Chapter 7

The Fracture of Light





Autumn came softly that year — with winds that whispered through amber leaves, and sunlight that lingered just a little too long, as if reluctant to let go.

The palace, bathed in gold, looked serene from afar.

But within its marble walls, the chill of distance had already settled.

For Elisana, autumn was no longer a season of beauty.

It was a quiet ending.

The court buzzed with new gossip — that the Emperor’s heart was no longer his own.

The name on every tongue was one she had come to dread in silence.

Lady Alessandra Torresano.




The Harvest Banquet

The Harvest Banquet was meant to celebrate the season’s bounty — an evening of music, warmth, and unity. But that night, the ballroom glowed with something colder: spectacle.

Lanterns of amber and gold lined the ceiling like captive suns, and the scent of roses filled the air — the same roses Marcus once said reminded him of her.

Elisana entered the hall in a gown of silver and moonlight, her every step graceful, deliberate. The nobles turned as one, bowing deeply. The Empress of Salastian was breathtaking — serene, untouchable. Yet her stillness held something fragile, as if perfection itself were her only defense.

Marcus stood near the dais, his laughter unmistakable even among the crowd.

And beside him — Alessandra.

The Viscount’s daughter shone in a gown of soft violet, her dark hair cascading like ink over her shoulders, her emerald eyes bright as new spring leaves. She looked effortless. Radiant. Dangerous.

“Your Majesty,” Elisana greeted when she approached, her curtsy flawless. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”


Marcus turned, visibly startled. “Elisana… I didn’t expect you tonight.”


“I wasn’t sure if I was still expected,” she said softly.


A flicker of guilt crossed his features. “You are always welcome.”


“Am I?” she whispered — but he didn’t hear her.

Because Alessandra had leaned closer, whispering something that made him smile — that smile Elisana hadn’t seen in months.

The orchestra began to play. Couples filled the dance floor. The Empress stood by her father’s side, her face calm, even as the walls closed in around her.



The Dance That Wasn’t Hers

When the waltz began, Marcus turned toward Alessandra. He extended his hand, his smile gentle, inviting.


“Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”


A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

Elisana froze. For a moment, even the music seemed to stumble.

Her father, Grand Duke Laurence, clenched his jaw in fury, but she raised a hand, stopping him with a soft murmur. “Let it be, Father. It’s just a dance.”

Her words were calm, but her pulse thundered beneath her skin.

As she watched them move — the Emperor and the Viscount’s daughter — her world narrowed to that single image: two figures entwined beneath chandeliers, surrounded by applause.

And something inside her broke — quietly, without sound, like glass under silk.




The Silence That Follows

The night dragged on in slow, painful grace.

Elisana smiled, nodded, spoke when spoken to. She performed her duties flawlessly — every gesture perfect, every word precise. None could say she faltered.

But inside, she was fading.


When the banquet ended, she stood alone in the grand corridor, the music still echoing faintly from the ballroom.

Her reflection in the marble floor looked like a ghost — pale, trembling, too dignified to weep.

“I am his wife,” she whispered to the empty air, “yet I have become a stranger to him.

I am his Empress, yet I have no power over his heart.”

Outside, the night wind carried the scent of roses and distant laughter — laughter that did not belong to her.


And for the first time, she imagined a life beyond the crown.

A life where she might no longer have to wait for love that had already left her.