𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Chapter 1: Empress of Graniel

The imperial garden, once a sanctuary of vibrant beauty, now lay in an eerie hush. Beneath the moonlight, its paved courtyards and softly babbling fountains stood as grim witnesses to a new reality: the grounds had become a desolate graveyard for the unburied.

Countless corpses lay broken among the crushed buttercups and forget-me-nots. Their clothes were torn and scorched, their weapons strewn just out of reach in the dirt.

Standing motionless on the highest watchtower of the Imperial Palace, my eyes swept over the carnage. My blinking slowed, heavy with exhaustion.

There was no such thing as a beautiful body once death claimed the soul. There was no poetry in a corpse. Death was just death—vicious and unromantic. The flesh would rot, the bones would follow, and the hair would mat into the mud. It never discriminated between a high-born knight and a common foot soldier.

I tilted my head skyward. The sun was bleeding into the horizon, and the raging flames engulfing the palace gates splattered bold, rainbow embers across the evening sky. It burnt like hell, blazing red and absolute.

With a slow, heavy breath, I lowered my bow.

I had been raised to always keep my appearance flawless, but over the past few days, survival had stripped away my vanity. I hadn't slept, let alone brushed my hair. Now, it was a black, tangled mess whipping wildly in the howling wind. My naturally pale skin had turned ghostly from sheer exhaustion. Instead of the sweeping silk dresses expected of an Empress, I was clad in heavy, blood-spattered combat armor from head to toe.

My hands, once white and unblemished, were raw, bloodied, and callused from pulling the bowstring nonstop. Yet, I couldn't feel the pain. I had gone entirely numb.

As I stepped closer to the stone railing, a sudden, searing agony flared through my chest. I gasped, flinging a hand over my heart.

It's finally over...

I closed my eyes, the brutal memories of the past few days rushing back to fill the void.

It had all started on a quiet afternoon when my husband, Emperor Arsenio Arcturus, left the palace to escort his mistress, Lady Phoebe, to Duke Aragon's estate. She had begged him to accompany her, and he—as always—had relented.

I had barely paid attention to their departure, choosing instead to drown myself in imperial paperwork. I worked tirelessly to hold the empire together while its ruler played protector to another woman. But my body broke before my spirit did; I collapsed at my desk.

When I opened my eyes, the royal physician delivered a blow that shattered what was left of my world: I had miscarried due to severe stress and physical exhaustion.

I hadn't even known I was carrying a child.

But the universe granted me no time to process the shock, let alone mourn. Misfortune struck in rapid, merciless succession. Landon, the usually unshakable royal advisor, burst into my bedchamber with a pale face. The Emperor had been captured by Duke Aragon. Worse, the Duke's rebel army was already marching on the Imperial Palace.

Phoebe had betrayed him. My suspicions about her had been right all along, but Arsenio's love for her had blinded him to my warnings.

With the Emperor gone, the burden of the empire fell entirely on my shoulders. I refused to let the Duke seize the palace without a fight. I ordered the gates barred, the entryways blocked, and prepared the remaining staff for a siege.

The odds were catastrophic. The majority of the Imperial Knights—Arsenio's direct command—had been sent to the southern border days prior to handle a sudden barbarian conflict. Duke Aragon had timed his rebellion perfectly, striking when the palace was defenseless.