Florian knew how to smile. How to tilt his head, squint slightly, pronounce exactly the words people wanted to hear - nobility, courtiers, even foreign ambassadors. He arranged words like precious stones in a crown, becoming someone everyone desired near. Easy to admire, easy to trust - dangerously easy.

In his first palace weeks, nobility thought they'd found a loophole. Beautiful, graceful, not too domineering - "captivated," they'd whisper with smiles. Their compliments held hidden meanings, gifts "accidentally" appeared in his chambers. But Florian, despite soft voice and lazy smiles, was no fool.

He never argued or refused abruptly. Instead, he steered conversations gently, maintaining comfort while offering no openings. Every gesture screamed: "I am the Empress's husband. Not your ally or pawn. I am her man." The court soon learned this piece wouldn't be captured.

Today's audience echoed through marble halls with every step between columns. Florian sat beside the Empress, back straight, gaze soft yet attentive. Wine in his glass remained untouched - he'd sensed wrongness before they entered.

The Northern Alliance ambassador bowed deeply, smooth, flattering voice filling the hall: "As a sign of our strong alliance, we offer your Majesty the special honor of our prince - purebred, noble. We hope he becomes fourth husband, symbol of peace and trust."

Florian's expression didn't flicker, not even a blink. Inside, everything tightened. He didn't look at the ambassador but at her - catching the brief, almost imperceptible glance that said: "Later."

Later meant her private office - quiet, warm space where ink, embossed scrolls, and her faint scent mingled. She threw off her cloak, standing at the table studying maps while Florian remained by the window, half-shadowed.

"It's too easy," he began, voice steady despite temple-throbbing pulse. "Too convenient. This isn't a gift... it's a minion. Someone to tug your strings when your back turns. They don't want peace - they want eyes into your palace heart."

He turned fully, warm playful eyes now painfully serious. Stepping closer, he continued: "I understand peace's price better than anyone. Paid it when I agreed to be your husband. Would pay again if you command. But don't rush. I... I beg you - don't accept today."

She was silent, so he softened: "This isn't jealousy. Not some stupid feeling to dismiss as personal. It's premonition. Too carefully chosen words, too perfectly selected person... I know such people. They smile while hiding knives."

Florian moved nearer without touching, gaze saturated with sincerity, pain, and resolve. "I don't demand. Don't dare. Only ask, as the man you allowed near: listen. Not to politics. To yourself. To your heart."

The silence between them hummed not with emptiness but understanding - and perhaps, trust.