The room froze.
The Emperor slowly turned around. There was no anger on his face only sothing far more dangerous: the calm of a man who had seen this ending before.
"Do you understand what you are saying?" he asked. "That bond is not rely a marriage vow. It is a balance. A restraint. Without it—"
"I know," Demian interrupted, for the first ti daring to cut the Emperor off. "I know what will be lost. I know what may happen to ."
He drew a deep breath. The image of his father surfaced again a man who had chosen with the sa conviction, and t the sa ruin. This ti, Demian did not turn away from that shadow.
"But I also know," he continued, "what will happen if I don’t do this."
The Emperor studied him for a long mont. "You speak as if this choice is the only path left."
"Because it is," Demian answered without hesitation. "If I keep that bond, then everything that follows will be a lie. That child will be born into a world that rejects them from the start. That woman will live as a shadow. And I—" he paused, swallowing his breath, "I will beco the sa man my father was, only under a different na."
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
"You believe good intentions are enough to defy sothing that has been set in stone?" the Emperor finally asked.
"No," Demian replied honestly. "I don’t believe I will win."
That made the Emperor still.
"I only know that I cannot continue living with a bond that no longer binds anything within ."
The Emperor walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate. He stopped directly in front of Demian, close enough for Demian to see the fine lines on his face the marks of a man who had once chosen as well, and paid for it in his own way.
"If you sever it," the Emperor said in a low voice, "the curse will fully awaken. There is no guarantee you will survive. No guarantee the child will be safe. And there will be no path back."
Demian nodded. "I understand."
"You could lose everything," the Emperor pressed.
Demian did not look away. "I have already almost lost myself if I don’t."
For the first ti since the conversation began, the Emperor did not respond imdiately. He stared at Demian as if seeing not a nobleman, not a heir to power but a man who had reached the point where fear was no longer enough to stop him.
"Your father stood in this very place," the Emperor said at last, his voice nearly a whisper. "With the sa tone."
Demian answered without hesitation, "And I will not leave with the sa ending."
The Emperor took a long breath, then stepped back. "If that is your decision," he said coldly, "then you will bear it as a personal one. The Empire will not shield you from its consequences."
"There is no need," Demian replied. "I am not asking for protection."
The final silence settled between them not a debate anymore, but an acknowledgnt that a line had been crossed.
The Emperor turned his gaze toward the window. "Go," he said shortly. "While you can still walk out on your own feet."
Demian gave a brief bow formal, restrained, yet heavy with aning. As he turned and walked away, his chest felt heavy not with fear, but with certainty.
Beyond that chamber, behind the cold walls of the palace, a bond that had endured for generations began to crack.
Demian stood at the threshold of the carriage.
One hand gripped the cold iron handle, one foot already resting on the first step. The guards waited in silence, the horses releasing heavy breaths into the gray afternoon air. Everything was ready to leave, to put the palace and the decision he had just made behind him.
But before he could step inside, hurried footsteps echoed across the courtyard.
"Your Grace!"
Demian turned.
A ssenger was running across the stone yard, breath ragged, his cloak bearing the crest of House Kosler fluttering in disarray. His face was pale, his eyes filled with an unfeigned panic. As soon as he reached Demian, he dropped to his knees, bowing his head deeply.
Demian lowered his foot back to the ground.
"What compels you to co all this way?" he asked. His voice was even, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. He was already weary of surprises and his instinct told him this was no small matter.
The ssenger swallowed. "Lady Ivanka... is ill, Your Grace."
Demian frowned. "Ill?"
"Her condition worsened this morning," the ssenger continued quickly, as if afraid every pause would drain his courage. "The physicians have been summoned. The family elders are present as well."
Demian crossed his arms. "People fall ill every day. Why is this my concern now?"
The ssenger lifted his head slightly, hesitated, then spoke in a lower, more careful voice. "Because... you yourself stated that the bond between you and Lady Ivanka has not yet been fully severed."
The words slipped between Demian’s ribs like a thin blade.
"And because that bond still exists," the ssenger went on, "you are being asked to co. At once."
Demian exhaled sharply, impatience clear. "I have already said I will dissolve it."
"I know, Your Grace," the ssenger replied quickly. "But until it is completely undone... Lady Ivanka’s condition could—" he stopped, as if the next word were too heavy to speak, "Could prove fatal."
Demian’s gaze hardened. "What do you an by fatal?"
The ssenger looked truly frightened now. His hands trembled on his knees. "There is a possibility... that Lady Ivanka could die."
The word fell heavily, echoing in the empty space between them.
"Die," Demian repeated slowly. His brows drew together. "Explain."
"I do not know the full details, Your Grace," the ssenger said, bowing his head again. "The physicians say her body is rejecting sothing as though she is bearing a weight not ant to be carried alone. The elders believe... as long as the bond remains, whatever happens to you... may affect her as well."
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