It was the same bitter, agonizing theater, rehearsed and re-enacted at every single visit to the imperial palace. A relentless, suffocating demand for an heir. The Emperor's words made it explicitly clear to everyone in the room: she hadn't even truly earned his approval to govern her own small kingdom, let alone enter the ruthless, bloody race for the imperial throne itself.
Swallowing the hot venom rising in her throat, Evangeline slowly lowered her head, forcing her rigid spine into a practiced, submissive apology that felt like swallowing glass.
"We shall do our utmost, Your Majesty," Julian interjected smoothly, sliding into the heavy silence to rescue the facade of a dutiful, desperate son-in-law.
"We shall see about that," the Emperor cut him off, his voice flat and completely dismissive as his heavy gaze remained fixed on his daughter's bowed head. "You may dismiss, Evangeline. And you as well, Rosateen. Leave us. I have matters to discuss with your husbands alone."
