Chapter 3: A Cage of Gold
"A palace is still a prison if you are not free to leave."
---
The halls of the Imperial Palace of Azvaren were breathtaking.
Intricate mosaics lined the floors, depicting legends of war and conquest. Chandeliers of black crystal hung from vaulted ceilings, their eerie glow casting flickering shadows across towering marble columns. Every inch of the palace was a declaration of power—a kingdom untouchable, an empire unchallenged.
But no matter how gilded, a cage was still a cage.
And Seraphina was trapped inside it.
Her escort—a silent line of imperial guards—marched beside her, their silver armor reflecting the torchlight as they led her deeper into the palace.
The east wing.
A place far from court. Far from power. Far from Xavien.
A silent punishment.
The Emperor had not needed to shout or threaten her. His message had been clear.
You are nothing here.
But as Seraphina walked, her smile did not fade.
"They expect me to break," she thought, her fingers brushing the embroidered sleeves of her gown. "They expect me to cry."
Let them expect.
She had survived worse than a cold husband and a lonely palace.
She would survive this, too.
---
The east wing was as grand as the rest of the palace—but it was empty.
No servants bustled in the halls. No nobles whispered behind their fans.
It was eerily silent.
When the guards stopped before an arched doorway, one of them—a man with a scar running down his cheek—stepped forward.
"Your quarters, Empress," he said stiffly.
Then, without another word, he pushed open the heavy doors.
Seraphina stepped inside.
She expected a prison. Cold, lifeless, bare.
But what she found was the opposite.
Her chambers were massive—too grand for someone meant to be cast aside. The walls were adorned with silk tapestries, the floors covered in deep sapphire rugs. A roaring fireplace bathed the room in golden warmth, its flames dancing in the polished glass of a full-length mirror.
The bed was carved from onyx and gold, its silk sheets embroidered with intricate patterns of phoenixes and dragons.
Everything was too luxurious.
Too much for a bride meant to be forgotten.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed.
"Why give me this?"
The answer came almost immediately.
Because Xavien Draethis did not do anything without a reason.
This was not kindness.
This was control.
"You will have everything you need," the room seemed to whisper. "Except freedom."
---
Night fell swiftly over the empire.
Seraphina sat by the window, watching as the city of Azvaren stretched beneath her in endless lights and winding streets.
Her new home.
Her new prison.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
She turned just as a young maid stepped inside, balancing a tray of food.
"Your dinner, Empress," the girl said, keeping her head bowed.
Seraphina studied her. The maid's hands trembled slightly as she placed the tray on the low table.
"She's afraid," Seraphina realized.
Not of her.
Of who she belonged to.
Seraphina smiled gently. "What's your name?"
The girl stiffened. Her eyes darted toward the guards standing near the door, their expressions blank, watchful.
For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn't answer.
Then, in a whisper, "Elira."
Seraphina reached for a piece of bread, breaking it in half. "Elira," she repeated. "Have you worked in the palace long?"
Elira's hands clenched around the folds of her skirt.
"Five years, Your Majesty."
"And do you like it?"
A pause. A hesitation.
Then—"I serve where I am placed."
It was the answer of someone who knew speaking freely was dangerous.
Seraphina's fingers tightened around the bread.
So, even within the palace, fear reigned.
She had known Azvaren was powerful.
She had not realized it was ruled by shadows.
---
As the night deepened, Seraphina laid in her grand bed, staring at the high ceiling.
She was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
But even in isolation, her mind worked.
Xavien Draethis was not just a powerful emperor.
He was feared.
And fear, she knew, was a double-edged sword.
Because the more people feared you…
The more they plotted against you.