Empress of Self-Ruin

Chapter 37: I'm a Person, Not a Concept

"You're late."

Arsen didn't bother to activate the magic stones, even though it was pitch black in the spacious bedroom. Bad form for an emperor, Calypso would say, but his trespasser was not a threat. The words... he would recognize them anywhere, from the smooth aristocratic accent to the clipped tone in which they were spoken.

"I told you I'd be by after nine," he said wearily, letting his robe drop to the floor. A rustling later, and light illuminated the bedroom and his visitor. "I thought you were having a late supper with your ladies-in-waiting and why are you sitting in the dark?"

Calypso gracefully rose from her perch on the chaise lounge, her bare feet soft on the plush carpet as she crossed the room toward him.

"We had to cancel at the last minute because Eli caught a cold," she explained. Her lips curled slightly as she stopped in front of him and reached for his tie, slender fingers working at the silk knot. "And I like the dark. It suits me."

His hand, which had settled on her hip as soon as she was within touching distance, slid around to the small of her back to draw her closer. "But I can't see you in the dark," he murmured as he dipped his head to stare at her sharp, intimidating emerald-green eyes. "And that's unacceptable. It's making me nervous."

"As it should be," she whispered.

Ever since that night she appeared in his bedroom and cried her heart out, they kind of had a silent agreement to sleep together every night. Sometimes it was Arsen who stayed at the Empress Palace and vice versa. But tonight was Calypso's turn to stay at his.

Everyone in the palace seemed to be excited by this development. Rumors spread among palace workers about the possibility of the next heir being born soon even though the reality was far from their imagination.

After all, Arsen and Calypso never did anything other than hold hands or cuddle, so how could the next heir possibly be born anytime soon?

If Arsen had to describe his current relationship with Calypso, it would be two people rowing a boat in an endless stormy sea, holding on for that little hope that the storm would pass and they would finally find land. He didn't know all the shit that happened to them in their lives, and she never really told him about it either, but it didn't matter. They sat there. They just sat there, together, and that was all that mattered.

He recalled how shocked he had been seeing Calypso that night. The last time he had caught her crying was when she was twelve. He had never seen her cry in front of anyone ever since. He knew that she was too proud and stubborn to let anyone see her in her vulnerable state, but once she started, she wouldn't stop for a long time.

He didn't have a lot of history with girls, let alone crying girls, so he had been nervous. His palms had been sweating in anxiety as he watched her crying between her hands.

They weren't pretty either. No, Calypso was an ugly crier.

Of course, he would never say it out loud; he wasn't a complete idiot. Even if he didn't know much about girls, telling them they didn't look good while crying sounded like it would only lead to more crying.

Not that it mattered to him whether she looked pretty or ugly while. In fact, he didn't care even if she looked like Medusa or a hag. The only thing that mattered to him was she was still his Calypso, and to be honest, all he could think about at that moment was how he should comfort her.

He recalled how she sobbed as she pressed her face on his chest. The voice that came out of her mouth was something in between a wail and a sob, something so full of misery that he couldn't help the tears that pooled in his own eyes.