Chapter 21 – "The Imperial Summons"
The wind carried a chill that morning, despite the sun resting gently on the granddukedom's stone halls. Athanasia stood in the garden, plucking a single violet bloom from the hedge, her hands trembling softly. The silence was her only comfort now.
Then came the sound of hooves and armor—like thunder wearing silk.
The gates opened.
A group of Imperial soldiers, dressed in crimson and gold, marched through the courtyard with a banner of the phoenix crest held high. At their front, a messenger dismounted, dropping to one knee.
"Your Highness, Lady Athanasia of House Erveldote," he said, voice firm, "By order of His Majesty the Emperor, you are to return to the Imperial Palace immediately."
Athanasia's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Arion, standing behind her, froze mid-step.
"Why?" Arion's voice was laced with suspicion, low and cold like a growling lion.
"No reason has been disclosed, My Lord," the soldier replied. "Only that it is of utmost importance. We were told to ensure her safe and immediate arrival."
The Departure
Athanasia turned, looking at Arion with wide eyes.
"I don't want to go."
"You have to," Arion said quietly, jaw clenched. "They've made their move. Now we wait."
She bit her lip, looking down.
He stepped forward and gently tucked the flower behind her ear.
"Stay sharp. Watch their words. And don't let anyone see your flame," he whispered.
"But if I—"
"If you need me," he cut in, "Call. I'll tear the capital down for you."
🏛️ Three Days Later – The Imperial Decree
Trumpets echoed through the grand city. In the Imperial Palace's marble courtyard, nobles gathered in whispering flocks. The Emperor stepped out onto the royal balcony, flanked by Rohaan and a pale-faced Athanasia in ceremonial dress.
"In three days' time," the Emperor's voice boomed, "the Crown Prince shall wed Lady Athanasia of House Erveldote—our blessed Crown Princess-to-be!"
Gasps. Cheers. Claps. But beneath it all—doubt and dread.
Arion, from the shadows of the crowd, watched it all with cold eyes.
"They took her from me. Again."
And behind him, his lion guardian paced restlessly, sensing what was to come.
The private chamber of the Imperial Palace was dimly lit, only golden candlelight licking the stone walls. Incense smoked lazily from a dragon-shaped burner. The room felt ancient—like secrets were carved into the very floor.
At the center sat His Majesty, the Emperor, reclined on a cushioned chair, fingers curled around a silver goblet of blood-red wine.
He raised the goblet, eyes gleaming like molten coins.
"Finally…"
His voice was low, oily with satisfaction.
"With the Aries treasure in her veins, and her hand bound to the crown—there is nothing left in our way."
He chuckled, a cruel, hollow thing.
"Athanasia, sweet child. If only you knew... You are the key we've waited for."
He turned toward the large crystal window, gazing down at the garden where Athanasia walked like a doll—silent, obedient, haunted.
"Soon, the Leo flame will be in reach as well," he said. "And once Arion bows, all twelve constellations will kneel before me."
Suddenly, a hand reached toward the wine decanter.
Clink. A second goblet was filled.
"You sound like a man who's already won, Father."
The Emperor turned.
In the shadows stood Rohaan, the Crown Prince, tall and composed, wine swirling in his glass—smirking like the devil had taught him how.
"But let's not forget…" he said with a quiet bite, "Victory is only real after the coronation. Not before."
The Emperor narrowed his eyes. Rohaan met the gaze without blinking.
"Don't worry," Rohaan added, sipping slowly. "I'll make sure our little flame stays obedient."
A pause. Then the Crown Prince turned toward the door.
"Let her wear the crown… even if it becomes a collar."
He walked off, leaving the Emperor smiling again—this time with fangs instead of warmth.
"That's my son ".
The carriage halted before the gates of the Imperial Palace. Sunlight kissed the marble, yet Athanasia felt none of its warmth. As the doors opened, she stepped out, dressed in mourning black, her violet flame now a quiet ache deep within her.
Behind her, the guards followed—silent, watchful, like shadows stitched to her soul.
Inside the palace, the halls had been dressed in gold. Servants rushed past with bolts of silk, gilded trays, and wedding scrolls.
