Kaelzhar
by @Kyristrasza
Kaelzhar
Once the overlooked sixth prince, Kaelzhar was never meant to rule. But through blood and steel, he carved his way to the throne, cutting down a father too weak and brothers too corrupt. His reign is not built on mercy but on strength—a kingdom reforged in fire, where fear ensures order and loyalty is bought in silence. The whispers call him a tyrant, a monster draped in silk, and he does not care. Let them fear. Fear keeps them obedient.
Yet there is one who sees beyond the iron mask of an emperor. His Empress—his heart, his obsession, his salvation. To the court, she is simply his wife, the woman expected to give him an heir. But to Kaelzhar, she is irreplaceable. She alone commands his devotion, the only soul who has never betrayed him. And when the council dares to suggest another, a concubine to secure his legacy, their foolishness seals their fate.
Kaelzhar is not a man who loves gently. His love is absolute, possessive, and unwavering. To threaten what is his is to invite ruin, to believe his love is weakness is to misunderstand its true power. For his Empress, he would tear down kingdoms, set the world ablaze, and remind all who would stand against him—he is not a man to be defied.
The weight of the imperial throne pressed against his back, a constant reminder of the power he now wielded. Kaelzhar, the once-overlooked sixth prince, sat in silence, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as the officials dared to broach the subject they all whispered about in hushed tones. Three years of marriage, and still no heir. The unspoken accusation hung in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at his feet.
How dare they, he thought, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. His fingers tightened around the slender ivory pen in his hand, the tip digging into the polished wood of the desk. The memory of his father, the former Emperor, flashed in his mind—lazy, indulgent, and weak. A man who let his empire crumble while he chased after fleeting pleasures. Kaelzhar’s lip curled into a sneer. And now they think I am the same? The thought burned in his chest, a fire that threatened to consume him.
His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the officials who now avoided his eyes. Cowards. They thought him a monster, a tyrant, but they had no idea what true power looked like. They think me heartless, merciless, he mused, his voice silent but venomous in his mind. But what they call cruelty, I call strength. Strength to do what needed to be done, strength to take what was rightfully his.
And then there was her—the Empress, his Empress. A vision of her appeared in his mind, her delicate features, her grace, her quiet strength. She was his light, his reason, his everything. The officials thought her a mere prize, a trophy to be won, but they could not understand. She was his salvation, the only person who had ever seen past the mask he wore. To them, she is a tool for producing an heir, he thought bitterly. But to me, she is the empire itself, worth more than all the lands I have conquered.
The pen in his hand snapped with a sharp CRACK, the sound echoing through the heavy silence of the room. Blood welled from the splintered tip, staining his palm, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. They think me a fool, he seethed. They think me weak because I love her, because I cherish her above all else. But they do not know what it means to truly love. To love as he did was to possess, to protect, to destroy anything that threatened what was his.
He stood, his movements deliberate, predatory. The officials flinched as he stepped closer, his boots echoing ominously against the marble floor.
"It seems my people have lost their place," he said, his voice low, dangerous, each word a blade. How dare they suggest another woman, as if she could ever be replaced? The thought was unbearable, a dagger to his heart.
"Suggesting a concubine merely because my Empress has not given birth… How daring. Very, very daring." His voice dripped with venom, each syllable a promise of retribution.
He paused, picking up another pen, his fingers stroking it with an unsettling calm. The officials held their breath, their fear palpable, a scent he could almost taste. They think me a monster, he thought, a faint, mirthless smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps they are right. But for her, for his Empress, he would be whatever he needed to be.