Chapter 10
After The Storm…
Ophelia was discreetly told to stay behind for some time. Adrien told her not to go but she wanted to see what the Emperor had to say
The bronze doors groaned shut behind the last of the nobles. Their whispers faded down the corridor like dust in wind, leaving only silence in their wake.
The throne room now felt like a tomb—cold, vast, and heavy with the scent of incense and sickness.
Ophelia stood alone.
At the far end, the Emperor sat on a cushioned chair rather than his throne, his figure cloaked in velvet robes that looked too heavy for his frail body. His once-imposing presence had thinned—but not his voice, nor the weight of his gaze.
Emperor (hoarse): You've turned him against me.
Ophelia (measured, unflinching): No. You did that yourself, Your Majesty.
A breath. Then a cough, wet and ragged, breaks the silence. The Emperor dabs blood from his lips with a silk cloth he doesn't bother to hide.
Emperor (quiet, bitter): He would destroy the Empire for you.
Ophelia (stepping forward, voice like calm thunder): And what would you do if someone threatened what you love?
The Emperor chuckles—but there's no joy in it. Only weariness and rage left to rot.
Emperor: I built this Empire for my sons. I fed it my youth, my blood. Now the strongest one refuses to kneel. Not to me. Not to duty.
Ophelia: He didn't kneel today. But he stood trial. He let you strip him down before the court and say your piece. And still—he protected the Crown.
A pause, as her voice hardens.
That is loyalty. Even now.
The Emperor narrows his eyes.
Emperor: And you? What is your excuse? Your recklessness nearly shattered our alliance with Evlencia. You stood at the heart of a scandal that bled through our borders. You—my Crown Princess—invited chaos into my Empire.
Ophelia (voice cool as glass): If you had believed me when I warned you about the rot in your court, perhaps chaos would have found no foothold.
Emperor: Don't test me, girl.
Ophelia: I've been tested since the moment you placed the crown on my head.
A long, still silence.
The Emperor leans forward, trembling, his breath thin.
Emperor: Killian smells blood. Chaeri spreads poison. And Adrien—Adrien dares to walk out of this palace like it means nothing. If he withdraws from war, from duty, I may not be able to protect you.
Ophelia (voice suddenly quiet, sharp): You never have.
The words cut deeper than any blade.
The Emperor stares at her for a long moment.
Emperor (rough): Why didn't you stop him?
Ophelia (regal, unyielding): Because I couldn't. And I wouldn't. Adrien chose me over war, over power, over fear. And you're asking me why I let him?
She steps forward now, close enough that her shadow brushes his.
Ophelia (low and dangerous): You ask me to be loyal, but not loved. Useful, but not powerful. Visible, but silent.
She lifts her chin.
Ophelia: Make up your mind, Your Majesty. Am I your Crown Princess, or your scapegoat?
A tense silence stretches between them.
Then the Emperor slumps back into his chair. Weary. Defeated. Perhaps frightened by her—by how little she fears him now.
With a wave of his hand, he dismisses her.
Emperor (murmured): Go. Before I forget I still need you.
Ophelia bows—not as a servant, not in submission. But like a queen who allows herself to acknowledge a dying man's place in history.
And as she turns to leave, her spine straight, eyes steady, the silence that follows her is no longer the silence of fear—but of reckoning.
A few moments earlier
After the court was dismissed
As the chamber empties, Killian lingers in the corridor. His fists are clenched. His jaw is locked.
He had stood silently through the judgment—but his thoughts were a storm.
''He left the battlefield for her. Faced the court. Took the fall.''
''What kind of man does that? What kind of woman inspires it?''
He watches Adrien and Ophelia walk out together—unbowed, untouched by humiliation.
''Adrien lost everything. And still, he walked away like he won.''
Beside him, Lady Chaeri turns with a victorious smile. It dies the moment she meets his eyes.
Killian (low, tense): You think this is a victory?
Chaeri (uncertain): Adrien was punished. The Emperor finally—
Killian (cutting her off): The Crown Prince just warned us what happens if she's hurt again. And you still look smug.
He steps closer, voice like frost.
Killian: Be careful, Lady Chaeri. There's only one thing more dangerous than a prince in love.
Chaeri (softly): What?
Killian:
A prince with nothing left to lose.
Ophelia's Inner POV (As She Walks Out with Adrien)
They stared. They whispered. But none of it touched her.
She walked beside him—not as a saved woman, but as the reason the empire still stood.
