I whistled a cheerful tune—some half-remembered pop song from my old life—as I admired the sleek new invention cradled in my hand. Technically not mine; some earth scientist dreamed it up centuries ago.
But here?
My genius 'imperial decree pen'—polished steel nib for flawless strokes, internal ink reservoir with smooth capillary flow, now enchanted with OG Caspian's subtle magic for self-refilling via ambient mana and anti-smudge illusions that make every signature crisp and permanent.
No more quill-dipping hell, no ink blots ruining decrees, and writing. This pen can be used for anything.
Whatever, it makes my life easier, and that's pure emperor-level win. I tested it with a flourish, ink gliding like butter across a scrap parchment—perfect.
I giggled gleefully, twirling it between my slender fingers like a baton as I strolled beside Merol down the gleaming polished marble corridor, my crimson robes swishing dramatically with each step, intricate gold embroidery catching the flickering torchlight and making dragons seem to dance.
He shot me a weird look, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline in clear confusion.
"Hey, Merol. Am I beautiful?" I asked innocently, batting my thick lashes.
He coughed violently, face turning beet-red as a ripe summer tomato, nearly dropping his ledger. "What?!"
"The maids said I'm prettier than every girl in the empire. Prettier than Jenne herself, even."
"Your Majesty, don't put weird things in my head!" He fumbled with his spectacles, flustered to his core, ears practically steaming.
"So, were they lying?"
"No! They weren't! Not even close—you're unmatched."
"They were telling the truth. So, am I beautiful?"
"You're too beautiful. Ethereal, like a living painting. Happy now?"
"Too much!" I beamed, flipping my hair dramatically—though tied neatly in a high regal bun on my nape, a few artful golden strands framed my face like a shimmering halo, catching the light just so.
"The meeting with the nobles starts soon," he warned, gently but firmly steering me toward the towering grand doors flanked by stoic armoured guards, their halberds glinting.
I was decked in full emperor regalia—an inner layer of sheer white silk hugging my lithe, delicate form like a second skin, overlaid with heavy crimson brocade robes embroidered with coiling gold dragons that gleamed like living fire, wide flowing sleeves fluttering with my gestures.
A luxurious fur-trimmed mantle draping my narrow shoulders for added gravitas, diamond-encrusted crown nestling perfectly ON MY HEAD, sceptre humming faintly with latent magic in my grip.
"Merol, do you think that I am the mot beautiful person in this world?"
"Tch! Yes, okay?"
"Yes!"
A ceremonial sword hung at my hip for show, its hilt studded with emeralds. "Merol, my hair looks good, right? Regal enough to shut them up?"
"Your Majesty, keep your ego in check. Though... yes, it suits you perfectly—highlights your eyes."
"Of course I do!" I huffed playfully, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.
The throne room doors groaned open on massive iron hinges, revealing a vast sea of nobles in opulent silks, velvets, and jewels—all leaping to their feet in synchronized bows and curtsies, murmurs rippling like wind through wheat—"All hail Emperor Caspian Ovelstarr! Glory to the Imperial Throne!"
Crystal chandeliers dangled from the vaulted ceiling, casting prismatic rainbows across intricate mosaic floors depicting the empire's ancient conquests and mythical beasts.
Massive marble pillars flanked the hall, banners of noble houses fluttering.
Then I spotted them at the forefront, the four male leads radiating raw, overwhelming power like storm clouds ready to burst—Jenne's destined harem, now my biggest threats and hottest dilemmas.
First was—Kairos Hvosse, the brooding leader of the underworld—tall and lean as a shadowblade assassin, cloaked in scarred midnight-black leathers from countless back-alley wars, a hooded mantle half-shadowing his sharp, predatory face.
His pale skin stretched taut over razor-high cheekbones, thin lips curled in a perpetual smirk revealing a hint of fang, crimson eyes glowing like fresh-spilled blood under tousled jet-black hair streaked with silver scars from blade fights.
Twin curved daggers hung at his belt, dripping faint green poison; rumours swirled he commanded thieves' guilds, assassins, and black markets from the empire's festering underbelly, his aura reeking of smoke, secrets, and cold steel.
But here, he was a marquis.
Beside him loomed Lord Elowen Veyra, the supreme mage—ethereal and towering at 6'4", with flowing silver hair cascading to his waist like liquid moonlight under the chandeliers, piercing violet eyes crackling with restrained arcane fury behind delicate wireframe spectacles.
His staff pulsed with azure sparks and faint thunder-rumbles, deep indigo robes embroidered with glowing runes clinging to a wiry, deceptively lean frame honed by endless spell weaving marathons—subtle muscles rippling under fabric.
Face sharp as shattered ice, expression perpetually disdainful, like the entire world was a failed experiment beneath his intellectual boot.
And dominating the centre like a war god—Duke Darius Redrowe himself, commander of the knights—a mountain of muscle at 6'5", broad-shouldered and thick-thighed in form-fitting military blacks edged with silver knightly insignia, polished boots thudding subtle authority with every shift.
Tousled raven-black hair fell messily to his shoulders, framing warrior-god features—high cheekbones, straight aristocratic nose, full lips twisted in barely-contained fury, piercing eyes that could freeze blood in veins.
Although, they now bored into me with raw, barely-veiled annoyance and something hotter—which was in my case. His chiselled jaw looked powerful, massive chest straining the fabric from endless battlefield training—thighs like ancient tree trunks flexing under those tight breeches that did nothing to hide memories of his massive, throbbing bulge stretching my throat.
Their glares hit like poisoned arrows straight to the heart—pure anger, seething hatred, barely veiled contempt for the 'fragile flower' emperor they saw as a weak puppet.
I flinched hard, body tensing, instinctively grabbing Merol's sleeve with white-knuckled fingers as my heart hammered wildly.
Hostile much? Plot kicking in already—jealousy flags from OG Caspian's petty decrees and Jenne obsession? Will they kill me right here or something? I wanted to yell at them, but I kept quiet.
Swallowing rising panic, I released him with a shaky breath and ascended the gleaming dais step by step, sinking into the throne's carved obsidian embrace with forced poise—legs crossing elegantly under heavy robes, crown steady despite my pulse.
"Your Majesty, why did you summon us?" Darius growled first, arms crossed over his massive chest like iron bands, annoyance dripping like venom from every clipped syllable—silver eyes raking me head to toe, lingering a beat too long on my pouty lips.
I pouted dramatically, huge emerald eyes narrowing petulantly.
Can't he be a little nice? I gave him my first blowjob—deepthroated every throbbing inch, swallowed his thick, salty load like a desperate slut.
And my first kiss, sloppy and hungry—which is way more important!
"I have something to announce. Empire-changing. All of you, sit."
"You're not wasting our time with beauty tips or hairstyles, right?" Darius pressed, thighs flexing visibly under those tight breeches—unhelpful flashbacks of his heat, his groans, flooding my mind, making my cheeks flush pink under the scrutiny.
"I am the emperor!" I shot back defiantly, imperial decree pen tapping my sceptre imperiously, its magic humming audibly as nobles leaned in breathless, the air thick with anticipation.