Chapter 1
The scent of jasmine floated through the open colonnades of the Imperial Palace, carried on a warm spring breeze. Anna Doukaina stood at the edge of the great marble courtyard, her fingers lightly brushing the folds of her embroidered silk gown. Around her, courtiers drifted like colorful birds, their laughter bright and hollow. It was a feast day, and appearances were everything.
She was meant to smile, to dance, to charm whichever nobleman her mother had deemed worthy of her hand. But Anna's mind was elsewhere — on freedom, on ambition, on something more than being passed like a coin from one family to another.
"Lady Anna," a voice said behind her, soft but steady.
She turned — and met the eyes of Emperor Michael VII.
He was not as she had imagined. No shining armor, no commanding shout like the heroes sung of by court poets. Instead, he stood in simple dark robes, a scholar's laurel resting lightly against his tawny hair. His expression was thoughtful, almost shy, but his gaze held a quiet strength that caught Anna off guard.
She lowered into a graceful curtsy, her heart beating faster than it should have.
"Your Majesty honors me," she said carefully.
Michael smiled, and the tension that gripped her chest eased slightly.
"It seems I must honor you," he replied. "You have captured the attention of half my court—and the envy of the other half."
Anna's lips quirked into a small smile. "Then I am doubly cursed."
He laughed — a real laugh, not the brittle kind she had grown used to hearing. It was rich and warm, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"I would ask a favor, Lady Anna," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Walk with me."
A dozen eyes flickered toward them. Anna knew what it meant: a walk was never just a walk in Constantinople. It was a declaration, a silent claim. She hesitated, weighing duty against instinct.
"I would be honored, Your Majesty," she said at last, and placed her hand lightly upon his offered arm.
They strolled through the gardens, their path winding between olive trees and fountains carved in the likeness of forgotten gods. For a time, they spoke of harmless things: poetry, the new mosaics in Hagia Sophia, the strange mechanical lion gifted by an ambassador from Persia.
But gradually, Michael steered the conversation deeper.
"You are unlike the others," he said at last, pausing by a pool where golden fish darted.
"You see the games they play — yet you do not join them."
Anna glanced at him sidelong.
"And you, Your Majesty? Do you not play?"
He smiled again, but this time, there was sadness beneath it.
"I play because I must. You... you have the gift of choosing."
For a moment, the world shrank until it was only the two of them, standing in the ancient heart of the empire, two souls weighed down by the expectations of hundreds.
"I do not know if choice is truly mine," Anna said quietly. "But if it is... I would choose wisely."
Michael turned to her fully then, his hand covering hers where it rested on his arm. His touch was gentle, yet it carried the weight of something unspoken — possibility, danger, hope.
"And if I asked you," he murmured, "to choose me?"
The world held its breath.
Anna's heart thundered against her ribs. She could say no — she should say no. It was madness to entangle herself with the Emperor himself, a man whose throne sat atop shifting sands. But looking into his eyes, she saw not just an Emperor. She saw a man — and something more than ambition sparked in her chest.
She lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the trembling she felt inside.
"Then, Your Majesty... I would choose you."
The words sealed her fate. And his.