"Do you know who I am?" the Empress spat, her voice icy, her chin lifted in defiance.
The soldier holding her at swordpoint didn't even flinch. His eyes—dark, steady—flicked over her elaborate hairpins, the rubies glinting in the lamplight, the red silk clinging to her trembling frame.
"I know exactly who you are," he said, his voice flat, hard as the blade at her throat. "And I don't care."
The Empress's lips parted in shock. For a heartbeat, her pride faltered, swallowed by something that tasted too much like fear.
The soldier didn't give her another glance. He shoved her to her knees, his sword never wavering. "Stay down," he ordered, already turning his head to scan the corridor for threats.
Outside, the battle raged like a living beast.
The clash of steel and the cries of the dying filled the night air. The grand halls of the palace, once echoes of poetry and silk, had become a blood-soaked maze of death.
Inside the ceremonial hall, the chaos was just as vicious.
