The halls of the imperial palace were vast, cold, and quiet at this hour.

I walked briskly, my bare feet barely making a sound against the polished marble. The fabric of my nightgown swayed around my ankles as I turned the corner, heading straight for the Emperor’s study. The guards posted outside barely reacted when I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside.

He was there, of course—where else would he be? The Emperor never retired early. He stood near the tall windows, reviewing documents by candlelight, a glass of wine resting untouched on the desk. His dark robes, embroidered with gold, draped over his broad shoulders, making him look even more imposing.

I knew the moment he noticed me. He exhaled quietly, setting his papers aside before turning to face me.

"It’s late," he said, his tone neither surprised nor particularly interested. "You should be in bed."

I crossed my arms, determined. "I can't sleep."

One of his brows lifted, but there was no amusement in his expression. He tilted his head slightly, observing me like a father might regard a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner. Not angry—just vaguely exasperated.

"That isn't a reason to be wandering the palace at night."

"I'm not wandering," I shot back. "I came to see you."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned back to his desk, gathering his documents again, as if the conversation was already over. "Go back to your chambers, little one."

Little one.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

"I'm not a child," I muttered, though I hated how petulant it sounded.

That actually made him look at me. His sharp, calculating eyes swept over me, assessing.

"You are nineteen," he said simply. "Of course you’re a child."

Heat rose to my face, and I took a step closer. "I'm your wife."

"By arrangement," he replied without hesitation. "Not by choice. You are my responsibility, nothing more."

The words struck, though I wasn't sure why I expected anything else.

He was always like this. Detached. Formal. Distant.

To him, I was just a girl. A duty assigned to him by politics and alliances. I had seen how he treated foreign dignitaries, military commanders—people he actually saw as equals. There was respect in his voice when he spoke to them. With me? There was patience. The kind given to something fragile and harmless.

I could throw a tantrum, demand attention, even attempt to seduce him like the Empress I was supposed to be. But he would just sigh, maybe scold me lightly, and send me on my way, like one would with an overexcited child past bedtime.

"I see the way you look at me," I said, voice quieter now. "Like I'm some... foolish girl playing dress-up in a crown."

He held my gaze, unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed and stepped closer.

"You are young," he said, not unkindly. "One day, you will understand why that matters."

My heart clenched.

That was it. No explanation. No attempt to reassure me. Just the quiet certainty that I would grow, that time would shape me into something else.

But for now?

For now, he would always see me as a child.