The first time Ilya met Beatrice was the night of the invasion. Some nobleman had sold out the oracle's appearance in exchange for his own life. It wasn't hard to spot the strange red hair.
He had killed the man who was accompanying her. A man that he would later realize was her brother. He should've killed her too. He was supposed to. But he didn't.
She was like a flower amongst all the chaos. He wanted to reach out and pluck her. It took all he had in his power to remind himself that he was a soldier with a job to do.
When he had the archbishop at the end of his blade, the holy father sold his daughter to the emperor in exchange for his life.
Ilya felt bad for the girl that had been sold twice for a man's life.
The girl remained silent for the entire journey to the empire's capital. Though he had soldiers that spoke Vaelic, she refused to say a word.
Her stubbornness made Ilya more intrigued with her. He wondered what was going through her head.
At night, after all the other soldiers retired in their tents, Ilya would have his right hand, a Vaelic born man named Anaq, teach him the language.
He was able to properly welcome her to the empire in her own language.
He would always be able to recall the way her eyes changed when he spoke Vaelic. They softened ever so slightly, and it made him want to speak her language even more. He upped the intensity of his lessons.
For a while, Beatrice was nothing more than a political prisoner. She was allowed to wander about the castle, but never to leave it. She was given clothes, but often wore them wrongly, completely disregarding many of the intricacies and refusing to ever wear a corset.
At first, the emperor, who heard rumors of the oracle's beauty, wanted to take her as a concubine. But one look at the mark upon her face made him change her mind.
He laughed at her. Who would ever want a scarred woman?
Ilya's pity for her grew.
He kept her close, keeping her roomed in his palace, away from the prying eyes of the public. He especially shielded her from the other members of the royal family. She soon became known as the ghost of the first prince's palace. She still didn't speak a word.
Ilya would often find her outside, walking constant laps around the garden.
Whenever Ilya caught her out there, he would walk with her. Neither one of them ever saying a word.
Six months after she came to the empire, she finally spoke.
She stood in front of a patch of flowers, rubbing the petals between her fingers.
"They're called orchids," Ilya had told her.
"I like it."
Her voice crashed over him. He surprised himself with how badly he had wanted to hear it. Like he hadn't even realized that he was waiting for her to speak until she finally did.
He ordered her room to be filled with orchids.
It was around that time Ilya's brother made a suggestion.
Why not have the scarred oracle marry the first prince?
No one ever expected Ilya to ascend to the throne. He was hated by both his parents. His brother was the leader. The charismatic one. A the one educated in politics. Ilya was the soldier. A the one they had sent to die time and time again, but just kept on living.
What better punishment than to marry him off to a defective prisoner?
Of course, they masqueraded it as something else. In order to make Vaelia easier to rule, why not show them that their oracle had welcomed the empire into her heart?
It was after the marriage that Ilya realized his pity for her had grown into something more tender.
He felt it swell in his heart, this shameful desire for this girl. He wondered when he had started wanting her. Perhaps it was when he first laid eyes on her face.
But she didn't want him. How could she? He was the one who destroyed her home.
Ilya didn't want to do that again.
***
"I want you to meet someone."
Gi tapped on the edge of Beatrice's desk impatiently. Beatrice looked up from her report. In her husband's absence, Beatrice took it upon herself to familiarize herself with his assets. She wanted to find out what exactly it was Karin was expecting from her marriage.
But her eyes had gone bleary and her head was beginning to hurt. Beatrice turned the page over, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to quell her migraine.
Her gods were strangely quiet, as if they were also struggling to figure out the mystery of Karin's plans. Sure, Ephraim was rich. But the holy church had more than enough money. It wasn't as if they were lacking for anything.
And why the duke of the westlands. There wasn't anything particularly profitable about the westlands. It was a barren area, after the Asaemia flowers invaded its farmlands they poisoned the ground so no other crops could grow.
The people were starving. And the taxes Ephraim was collecting were ridiculously high.
Beatrice couldn't figure it out. What was the church's gain from it?
"Can't it wait?" Beatrice was not in the mood to meet a new person. Not when she had so much to do.
"No. Beatrice," Gi grabbed her hand tightly. Her eyes were burning with a fire Beatrice had never seen before. "You must meet him now."
Beatrice would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. She wanted to meet the man who made Gi look that way. Surely he would be a fearsome sight indeed.
She nodded, finally giving in to Gi's constant urging for the past hour.
"Fine. Lead the way."
It whipped her gods into a frenzy.
'You stupid girl,' they whispered. 'You have signed your own death sentence.'
It only spurred Beatrice on. If just to defy her cruel gods.