The drawing room had always served as the venue where the Emperor received Grand Duke Vikander.
Seated upon the most exalted position—a throne adorned with gold and onyx—he would gaze down upon the Grand Duke kneeling at the foot of the dais. A disparity so pronounced that none could fail to perceive it. The Emperor's intention had always been unmistakable.
Yet now, the vista from his office presented the precise inverse.
That magnificent countenance merely shrugged with studied indifference. Then, as though looking down from some lofty height, he smiled with languid ease.
"I have developed a habit of taking my meals with My Lady."
The Grand Duke extended his left hand with deliberate ostentation. It was a gesture calculated to display the significance of those elegant, powerful hands—and the glittering ruby ring adorning his fourth finger.
The Emperor suppressed the tension coiling through his bones and gestured toward his table.
"Let us be seated first. Bring the tea."
The Chamberlain arranged a steaming teapot, cups, and refreshments upon the table before retreating to his station along the wall.
The Emperor waited for the atmosphere to settle. As anticipated, the Grand Duke made no move whatsoever, merely fixing his gaze upon the Emperor with unwavering intensity.
His bearing was that of a predator with its jaws locked upon the nape of its prey's neck, patiently awaiting its final breath.
Clearly, so long as the mine remained in the Princess's possession, the Grand Duke occupied a position of disadvantage.
The Emperor studied Grand Duke Vikander—who betrayed not the slightest trace of surprise—and was seized by a peculiar sense of déjà vu.
The Emperor had never once permitted anyone to hold the upper hand over him. And yet those crimson eyes touched something within him in ways he could not explain.
At last, unable to suppress his mounting impatience, the Emperor seized the initiative.
"...You must become betrothed to the Princess."
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