Let them think she was poison. Let them call her distraction, downfall, disaster.
He chose her. And they would burn before she let them take that from him.
She looks up at Adrien.
His face is unreadable, but his hand tightens around hers. Not protectively. Possessively.
They are no longer the court's golden pair.
They are storm and steel—the beginning of a new empire.
The calm before the storm. The retreat before the empire crumbles.
The carriage arrived at dawn.
There was no formal entourage, no herald to announce them. Just two figures stepping out quietly, cloaked not in finery, but in the weight of everything they had lost—and everything they chose to keep.
Not a retreat. A pause in the storm. A daughter going home before she disappears.
The morning air was soft with fog, cool against the skin. Dew still clung to the garden hedges as the carriage rolled silently into the Seraphim courtyard.
There was no announcement. No formality.
Just Ophelia, cloaked in pale blue, stepping down into her childhood home—her eyes already misted.
Behind her, Adrien followed like a shadow, his usual air of command softened into quiet deference. He didn't come as a prince. He came as her companion, and nothing more.
The Duchess was the first to break the stillness.
She crossed the hall in an instant, sweeping Ophelia into her arms.
No words. Just the sound of breath catching in her throat as she held her daughter tight.
Duchess (whispering, trembling): You don't need to be strong here, my love. Just be mine for a little longer.
Ophelia nodded, burying her face into her mother's shoulder like she was a child again. The Duchess's fingers threaded through her hair, memorizing it.
Her father stood by the stair rail, eyes sharper than ever—but gentler too.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand reasons. He had already read between the lines. He always did.
When Ophelia approached, he opened his arms—not stiffly, but with quiet yearning. She stepped into them like she'd never left.
Duke (gently): Take what time you need. If the world grows too loud, remember: this place is yours. Always.
He placed a kiss on her temple, lingering just a second longer than he used to.
And then his gaze lifted—to Adrien.
The Duke walked over, expression unreadable, and stood face-to-face with the man who had defied the empire for his daughter.
Duke (quietly): I raised her to be brave. Not to be alone.
Adrien bowed his head slightly.
Adrien: She won't be.
There was a pause. Then, to Adrien's surprise, the Duke placed a firm hand on his shoulder—not as a warning, but as trust.
Duke: Then go. Wherever you both go… make it a place she can smile.
Later, the four of them sat under the old magnolia tree—the one Ophelia used to climb as a girl. They didn't speak of the court, or punishment, or war.
They spoke of their favorite books. Of roses that finally bloomed. Of how the cooks still over-salted the soup.
For a few stolen hours, she wasn't the Crown Princess. He wasn't the Iron Commander.
They were just Ophelia, Adrien, and the people who loved her most.
Outside in front of the gates
Duke (quietly): Leaving now will make enemies you can't name. You know that.
Ophelia: I already made them the day I was born.
The Duchess didn't speak. She only stepped forward and pulled her daughter into an embrace tighter than any Ophelia remembered. It was not permission. It was resignation.
Duchess (softly, into Ophelia's hair): Take your time coming back. Let them miss what they threw away.
Adrien stood beside them, back straight but hands folded behind him like a soldier awaiting judgment. But the Duke said nothing to him—not at first.
Only as the carriage pulled away did the Duke step down, walking until he was parallel with Adrien, never taking his eyes off the road.
Duke (low voice): You're not just leaving the capital. You're leaving your throne unguarded.
Adrien (equally quiet): Good. Let them think it's empty.
The Duke let out a breath. Not approval. Not disapproval.
Just understanding.
As the carriage pulled away, Ophelia leaned out the window one last time.
Her mother waved with a handkerchief. Her father stood tall beside her, giving a nod—not farewell, but "I'll see you again."
Adrien reached across the carriage and took Ophelia's hand in his.
Adrien (softly): Ready?
Ophelia smiled through the shimmer of tears.
Ophelia: I already miss them.
Adrien: They're proud of you. Of us. I could feel it.
Their fingers intertwined. The estate faded behind them, but the love lingered—tucked into their hearts like armor.
They didn't run. They carried the blessing of a home that would wait for them, no matter how long the storm lasted.
They left without noise. No sendoff. No imperial fanfare. Just the sound of hooves and wheels against the gravel drive, fading into the morning fog.
The estate's servants watched from behind curtains. Word would spread by nightfall:
"The Crown Prince and Lady Ophelia left the Seraphim Estate in silence. No guards. No attendants. Only each other."
And just like that, they vanished from the court map.