear.
Elara didn't answer. She only stared at the black stone on her finger that now felt as heavy as iron chains. There was no kiss. No sweet promises. Kaelen immediately released her hand and turned to face the ministers, promptly beginning state business as if this marriage were merely signing a grain shipment order.
As they walked out, the guard soldiers simultaneously struck the butts of their spears against the stone floor. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The vibration reached Elara's ribs, making her nauseous but still forced to stand upright.
In the corridor toward her private wing, Elara stopped. She stared at Kaelen's back walking several steps ahead of her.
"Is this satisfying enough for you?" Elara asked quietly.
Kaelen stopped, but didn't turn. "This is just the beginning, Elara. You now have legal authority. Use it to stop the rebellion in the East before I'm forced to send massacre troops there. Don't make me regret my decision not to kill you that night."
Kaelen continued his steps without another word. Elara stood alone in the cold corridor. She touched the ring with her thumb, feeling the sharp corner injuring her skin. She was an empress now. This title was her shackle, but she would also make it her dagger.
She walked toward her room with a very straight back, enduring the pain in her finger. Martha was already waiting there with a stack of newly arrived military intelligence reports. The real war was no longer on the battlefield, but on paper and behind the closed doors of the ministers' council. Elara had entered the wolves' den as their empress, and she was ready to become the most dangerous among them all.