A week passed, there are rumors spreading, questioning why the Empress—who is me—was still not pregnant.

The mere thought of being pregnant made my stomach churn. Alam ko na kailangan namin na magkaanak ng Emperor ngunit bakit kailangan madaliin? The Emperor is still young, and so am I—we're not dying anytime soon. Honestly, the impatience of these people is nauseating. They’re even speculating that one of us might be infertile, as if that’s any of their business!

Do they not understand that producing an heir isn’t something to be forced? There are matters far more important than satisfying their need for gossip. Every time I hear whispers about my womb, it feels like an invasion of my privacy, a violation of my very existence. The pressure they impose is suffocating, as if I’m nothing more than a vessel, a tool for securing the future of the empire.

It’s almost laughable how little they know about the complexities of ruling, as if a child is the sole answer to all the kingdom's problems. They act as though I owe them an heir immediately, without considering the burdens that come with such expectations.

The night was quiet as I made my way back to the palace. The evening had been productive—one of the city branches of my clothing store had been bustling, its success evident in the growing demand. But now, as the moon hung high and the cool breeze brushed against my skin, my thoughts were no longer on business. The palace loomed ahead, its grand silhouette casting long shadows in the moonlight, the stillness of the night a stark contrast to the pulse of the city.

I adjusted the collar of my cloak.

It was then, as I passed beneath one of the high, arched windows, that I noticed it—a shadow, flickering behind the curtains. A figure, moving inside one of the chambers with speed and purpose. My steps faltered, curiosity pulling at me. I paused, staring up at the window as the shadow’s movements grew more pronounced. The slashing of blades, the faint whisper of steel cutting through air.

It was Arthemice.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I recognized the erratic rhythm of her movements. She was practicing with her daggers again. My mind immediately shifted from curiosity to suspicion. Arthemice had appeared at the palace as if from nowhere, a stranger with no past I could verify. I had taken her in, not because I trusted her, but because something about her had intrigued me. Still, hindi ako mangmang. I kept her at arm's length, watched her closely.

Tonight, it seemed, my instincts had been correct.

My curiosity grew with every passing second. I went inside, moving swiftly toward her chambers. I knew it was reckless, but I cared little for caution tonight. When I reached her door, I didn’t bother to knock. I pushed it open, stepping inside without hesitation.

The room was dimly lit, just as I’d seen from outside. The faint glow from the hearth cast long shadows across the stone floor, and there, at the center of the room, was Arthemice. She was so focused on her routine that she didn’t hear me enter. Her arms moved in wide arcs, her daggers slicing through the air with a force that lacked refinement. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her breath heavy.

I watched in silence for a moment, assessing her. Her movements were clumsy, predictable. The strikes she practiced were powerful but unmeasured—she wasn’t aware of her own vulnerabilities, leaving herself exposed with each swing. I clicked my tongue softly, and the sound echoed in the chamber. Arthemice spun around, her daggers raised in defense, finally noticing my presence.

“Your Majesty,” she stammered, her breath uneven from exertion. “I didn’t expect—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice sharp, cold. I let the door click shut behind me as I took a step closer. “You didn’t expect me to find you flailing about with those daggers like an amateur, did you?”

Her brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and embarrassment crossing her face. She straightened her posture, her grip on the daggers tightening as though to regain some sense of control. But I could see it—the uncertainty in her eyes.

“You call that training?” I asked, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Your movements are sloppy. Your form? Laughable. I’ve seen children with better control than what you just displayed.”

Her face flushed with anger, her lips parting to speak, but I wasn’t finished. “You swing those blades with all the subtlety of a butcher,” I continued, circling her now, my eyes never leaving her daggers. “Do you truly think brute strength will save you in a real fight? That if you just swing hard enough, you’ll survive?”

She bristled under my words, her jaw clenching as she stood her ground. “I’m doing what I can to improve,” she said, her voice tight, defensive. “I wasn’t aware I was to be judged so harshly for trying.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused by her defiance. “Trying, Arthemice? Is that what you call it?” I flicked my abaniko open with a sharp snap, letting the golden ribs catch the faint light of the room. “If this is the best you can do, you won’t last a minute against someone with real skill. You’ll be dead before you can even raise those daggers.”

The air between us thickened, her frustration palpable. Her eyes flashed with defiance, but there was something more beneath the surface—pride, perhaps.

“If you’re so certain of my failure,” she said, her voice low, simmering with anger, “then why don’t you prove it? Test me. Let’s see how easily you can defeat me.”

The room seemed to grow colder as her challenge hung in the air. A part of me was surprised—boldness wasn’t something I expected from someone like her. But it amused me. She truly believed she could hold her own.

I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Very well,” I said, my tone almost mocking. I took another step forward, closing the abaniko in one swift motion. “Let’s see if you can back up that bravado.”

