EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 35: Dreams and Duties

The first light of dawn filtered through the narrow windows of Constantine's private chamber, casting soft streaks of gold across the austere stone walls. Beside him, Maria's even breathing offered a rare balm to his frayed nerves. For nights now, her presence had been his quiet refuge against the relentless storm of duties pressing on him.

He watched her sleep, her dark hair spilling over the pillow, a faint crease still visible on her brow. There was something in the way she held herself, even in rest, that stirred a bittersweet pang in his chest. The memory of Emily—soft laughter, warm glances, a life untouched by war—rose unbidden. Maria was nothing like her, and yet, in moments like this, the echo was undeniable.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her. The bed creaked faintly, a sound swallowed by the stillness of the chamber. But then, a cry pierced the silence.

"No!" Maria bolted upright, her voice raw with terror, her hands clutching the blanket as if it could shield her from unseen horrors.

Constantine sat up at once, his heart pounding. "Maria," he said softly, his voice steady despite his alarm. "It's a dream. Only a dream. You're safe."

Her wide eyes searched the room, unseeing at first, before focusing on him. A gasp escaped her lips, and she shuddered, pressing trembling fingers to her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice broken. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he said, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. "Nightmares have a cruel grip. Do you want to tell me what you saw?"

She hesitated, her fingers twisting in the blanket. "It's always the same," she murmured, her voice hollow. "The soldiers, the fire, the screams... everything I loved burning to ash."

He moved closer, drawing her into his arms with a gentleness that belied his warrior's strength. "Those days are gone," he assured her, his voice low and firm. "No harm will come to you here, not while I live."

Maria rested her head against his chest, her body trembling against his. "Even awake, it feels so real. The heat of the flames, the weight of the loss. How do you escape your demons, Constantine?"

He paused, his hand stilling on her back. Her question, so simple, cut deep. How did he escape? The memories of his own battles were woven into his very being.

"I don't escape them," he said at last, his voice quiet. "But I face them by thinking of what I can still protect, who I can still protect." He tilted her chin so their eyes met. "And by remembering that even in the darkest nights, the dawn still comes."

Maria's lips trembled, a faint smile breaking through her sorrow. "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," he admitted with a faint, rueful smile. "Strength isn't the absence of fear. It's standing firm even when fear tries to root you in place."

She reached up, her fingers grazing the line of his jaw, roughened with stubble. "You've shown me that kindness can be as strong as any blade."

"And you've taught me that vulnerability isn't weakness," he replied, catching her hand and pressing it gently. "It's a path to healing."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing his in a feather-light kiss. "I never thought I'd find peace in someone like you," she whispered.

His brow arched, a flicker of playfulness breaking through the solemnity. "Someone like me?"

"A warrior. A ruler. A Despot," she said, her tone lighter now. "But you're more than that."

"And so are you," he said, his voice earnest. "More than the shadows that chase you."

She sighed, settling against him once more, the tension easing from her shoulders. Her gaze drifted to a well-worn book on the bedside table, its pages faintly curled from frequent use.