Chapter 9

The Quiet Exit




The palace felt different that week — quieter, as though the marble itself was holding its breath. The courtiers spoke more softly, their laughter fading at the edges when Elisana passed. Even the fountains in the inner courtyard seemed to whisper instead of sing.

Two weeks had passed since the scandal had cleared her name.

Two weeks since Marcus’s hollow apology.

Two weeks since the silence between them became an unbridgeable gulf.

Each night, she had waited for a sign — a word, a glance, even a breath that hinted he still saw her, not the ghost of an obligation.

None came.

And so, on the thirteenth day, Elisana made her choice.




The Last Supper

The long dining hall glowed with candlelight, yet the warmth never reached her. The table between them stretched endlessly — gold platters, crystal goblets, untouched wine. Marcus ate little. She less.

The clatter of cutlery was the only sound until Marcus finally spoke, his voice careful.

“Elisana, the council meets again next week. The southern trade decrees will be presented. I’d like you to sit beside me.”

She looked up. “So the court can see that the Emperor and Empress are united again?”


He blinked, caught off-guard. “So they can see the truth.”


“The truth?” she echoed softly. “And what truth would that be, Marcus? That we still play our parts to perfection?”


He sighed, rubbing his temple as if the crown weighed double tonight. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Her fingers tightened around her wineglass. “No, my lord. I’m making it honest.”


He froze at the title — my lord — as if it stung more than any accusation.

She set her glass down gently. “May I be excused, Your Majesty?”

He nodded once. “If you must.”


She stood, the hem of her gown whispering over the marble floor. But as she reached the door, she stopped, her voice low and trembling.

“I must.”



The Empress and the Emperor

The next evening, she requested a private audience in the imperial council hall — a room that once echoed with their laughter, now filled only with the weight of what they had become.

Marcus arrived late. The candles had burned low by then, their light casting more shadow than flame.

He found her standing before the throne dais, her hands clasped, her crown glinting faintly in the dimness.

“Elisana,” he said quietly. “What is this?”


She turned slowly, her eyes soft, resolute. “It’s farewell.”


He frowned, stepping closer. “What do you mean?”


She dropped to her knees before him, and the sound of her gown brushing the marble filled the room like a sigh.

“Your Majesty the Emperor,” she began, her tone formal yet heartbreakingly tender, “please grant my wish to be freed from this title.”

For a moment, neither moved. The words hung between them like a tolling bell.


Marcus stared at her, disbelief clouding his features. “Elisana… what are you saying?”


She lifted her gaze, tears glinting like crushed stars. “I am asking for a divorce.”


He stepped back as though struck. “This is madness.”


Her lips curved into a small, sorrowful smile. “No, my lord. Madness is staying when love no longer lives.”


He raked a hand through his hair, his composure fracturing. “Do you think it’s that simple? You are the Empress. The people—”

“The people,” she interrupted softly, “deserve truth more than a lie draped in silk. I will not wear a crown that blinds me to myself.”

Her voice shook, but she did not falter. “I am not your half anymore, Marcus. I am merely a shadow wearing a crown.”

“Stop,” he said sharply, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean this.”


She stepped closer until she could see the faint tremor in his jaw, the pain he refused to show. “Then tell me, Marcus.” Her voice was a whisper — trembling, pleading. “Do you love me?”

The silence stretched.

And in that silence, the candles flickered, one by one, as if even the flames were afraid of his answer.

He looked at her — the woman who had once been his dearest friend, his confidant, his light — and something in him faltered.

“I love you…” he began, then paused, his voice hollow. “As my dearest friend.”

The words sliced through her like glass. She smiled faintly, even as her eyes brimmed. “Then I have my answer.”




The Farewell of Crowns

She rose, slow and graceful, every motion deliberate. The crown upon her head caught the faintest glint of candlelight — that fragile halo of duty and devotion.

With both hands, she lifted it from her hair.

“Keep this,” she said softly. “It belongs to the empire, not to me.”


Marcus reached out instinctively. “Elisana—”


But she stepped back, placing the crown upon the dais.

“I once thought the sun and moon could share the same sky,” she murmured. “But I was wrong. One must always fade for the other to rise.”

Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks.

“You are the sun, Marcus. Shine as you must. But I… I was never meant to burn.”

He took a step forward, his voice raw. “Eli—don’t—”


She bowed deeply, the last gesture of a loyal consort. “Goodbye, my lord.”


Then she turned and walked away.


Her footsteps echoed through the grand corridor, fading with each step — soft, certain, final.

And when the great doors closed behind her, the sound was like the end of a song the palace had forgotten how to sing.




The Empty Throne

Long after she was gone, Marcus stood alone in the hall.

The crown glimmered where she had left it — small, silent, unbearably heavy. He reached for it but could not bring himself to touch it.

The wind moved through the high windows, rustling the velvet drapes.

Her scent lingered faintly — lavender and rain — before fading into nothing.

He pressed a hand to the marble column beside him, eyes closed.

“She was the moon,” he whispered, brokenly. “And I… I was too blind to see her light.”

Outside, the moon rose over Salastian, serene and cold — a silent witness to the end of an empire built on love and pride.