She shifted into a ready stance, her daggers raised, her eyes locked onto me with fierce determination. I could see the tension in her muscles, the way she held her breath, anticipating my first move. But I wasn’t in a rush. I wanted to see what she would do, how far she would push herself.

She lunged first, as I expected, her daggers cutting through the air with speed but no precision. I stepped aside, letting her momentum carry her forward. She swung again, aiming for my side, but I easily flicked my abaniko up to deflect the blade. The clang of metal echoed through the chamber.

“Too slow,” I taunted, my voice calm as I sidestepped her again, my movements fluid, graceful. “And too predictable. If this is your best, Arthemice, then you’ve already lost.”

Her frustration grew with every missed strike, and I could see the desperation in her eyes. She pressed harder, her swings wild, hoping to catch me off guard. But I was already three steps ahead. Each of her strikes was met with a deflection from my abaniko, the metal fan serving as both shield and weapon.

She gritted her teeth, her movements becoming more frantic. I could see her tiring, her breath becoming more labored with each failed attempt to land a blow.

“You fight with emotion, not strategy,” I said, my voice sharp. I spun around her next attack, bringing the edge of my abaniko down hard on her wrist. The dagger slipped from her grip, clattering to the floor. She gasped, stumbling back, clutching her wrist in pain.

I stood tall, looking down at her with a mixture of pity and disdain. “You think anger will give you strength? That desperation will save you? You’re wrong. Emotion is your weakness. It clouds your judgment. Makes you reckless.”

Her chest heaved, her eyes wide with both pain and disbelief. The fight was draining from her, and yet, I could still see the fire in her eyes—the stubbornness that refused to let her back down completely.

“I’ll improve,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking but filled with determination.

I tilted my head, watching her carefully. There was something in her, something raw and untamed. She had potential, but she was letting her pride blind her to her own shortcomings. If she could learn to control that fire, perhaps she could be of use. Perhaps.

“I should hope so,” I replied coolly, snapping my abaniko shut with a flick of my wrist. “Because if you remain this weak, Arthemice, you are nothing but a liability. And I do not tolerate liabilities in my court.”

I turned my back on her, my words lingering in the air like a final judgment. She had much to learn, and I had no time for her pride.

As I left her chamber, the sound of her labored breathing faded behind me. Whether she would rise from this failure or let it consume her… that was up to her. But one thing was certain: if she stayed in my palace, she would need to prove herself far more capable than what she had shown tonight.

I arrived at my chamber, and as I stepped inside, I was startled by the sight before me. "Your Majesty!" I gasped, clutching my chest, my eyes wide in surprise. But I quickly regained my composure.

"Why are you here, Your Majesty?" I asked, walking toward the wardrobe. As I removed my cloak, I carefully hung it inside.

"Where have you been, wife?" his voice was serious, and I could feel his gaze on me. I turned briefly to look at him before heading to my desk. Opening a drawer, I placed my accessories and fan inside.

"I was attending to business," I replied, walking over to the mirror. I began to undo my hair, releasing the ties that held it in place. Then, I removed my dress, leaving only my thin nightgown.

"Are you troubled by the people’s demands?" his question made me frown. I looked at him through the reflection of the mirror, confusion evident in my voice. "Demands, Your Majesty?" I asked, unsure of what he meant.

He stared at me intently. "About getting pregnant," he clarified. I paused for a moment, realizing he knew about the rumors.

I let out a soft sigh, turning my gaze back to my reflection as I began to brush my hair. "If that’s what you want as well, then I suppose I don’t have a choice," I muttered under my breath. I saw him rise from the bed and approach me.

He gently took the brush from my hand and began brushing my hair himself. "I don’t want you to get pregnant in the middle of the empire's current chaos," he said, his voice calm and steady. "It would only cause you unnecessary stress," he remarked.

I pressed my lips together, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. His concern for my well-being was reassuring. Ayaw ko rin magkaanak, sa ngayon.

"That’s a relief for me, Your Majesty," I said quietly. I caught his gaze in the mirror once again, feeling a strange tension building between us.

"Hmmm... " I watched as he took a strand of my hair, bringing it to his nose and inhaling its scent. He closed his eyes briefly, as if savoring the moment.

When he opened them again, there was an intensity in his gaze, an almost electrifying energy that sent a shiver down my spine. I pressed my lips together tightly, feeling my heart quicken. Damn, he looked so sensual standing behind me, so close, so dangerously alluring.

I gasped when he suddenly lifted me off the floor. "Your Majesty," I called out, my heart racing uncontrollably. He didn’t respond or even glance my way as he carried me toward the bed, his movements gentle yet deliberate. He laid me down softly, settling beside me. Before lying down fully, he leaned in and placed a tender kiss on my forehead.

"Sweet dreams, wife," he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

I swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me—desire, confusion, and a touch of fear.

Damn, this man is driving me insane.