"Lady Athanasia," one called. "The seamstress awaits in the bridal chamber."
She said nothing.
In the mirror-lined chamber, maids circled her like moths. A gown of white and crimson was placed before her. It glittered with constellations embroidered in gold thread—each one a symbol of power, of legacy, of control.
"You'll be a beautiful bride," one whispered.
"You're so lucky to marry His Highness," said another.
Athanasia stared at her reflection. Her face looked older. Hollow. Like she had died and was now playing the part of someone still alive.
Later that night, she stood by the palace balcony, staring at the moon. Her thoughts flickered to Arion and Adrion… to her uncle's last journal… to the Phoenix who no longer answered her calls.
Behind her, a footstep.
"Cold, isn't it?"
Rohaan.
He walked toward her, draped in a deep crimson coat, a single rose pin on his collar. He looked regal. Perfect. Terrifying.
"Our wedding is in two days," he said gently. "I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Why?" she whispered.
Rohaan tilted his head. "Why what?"
"Why are you doing this?"
He stepped closer.
"Because I love you, Athanasia."
His fingers touched her cheek. She didn't flinch—but her breath caught.
"And because when the stars bow, I want you beside me."
Meanwhile… in the Forbidden East Wing
Behind locked doors, the Emperor stood in front of a massive mirror. One not made of glass—but of starlight.
A voice echoed from within it.
"She is the key. But beware the lion."
The Emperor nodded.
"The Grand Duke won't interfere. Not anymore."
"Not unless… he remembers the truth."
The mirror shimmered, revealing a memory. One the Emperor had long buried.
A boy with golden eyes. A lion's roar.
A pact made in blood and silence.
Back in the bridal chamber, Athanasia sat before the mirror. The violet in her flame flickered at her fingertips again—brief, uncertain, scared.
"Please," she whispered into the void, "if anyone's out there… I don't want to be caged."
The Imperial Palace gleamed like a serpent's jewel—its marble halls echoing with the rustle of silk and secrets. Golden drapes danced in the wind, and laughter laced with venom floated over silver trays of wine.
In the throne room, the Emperor sat like a spider in the center of a glistening web. His robes shimmered with Pisces' constellation—etched like scales across his shoulders. A goblet of blood-red wine rested in his hand as he leaned back, a predator at peace.
He grinned.
A sickeningly sweet, victorious grin.
"Aries has been leashed. Soon… Leo will kneel as well."
From the shadows behind the throne, a tall figure stepped forward, dressed in black imperial silk. His golden hair spilled like melted sunlight down his back, and a smirk tugged at his lips.
Crown Prince Rohaan.
He picked up a wine glass and clinked it lightly against his father's.
"To destiny, Father. You always said it would end with the Empire devouring the stars."
"And now it has begun," the Emperor whispered, raising his glass higher.
He drank.
But Rohaan did not. He simply stared into the dark wine, eyes sharp as blades.
"And what of Leo?" he asked softly.
"He mourns," the Emperor answered. "And mourning makes even the fiercest beasts tame."
"Hm."
Rohaan's smile sharpened.
Meanwhile, in the Granddukedom…
Arion stood before the mirror in his chambers.
He wore black. The color of mourning.
But around his neck, a faint golden chain shimmered—a lion insignia nestled against his chest.
The Leo Treasure. Still protected.
Still alive.
He had heard the announcement. In three days, his cousin Athanasia would marry the Crown Prince.
And the Aries flame would be officially consumed by the Empire.
He slammed a fist into the mirror.
Shards fell like stars.
"She's being used," he whispered. "And she doesn't even know it."
Blood trickled down his hand. The lion inside him stirred.
"They took Father. Now they want the treasures. The sky itself."
His butler entered, breathless.
"Your Grace, the wedding… it's been declared a national festival. The roads are lined. The nobles—"
"Prepare the carriage," Arion said, his voice low.
"For where, my lord?"
"To the capital."
The butler hesitated. "You swore never to step foot there again—"
"I did," Arion said. "But lions do not make peace with jackals. They tear them apart."