I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 111: Broken Oaths

The light crept through the chamber windows, casting a soft, ghostly glow over Mathias as he concentrated intensely on the task at hand.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his fingers trembling slightly as he helped Olivia into her heavy traveling clothes. He handled her with a cautious reverence, as if any sudden sound or misplaced touch might shatter the fragile glass of the moment they shared.

"Mathias..." Olivia’s voice was a low silk thread, vibrating against the silence as she felt his cold fingers fumbling with the buttons of her coat. "Must we truly depart today? Why are you in such a desperate hurry?"

He paused, adjusting the heavy wool of her scarf with a gentle tug. "Yes," he replied, his voice firm yet hushed. "Leila insisted on rest. I am taking you somewhere far from this noise, where the world cannot find us."

She let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of her exhaustion. "Very well... but you could have summoned Kira for this. You are not accustomed to such mundane things, Mathias."

He stilled for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on her sightless, hauntingly beautiful face. "You were the one who asked that no one know of our departure, remember? I intend to keep that promise."

Olivia offered no further protest, surrendering to his clumsy care. She felt him attempting to gather the rebellious strands of her hair, his hands moving with the awkwardness of a man more familiar with steel than silk.

After several failed attempts that only left his fingers tangled in her dark tresses, he let out a defeated exhale and allowed her hair to fall loosely over her shoulders.

"It seems," he whispered, a hint of a wry, defeated smile in his voice, "that I am far better suited for a sword fight than for taming your hair. I shall leave it be. You look more beautiful in this chaos, anyway."

Olivia let out a soft, dry laugh—the first genuine sound to break her cold composure. "Ah, yes," she murmured, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "The classic excuses of the incompetent."

The fragile intimacy of the moment was shattered by a series of aggressive thumps against the door before Leon burst into the room with his trademark lack of boundaries.

He stood there, arms crossed, radiating impatience. "When exactly do you two plan on finishing?" he barked. "The horses are starting to die of boredom, and frankly, so am I. You’re supposed to be helping her into her clothes, Mathias, not sewing them from scratch, for heaven’s sake."

Olivia stiffened instantly, the warmth vanishing from her face. She leaned toward Mathias’s ear, her voice a sharp, jagged whisper. "I thought you said we were going alone? What is this nuisance doing here?"

Mathias leaned down, his voice barely a vibration intended only for her. "That was the original plan," he admitted, a trace of annoyance in his tone.

"But this ’leech’ latched onto me and swore he wouldn’t let me leave without him—claiming I’m still an invalid and you aren’t much better. He insisted he wanted a getaway with his wife as well... What did you want me to do?"

He added softly, "Don’t worry, as long as Isabella is with him, he’ll be hovering around her like a shadow and leave us in peace."

Olivia’s sightless eyes widened slightly. "What? Isabella is coming with us?"

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Isabella appeared at the threshold. She stood there like a marble statue—cold, pale, and immovable.

Yet, her eyes betrayed her, shimmering with a profound, aching sadness as she studied Olivia. Words seemed to claw at the back of her throat; she clearly wanted to speak, to apologize, or perhaps to scream in frustration.

But the wall they had built between them with their last cruel exchange was too high, too thick. Silence was the only mercy left.

Without another word, the group moved toward the carriage waiting in the shadows of the rear courtyard. They climbed inside, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension.

As the carriage lurched forward and began to eat away the distance toward the North, everyone retreated into their own private worlds.

Everyone, except Isabella. Her gaze remained fixed on Olivia, haunted and desperate. She looked like a woman drowning in words she couldn’t say, her tongue failing her every time she tried to bridge the frozen gap between them.

Empress Alisha gathered the shattered fragments of her wounded pride, rising from the floor with a slow, agonizing dignity. She brushed the dust from her royal silks as if smoothing away the humiliation of her fall.

Standing face-to-face with Roland, she found those glowing yellow eyes and that treacherous, unshakable smirk to be a rusted key—one that forced open the locked doors of her memory.

Against her will, she began to sink into the darkest depths of her past, to a time when blood and betrayal had no place.

"My love... wake up."

Lucius opened his eyes slowly, greeted by a pair of sapphire-blue eyes gazing down at him with a radiant smile. Strands of Alisha’s platinum-blonde hair spilled across his face and chest like threads of captured moonlight.

He returned the smile, pulling her closer to press a tender kiss against her lips, as if the entire world began and ended within the boundaries of that room.

"I wish this moment could last forever," he whispered, his voice thick with adoration.

Alisha laughed softly, giving his cheek a playful pinch before pulling away. "It will, I promise... but for now, you must rise. You have a war to win, my dear, and a throne does not wait for the idle."

Hours later, they stood together before the towering, iron-ribbed gates of the Imperial Palace, the wind tugging at the hems of their garments. Alisha embraced him with a desperate heat, trying to sear the scent of him into her lungs to sustain her through the coming silence.

"Return to me safely," she whispered against his neck, her tears held back by a fragile thread.

He took her face in his palms, his gaze steady and filled with an iron-clad certainty. "I will return for you, and I will make you my crowned Empress. Only wait for me."

With trembling hands, she drew a silken handkerchief from her sleeve and tied it carefully around the hilt of his sword—a talisman of luck to shield him on the fields of slaughter.

