The morning sun rose over the Imperial Capital. It pushed through the thin layers of fog like a gentle brush.
Duke Kael Varyn walked steadily toward the palace. He wore a spotless knight's uniform. The golden lion crest of House Varyn was stitched boldly on his chest. The morning sun made the embroidery glitter. His sword hung by his side, shining in the light. Each step he took was firm. Each step echoed confidence. He moved like a man who had just returned from war victorious.
Kael had come to the palace to receive praise. The King was to honor him. The whole empire should celebrate House Varyn's glory, he thought.
But when Kael reached the doors to the King's private chambers, no one awaited him. No herald, no fanfare, no eager welcome. Only a palace attendant appeared. The man's face was pale. His eyes showed respect, but also distance.
"Your Grace," the attendant said quietly, bowing low. "His Majesty is not well this morning. He is handling urgent matters. The King cannot see you right now."
Kael's smile vanished instantly. His heart sank. "Urgent matters?" he repeated.
He looked around the long corridor. It was empty and silent. The usual bustle of the palace was gone. The air felt cold. Too cold for a place filled with power.
He was the empire's greatest general. The man who led armies to victory. Yet here he was, forced to wait like a common visitor.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Time dragged by.
Kael's eyes moved to the large murals on the walls. They showed the deeds of past kings. Their great battles and conquests. The paintings now seemed mocking. Their victorious faces stared down at him, as if they knew the truth.
Across the hall, a few palace maids whispered. They spoke in hushed voices. Their eyes glanced toward Kael, then quickly away.
But Kael heard them. Every word cut into him.
"Have you heard? Duke Varyn has been waiting here almost an hour."
"They held a feast for him yesterday. What's happened today?"
"Royal moods change like the wind. No one knows what the King thinks."
The whispers were soft, but their meaning was clear. Kael's pride stung.
He straightened his back. He lifted his chin. His face showed nothing but control.
Inside, he burned with humiliation. Yesterday, everyone cheered him. Today, he stood alone. Forgotten.
He needed answers.
His boots clicked on the marble floor. He moved toward a quiet corner. There he found a young page.
Without a word, Kael slid a gold coin into the boy's palm. The coin was heavy and bright.
"Tell me," Kael said in a low voice. "What happened here yesterday?"
The boy swallowed nervously. He looked around and then whispered, "Your Grace... Princess Lyra came to the palace yesterday afternoon. She knelt outside the King's door for nearly an hour."
Kael's breath caught. "Then?"
"She was called inside. Alone."
Lyra. The name struck Kael like thunder. Suddenly, everything made sense. The cold reception. The strange looks. The whispers.
It was her. His wife, by name only.
Fury ignited inside him. A burning fire of anger.
What had she told the King?
Kael clenched his jaw. "Where is she now?" he demanded.
"She left early this morning. She returned to her own palace."
Without hesitation, Kael strode away. His cloak swept behind him like a shadow of rage. He ignored palace rules. He needed to confront her.
His horse neighed softly as they reached the gates of the princess's residence. The palace was smaller than his own. But it held a quiet strength. The walls stood firm and proud. The air was calm and cold.
Kael pushed open the gate. He stormed inside.
He found Lyra in the garden. She stood beneath a trellis of white roses. She was pruning the flowers with care. The sunlight caught her hair and skin, making her seem almost unreal.
She wore a simple dress. No jewels. No crown.
Still, she looked like royalty.
Her calm angered Kael.
He took a step forward. "What did you say to the King?" His voice was sharp, breaking the garden's peace.
Lyra did not flinch. She set down the pruning shears. She wiped her fingers with a cloth. Then she turned slowly.
"I told His Majesty the truth," she said calmly.
Kael grabbed her wrist firmly. He pulled her close so she faced him.
"Truth?" he scoffed. "Don't pretend. You are the Duchess of Varyn. Stay in your place."
His eyes burned with scorn. His voice was cold and sharp.
"You should be grateful. You are a princess with no power. A daughter of a fading house. I gave you everything—a title, a name, a place to stand. You should accept it. Be grateful."
Lyra stared at him. Her face was steady. But her eyes were full of something darker.
"I told His Majesty that Duke Kael Varyn, the Empire's hero, has found his true love," she said.
"A brave woman named Selena."
"I asked the King to set you free."
Kael froze. The air left his lungs.
"You did what?" he gasped.
Lyra shook off his grasp. Her voice was quiet but clear.
"You broke your vows, Kael. You chose another. I accepted it."
"So I asked the King to end our marriage."
Kael laughed harshly. "Divorce? Are you mad?"
He stepped closer. His gaze was hard.
"You are a princess. Divorce brings shame. It would stain the royal family forever. The King would never allow it."
He looked down on her with contempt.
"Without me, what are you? Where would you go?"
Lyra lifted her chin. Her eyes were cold steel.
"That is none of your concern."
Her words cut deeper than any scream.
Kael felt the pain as if punched in the chest. He stared at her, speechless.
He had always thought her weak. Silent. Obedient.
But now he saw her true strength.
She was gone. She had turned her back on him.
But the King would not allow this. No matter what she said to the King.
He was certain.
He stepped back slowly. Without another word, he left the garden.
Before he disappeared, he glanced back once.
"You will regret this."
Then he was gone.
Lyra turned back to the roses. It was as if he had never been there.
What if the wife he discarded is now the one holding the empire's future?