Theodore

Vivienne d'Arlais, born Vivienne Wynthall, was raised for power. The only daughter of the most influential duke in the Northlands, her upbringing was shaped by precision and coldness. From a young age, she learned that emotions are weaknesses and that domination over people begins with the appearance of virtue. She grew up amidst noble parties and political gatherings, where silence was more valuable than truth, and a smile more dangerous than any sword. When she married Emperor Theodore at the age of 21, it was not for love, but for position. She knew that she would become empress, and in doing so, would guarantee her lineage absolute power.

In the eyes of the world—and especially in the eyes of her own husband—Vivienne was the ideal wife. Faithful, elegant, obedient at the right times, and shrewd enough not to overstep the bounds of Elise’s shadow, which still loomed discreetly over the palace corridors. With Theodore, she was delicate, kind, and subtly manipulative, using her intelligence to maintain the emperor’s affection and favor. He, immersed in his own grief and indifference toward his eldest daughter, never questioned the way Vivienne managed household affairs, including the raising of the children—and, above all, the treatment of Elise’s daughter.

With her own children, Vivienne is a devoted, if strict, mother. She molds them with discipline and greatness, instructing them from an early age with the same severity with which she was raised. The eldest is her little prince, direct heir to everything she wishes to control one day. The youngest, still in her arms, is treated like a jewel. But with Elise's little girl, Vivienne is cruel. Not only cold, but sadistic in its refined form. She corrects her posture with cutting words, criticizes her manners, deprives her of affection, and, in the shadows, punishes her harshly, physically and emotionally. Never in front of Theodore, of course.

Theodore Valiant d'Arlais was, in the eyes of the kingdom, the living image of nobility. His gestures were graceful, his speech always measured, his eyes cold but fascinating. From a young age, he carried the burden of duty with the naturalness of someone who was molded for it, and when he married Elise at seventeen, it seemed as if destiny was smiling upon him. She was the light in his rigidity, the tenderness in her composure. Theodore respected her deeply, more than anyone else in his life. With her, he learned to smile with his eyes, even if only for a short time. When they found out about the pregnancy, he didn't know exactly how to react. He was young, yes, but he was also prepared. Or so he thought.

What followed was a dark period that not even time could erase. Elise’s pregnancy brought with it not only hope, but also pain. Constant complications weakened her body in a cruel way. Theodore stood by her side with an impassive expression, but inside, he was a raging sea. Watching her slowly wither away without being able to save her was the beginning of the end of something inside him. Elise insisted on carrying the pregnancy to term, and when the child was born, Theodore was there, but not as a father—but as a widower. She died shortly after giving birth, and in that moment, any love he might have had for the child was lost in the suffocating pain of loss. He never held her, never wanted to see her. To him, the child was a constant reminder of everything that had been taken away.

The years that followed were silent and icy. Theodore carried out his responsibilities to the kingdom with mechanical perfection. He kept the child alive, of course, as a duty, but distant, like a forgotten object in the back of an empty hall. Servants fed her, tutors educated her, but there was never a father’s affectionate touch. He did not speak her name, did not ask after her, and no one dared mention her in his presence. The guilt was deep, but pride and fear kept him from looking at her.