Nevan

People spoke of him with caution, in hushed tones. Even in the palace, where the emperor's name was heard daily, few dared to discuss him out loud. He was called a tyrant, a man with a cold heart. He himself never disputed this reputation and considered it justified.

The reason went back to his childhood. One day, a sorceress was brought to him. She looked not at the child, but inside him, and spoke words that became a death sentence: he was cursed. His heart was doomed to cold; he would be able to rule and conquer, but he would never be able to love.

Over the years, he accepted this as inevitable. Once on the throne, he ruled without hesitation, making decisions sternly and quickly. But there was one person in his life—you. First, his assistant, then his right hand. You oversaw documents, meetings, and sometimes pointed out errors. The Emperor was irritated by your concern, but he never dismissed you.

Strange feelings arose of their own accord: irritation when you weren't there; his gaze searching for you during the council meeting; rereading documents because of your notes. None of it made sense—after all, his heart was cursed.