"I will wait," she vowed, her voice a solemn oath. "I promise you."

The moment his procession departed, Alisha’s strength finally betrayed her. Her tears fell freely as she watched him fade into the horizon, her gaze clinging to the last speck of his banner until it vanished.

Collapsing in grief, she found refuge in the arms of Serene, who had been standing beside her like a devoted shadow. Serene offered a soothing touch, patting her back with profound tenderness.

"Do not weep, Alisha," Serene whispered. "My brother will be fine. Have faith in him; he is a formidable warrior. A small war such as this is nothing to a man of his strength."

Alicia lifted her head, tears still shimmering on her lashes. "Thank you, Serene... you truly are my dearest friend."

Serene smiled with genuine warmth, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. "There is no need for thanks. We have been friends since childhood, and soon, you will be my brother’s wife. We are one family now, and forever."

However, with Lucius gone, the Imperial Palace lost its luster. For a woman who took immense pride in her noble lineage—a woman whose virtue and pedigree were the talk of the high courts—remaining in the palace without a formal engagement or official title was a stain on her reputation she could not endure.

The whispers of the court were sharp, and Alicia was too proud to be their target.

"Are you certain you must leave?" Serene asked softly, her eyes filled with concern as they stood by the carriage.

Alisha took Serene’s hands in hers, her grip firm. "I must. My father has requested my immediate return, and I will not give the gossips any more fuel. I cannot risk a single rumor tarnishing my name."

Serene embraced her tightly, a sudden wave of longing in her hold. "Take care of yourself, my dear. And promise me you will write—every day."

Alisha climbed into the carriage, the door closing with a heavy finality. As the wheels began to turn, she looked back through the window to see Serene waving, a sad, lingering smile on her face that would haunt Alisha for years to come.

The carriage had been moving steadily for some time when, without warning, it lurched to a violent halt in the heart of the forest.

The rhythmic sound of wheels was replaced by the frantic neighing of horses and the strangled cries of terrified guards. Alisha huddled into herself, her breath hitching as the metallic scent of fresh blood began to choke the air.

Before she could grasp the horror unfolding outside, the carriage door was wrenched open with savage force.

There stood Roland. His face was as frigid as a statue carved from ice, but his yellow eyes burned with a predatory, demonic glint she had never seen before.

"Roland?" she asked, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. "What is happening? Where are the guards?"

He offered no words. Instead, he lunged forward, delivering a brutal blow to the back of her head. The world tilted, then dissolved into an absolute, suffocating darkness before she could finish her plea.

When Alisha finally clawed her way back to consciousness, she found herself in a strange, opulent chamber. It was a room of undeniable luxury, yet it felt like a gilded cage.

She scrambled to rise, her instinct screaming at her to flee, but the sharp, metallic clatter of chains jerked her back. Her wrist was shackled to the heavy iron frame of the bed.

The door creaked open, and Roland entered, carrying a silver tray of food. A manufactured, sickeningly sweet smile stretched across his face—a mask that made her skin crawl.

"Mealtime, Miss Alisha," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm, like a predator soothing its prey.

"What are you doing, Roland?" she shed, lashing out and straining against the cold iron of her shackles. "Have you lost your mind? Release me this instant!"

He ignored her outburst entirely, settling onto the edge of the bed and extending a spoonful of food toward her with agonizing composure.

In a final, desperate act of defiance, Alisha spat the food directly into his face.

The morsels slid down his cheek, and in an instant, the fake smile vanished. His expression darkened into something primal and blackened by rage. He dropped the tray and seized her face in both hands, his fingers digging into her jaw with such violence she felt the bone groan beneath the pressure.

"If you do not eat with obedience... then I shall force you," he growled, his voice a low, jagged rasp that vibrated with a terrifying promise.

He forced the food down her throat, ignored her choked gasps, and watched with clinical detachment as her tears stained the silk pillows. When he was finished, he wiped her mouth with a chilling, practiced coldness and set the tray aside as if he had merely been performing a mundane chore.

Alisha’s voice was a broken rasp as she pleaded with him, her pride finally crumbling into raw desperation.

"What are you planning to do? Let me go, Roland... if Lucius finds out what you’ve done, he will never forgive you. He will strike you from the face of the earth!"

A sharp, mocking laugh escaped his lips. He lunged forward, gripping her chin and pulling her face toward his. He claimed her lips in a violent, crushing kiss—one that tasted only of subjugation and the bitter iron of her own blood.

"That is exactly why I am doing this," he whispered against her trembling, bruised lips, his breath hot and laced with malice.

"I will show Lucius the consequence of refusing my request to marry Serene. I will strip him of his most precious possession, just as he stripped me of my pride."

She recoiled in absolute horror, her skin crawling as she tried to wipe away the trace of a kiss that made her stomach churn with nausea. "What... what do you mean?"

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he reached for his own shirt, tearing it open to reveal his chest, the fabric ripping with a sound like a death knell.

He loomed over her, his massive frame casting a suffocating shadow over her shackled, helpless body. Slowly, his hand began to slide upward, tracing a path of fire and ice along her thigh.

He leaned in close, his voice a serpent’s hiss in her ear. "I am going to make you mine. I will make him feel the agony of losing the woman he adores—I will show him how the very purity he worships can be defiled."