Lucien hesitated at the door.
His small fingers curled around the edges of his sleeves, his golden eyes darting back toward his mother.
Diana stood near the window, bathed in morning light. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, cascading down her back. Her expression was unreadable—calm, distant—but there was something different about her today.
Something unfamiliar.
Something warm.
Lucien wasn't sure how to describe it.
But… he liked it.
Slowly, hesitantly, he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her waist.
It was quick, barely more than a fleeting touch, but it was still a hug.
Diana stiffened in surprise.
She hadn't expected it.
Then, as if by instinct, she cupped the back of his head, pulling him close. She held him tightly, fingers threading through his soft black hair.
"Be good, Lucien," she murmured. "I'll see you later."
Lucien nodded against her.
Then, just as quickly, he pulled away and left for his morning lessons, escorted by his attendants.
Diana stood still, watching his small figure disappear down the hall.
Her chest ached.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some cruel illusion. Her son was alive. Breathing. Real.
And she had another chance.
Diana exhaled slowly, running a hand through her damp silver hair. Her dress—soaked from yesterday's humiliation—clung to her skin, heavy and suffocating.
She turned toward her wardrobe, pulling it open.
Rows of delicate gowns lined the shelves.
Soft pastels. Silky fabrics. Embroidered lace.
Everything the perfect Empress should wear.
Everything she had been forced to wear.
The sight made her stomach churn.
These dresses weren't hers.
They had never been hers.
They were chosen for her.
Picked by the Emperor. Selected by his people. Forced onto her like a leash onto an obedient dog.
Beautiful. Elegant. Fragile.
A perfect doll for a perfect Empire.
Diana's fingers twitched.
What had she been? A fool? A puppet?
No—worse.
She had been a caged bird, trained to sing for a man who had never even wanted her.
She had worn what he liked, behaved as he pleased, sat quietly while his Queen played the innocent victim.
Diana sucked in a slow breath.
Not anymore.
"Your Majesty?"
A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
Her personal maid, Elise, stood at the doorway, hands clasped together. She had been with Diana for years—one of the few servants she had personally brought from the Hinsdale family.
Her face was tense, frustration flashing in her dark eyes.
"That woman did it on purpose," Elise grumbled, her voice sharp with anger. "How many times does she get to 'accidentally' spill something on Your Majesty before someone does something?"
Diana sighed, rubbing her temples.
Elise had always been fiercely loyal, always the first to voice her displeasure over Liliana's schemes.
But complaining never changed anything.
It never had.
"Forget it," Diana muttered.
"But—"
"I said forget it, Elise."
Elise flinched slightly but bowed her head. "...Yes, Your Majesty."
Diana turned back to the wardrobe, her golden eyes trailing over the useless gowns.
One by one, she began pulling them out.
Dress after dress.
Soft fabric.
Delicate beauty.
All of it.
Gone.
Elise watched in stunned silence before cautiously stepping forward. "Your Majesty…?"
"Call for the royal tailor," Diana ordered.
Elise blinked. "The tailor?"
"Yes. Tell them to come immediately."
Though confused, Elise obeyed, quickly disappearing from the room.
Diana remained still, her sharp eyes never leaving the discarded dresses.
By the time the tailor arrived, escorted by Elise, several gowns had already been thrown onto the floor.
The tailor—a middle-aged man with a nervous disposition—stepped into the room, his eyes darting between Diana and the mess of expensive silk at her feet.
"You… summoned me, Your Majesty?" he asked hesitantly.
Diana turned to him, golden eyes cold.
"I need new clothes."
The tailor's expression brightened slightly. "Ah! Yes, of course! What design would Your Majesty prefer? Another floral gown? Or perhaps something softer—"
"How long has it been since I last attended a banquet?" Diana interrupted.
The tailor hesitated. "You attended one just last week, Your Majesty."
Diana smirked, tilting her head. "I meant with the Emperor."
Silence.
The tailor stiffened.
His lips parted, but no words came out.
Diana let the pause stretch, watching his discomfort grow.
"Well?" she pressed.
The tailor swallowed. "...Since your wedding, Your Majesty."
Diana let out a short, humorless laugh.
Of course.
She had never been the Emperor's true partner.
She had always been a convenient political piece. A noble wife. A mother for his heir. Nothing more.
Diana's smirk faded, her golden eyes darkening.
"Then it's time we stopped pretending," she said.
The tailor looked even more confused. "P-Pardon?"
