Renouncing the Emperor's Heart

Her Attention

With a twist of his fingers, the wind rushed back into his palm, and already, it missed her scent.

Amon cursed under his breath as he watched Elias Rainer drawing her away. He hadn't meant to reach out to her. Or answer her question with his breath in the air.

Now, she knew he resided in the wind. That it bowed under his mercy with a flick of his wrist or the maddening way it fled away from him when he was unguarded.

Regardless of the small speck of control he had reigned over the past couple months, the air was a constant thrum of energy in her presence. All day, it had been swaying around her, moving in rhythm to the way she toyed with his emotions.

It was prideful of him to assume he understood the depths of his powers.

Even now, the urge to reach out to her felt demanding enough to rattle him.

As she vanished into the distance, Amon leaned deeper into the shadowed trees, shrouding himself away from the small crowds of families. He tied his hair back as his chest constricted in strange spasms.

What had he just agreed to?

In the span of a few moments, it had gone from bliss to revolution. She had thrilled him. Angered him. Captivated him. And now, drawn him into a very dangerous game.

Amon never coveted the Throne. He had never envisioned himself getting involved in a play for politics and power — the very things he loathed.

He could have laughed, though nothing about this was funny. He was nothing but a pawn to her. She had only asked for his story, smiled for him, traveled through the markets with him, as what? A test? To see if he was worthy? It was ridiculously morose, yet nothing was more ridiculous than the fact that he accepted if it meant he could have her.

Because, he was eager for her. Eager to know her. Eager to watch her defenses falter and to know what burned in her veins to inspire such foolish strength.

Did she know that he despised her at first?

He had despised people like her. Someone who was so blinded by love that she cowered when she could have raged. Someone who was loyal to a fault. A virtue that bled into a crippling vice. It made him livid every time he watched her looking at the Emperor. Looking at a man who he could only deem as a faithless rake. It made him want to rile her, provoke her, push her to look away.

But the more his eyes were stuck on this heartrending woman, the more he was stunned.

He saw the strength it took to wipe away as many tears as she had shed. The will she had to muster to smile when all she would have wanted was to break down and cry. Amon realized the very thing he despised was that she refused to show the strength he knew she had to have.

She didn't seem to remember, but he had found her countless times at the Banquets and Balls the Emperor threw for his lavish mistress. Hidden in the Gardens or settled in a dark hallway, he watched as she cried into her hands. He watched until it killed him and he couldn't help himself but approach her with a handkerchief — one she always declined with a smile on her face.

Did she not remember all the times he had sat with her as she tried to convince him she was fine? The moments where she barely noticed him or the aggravating way her eyes passed through him every time he looked at her... It was enough to know that he would never have the privilege of her attention. All of it was solely saved for her undeserving husband.

Then, something changed.

For the first time, she noticed him. In the Gardens, on the day he was to leave for Mallory, awareness had sparked in her eyes. Tension bled into the space between them. He was in awe.

For the first time, he had her attention.

And, like a smitten fool, it was the reason why he stayed. Despite his agreement with the Emperor to never return, he defied those orders if it meant he could have her attention for just a little while longer.

He scoffed into the wind.

He certainly had it now. Not only that... she accepted his proposal.

Amon swallowed down a bitter taste of remorse. It was selfish of him to ask for her hand, especially when he withheld the truth.

The truth that he did suspect foul play. That the scent of dark magic was tainted on the Emperor.

His knuckles whitened as he dug his fingers into his palm.

He didn't tell her this too. That his memories of the Emperor's time in Mallory felt wrong and faded. That it baffled him to see such a wicked man but recall the way Crown Prince Richard had been eager to return to his wife.

Was it wrong of him to keep it to himself?

Was it wrong that it didn't matter now?

He wanted her to be happy, but happy with him. If the cost of that was a Throne, he would take it. He would take as many crowns, stage as many coups and revolutions for a chance with her.

He couldn't gauge the depths of these torturous feelings or the damage he would face if his suspicions were true, but one thing was set in stone.

Loving her would be inevitable.