Chapter 274: Dear Rosalie 2

The heavy doors clicked shut as Emperor Cassian von Regulas stepped into the dim guest chamber, an image of untouchable imperial majesty. Draped in a charcoal-and-gold coat trimmed with snow-white ermine, his silver-white hair swept back flawlessly, he carried himself not as a man entering a room, but as a conqueror inspecting captured territory.

His eyes immediately found the Empress standing by the table.

A smile touched his thin lips. It was neither the tender greeting of a spouse nor the quiet relief of partners surviving a court of wolves. It was a mocking sneer disguised as regal courtesy.

"Hello, Rosalie," Cassian greeted, slipping out of his heavy coat as he closed the distance between them. "It has been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company."

He draped the fur coat over the back of an armchair and eyed the untouched, grease-filmed cup on the table.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "How was the imperial hospitality? I trust my staff treated the Empress with the deference she deserves?"

Rosalie remained still. Her hands were folded over her stomach, her gaze fixed entirely on the floorboards, deliberately refusing to grant him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye.

"It was adequate," she whispered, her voice barely louder than the patter of rain against the glass.

"Adequate? Truly, a woman of simple pleasures," Cassian chuckled.

He sank lazily into the high-backed armchair, crossing one long leg over the other, his posture oozing effortless dominance.

Rosalie’s throat tightened as the suffocating presence of the man she had once adored filled the room.

Years ago, he had been nothing more than the charming third son of a minor count, a silver-tongued lover who looked at her with starry eyes and whispered grand oaths of devotion in the ancestral gardens. She had held the imperial bloodline, the undisputed right to the sovereign throne; he had held nothing. She had defied her court, loved him with everything she possessed, and handed him her heart—only for him to orchestrate an insidious, ruthless coup.

He had manipulated the high noble houses against her, seized the imperial crown, stripped her of every title but a hollow, decorative crown, and shamelessly installed his own mistress in the inner palace while forcing Rosalie to live as an ignored, shadowed ornament in her ancestral home.

Rosalie swallowed the bitter gall rising in her chest. "Why was I summoned, Cassian?"

"What? Can a husband not ask to see his wife without an official petition?"

"If that were true," Rosalie replied quietly, her calm voice brittle as dry leaves, "you would have asked long before today."

Cassian let out an amused scoff. He reached into his lapel, pulled out a silver case, and lit a slender cigarette, blowing a cloud of gray smoke straight toward her lowered face.

He looked at her with pure, condescending pity.

"I only wanted to inquire about a rather peculiar development in my palace: our dear daughter, Seraphina. The girl spent her entire childhood despised and ignored by you, yet suddenly... she has been clinging to your skirts for the past two weeks. Why is that, Rosalie?"

Rosalie did not blink. She stood like a carved marble statue, offering not a single twitch, not a single breath of explanation.

Cassian clicked his tongue, waving his hand in annoyance. "Tsk. Still so remarkably dull. Fine, leave it."

He leaned forward, his silver brows drawing together as his tone lost its mocking levity, sharpening into something volatile.

"Where is she right now? Seraphina has vanished from the capital, and my informants tell me she left without an imperial escort or a royal carriage. Where is she, Rosalie?"

"I do not know," Rosalie answered smoothly, her tone flat. "She merely mentioned a fun trip to the south with her peers—"

THUP.

The sound of the slap reverberated off the vast chamber.

The impact snapped Rosalie’s head sideways, her neck straining as the sheer force knocked her knees against the table. Her breath left her in a sharp, ragged gasp. Her pale cheek stung, the blood instantly pooling at the corner of her split lip.

Cassian stood over her, his face twisted in ugly, undisguised fury.

"You don’t know?! Do you take me for an idiot, woman?! I have watched that insolent little brat for years! I know precisely what she is orchestrating in the dark! I know she is plotting to tear the crown off my head!"

He leaned in so close his tobacco-laced breath burned against her stinging cheek.

"Listen to me carefully, Rosalie. Tomorrow at dawn, I am departing for Rujgard. The underworld has fractured and I intend to claim that territory under my direct personal banner. It will take me one week."

He tapped her bruised chin with two hard, threatening fingers.

"When I return to the capital, I expect Seraphina in front of me. Bring her back from wherever she is skulking. Put a leash around her neck, break her rebellious spine, and keep her locked inside her quarters. If I return and find her plotting behind my back... I will not hesitate to bury both mother and daughter."

Without waiting for an answer, Cassian turned around, grabbed his fur coat, and stormed out, slamming the heavy doors behind him.

***

Rosalie pushed through the grand doors of the palace, stepping out onto the marble stairs. The cold wind tore through her gray robes, biting viciously at the fiery, throbbing welt across her cheek.

Emily waited rigidly at the foot of the steps

The moment the young knight saw the Empress step into the downpour, her eyes fell upon the mark marring that elegant, pale face. Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She froze in sheer, horrifying shock before surging forward, raising the oiled-silk umbrella high to cover her sovereign.

"Your Majesty—!" Emily gasped, her voice cracking in horror. "Your face... did the Emperor do this?!"

"Lower the umbrella, Emily," Rosalie commanded quietly.

"Your Majesty, you’re freezing, please—"

"I said lower it," Rosalie repeated, not breaking her stride as she stepped entirely out from beneath the canopy, walking directly into the open, relentless rain.

The rain soaked through her dark hair within seconds, plastering midnight strands to her pale neck and running down her face in cold, cleansing rivulets. Emily scrambled after her, the umbrella clutched uselessly in her grip, her golden-brown eyes wide with agonizing helplessness and fury.

"Did he lay his hands on you?!" Emily pleaded through gritted teeth, tears of sheer outrage stinging her own eyes. "Tell me, Your Majesty! Let me—"

Rosalie stopped.

She turned slowly on the wet gravel path, her clothes drenched, her robes clinging heavily to her slender frame. The rain cascaded off her chin, mixing seamlessly with the silent tears streaming down from her eyes.

"You will not utter a single word of this to Seraphina," Rosalie whispered.