Diana gestured toward the discarded gowns. "From now on, get rid of them. I have no need for such dresses anymore."
The tailor's face paled.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
Diana walked to her desk, picked up a blank parchment, and swiftly began sketching.
The design took shape beneath her fingers—sharp lines, elegant embroidery.
A fitted coat. Golden details along the seams. A high-collared shirt beneath it. Tailored pants instead of skirts.
She turned the parchment toward the tailor.
"Make me a uniform," Diana ordered.
The tailor's mouth fell open. "A… a uniform?"
"Yes," Diana said, her voice firm. "Make me several pairs. No more lace. No more flowers. No more dresses."
The tailor looked horrified.
"Y-Your Majesty, this—this is highly untraditional!" he stammered. "The Empress should wear—"
"The Empress should wear whatever the hell she wants," Diana cut in coldly.
The tailor flinched.
Diana's gaze darkened. "Liliana is the real pair for the Emperor. We all know it. So from now on, let her play dress-up."
The tailor opened his mouth, as if to argue, but one sharp glance from Diana had him shutting it immediately.
A heavy silence filled the room.
Then, finally, the tailor let out a defeated sigh and bowed his head.
"...As you command, Your Majesty."
Diana leaned back slightly, exhaling as the tension in her shoulders eased.
She had wasted so much time in her past life, trying to be the perfect Empress for a man who had never even wanted her.
That time was over.
She wasn't his Empress anymore.
She was herself.
And for the first time in a long, long while—that was enough.
Diana let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of years lift from her shoulders. The clatter of the discarded ring still echoed in her mind—a small, insignificant sound, yet it marked the beginning of something far greater.
Freedom.
"Elise," she called.
The maid turned instantly, awaiting orders.
Diana's fingers tapped lightly against the stack of financial records in her hands. "Send word to the palace treasurer. I expect a personal meeting within the next three days."
Elise's brows lifted slightly in surprise but quickly smoothed into a knowing expression. "Understood, Your Majesty. And the funds from the sale?"
"Set aside a portion for the palace expenses." Diana's voice was calm, measured. "The rest—" She paused, her golden eyes narrowing. "—will go to the Empress's private treasury."
Elise grinned. "Ah. That's right, Your Majesty does have a treasury, doesn't she?"
Diana's lips curled slightly, but the expression lacked warmth.
An Empress had her own wealth, separate from the Emperor's. Yet, over the years, hers had been reduced to a mere formality—a shadow account, barely touched, its influence stripped away in favor of Liliana's growing power.
Diana had let it happen once.
She would not let it happen again.
"See to it personally," Diana instructed. "I don't want a single coin misplaced."
Elise's expression sharpened. "I'll make sure of it, Your Majesty."
Diana nodded, satisfied.
She turned her attention back to the wardrobe, now emptied of its delicate chains. It felt strange, standing here without the weight of expectation pressing down on her.
For so long, she had lived according to others' desires.
What would they say now?
An Empress in a military-style uniform? A woman without jewels, without a husband's favor, without the court's approval?
Diana let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.
Let them talk.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she called.
This time, it was not a palace official or a nervous tailor.
It was one of the knights assigned to the Empress's palace—a man clad in the gleaming silver and blue of the Imperial Guard.
"Your Majesty," he saluted. "A delegation from the noble faction has requested an audience with you."
Diana's golden eyes flickered with interest.
"How curious," she mused. "Since when has the noble faction cared to request an audience with me?"
The knight hesitated. "They… seemed concerned by the recent developments."
Concerned.
That meant worried.
That meant threatened.
Diana's fingers curled slightly in amusement.
They must have already caught wind of her actions—the discarded jewels, the financial inquiries, the shift in power.
And now, they had come to assess the danger.
Diana smirked. "Very well. I will see them in an hour."
The knight bowed and left.
Elise, standing at Diana's side, let out an amused hum. "They must be panicking. The Empress was supposed to be silent and passive. Yet now, here you are, making changes."
Diana walked toward the full-length mirror, studying her reflection.
For the first time in years, she saw herself.
Not a woman waiting for love.
Not a political pawn.
Not an abandoned Empress.
But Diana Hinsdale.
She reached for the last remaining piece of jewelry on her body—the delicate bracelet gifted to her on her wedding day.
Slowly, she unfastened it.
The gold was cold against her fingers.
With steady hands, she set it down on the vanity, next to the discarded ring.
Then, without a second glance, she turned away.