Emma finally understood what Marcus meant when he said living felt pointless. After breakfast, the thought lingered like smoke. Edric stayed behind, programming the kitchen humanoid robot to scrub every counter spotless, while Marcus retreated to his room and slid back into his crystal coffin for rest. Emma had her next plan lined up—she already knew what gift to make for Silas—and was heading toward her room to gather materials when Lucien's voice stopped her mid-step. "Emma. Got a minute? I need a hand in my room." Curiosity won. She followed him down the quiet corridor. It was her first time stepping into Lucien's private quarters. The space was meticulous. Every surface gleamed, every line straight enough to make an architect proud. The air felt different here—colder, sharper, organized to the point of perfection.Aside from the minimalist bathroom, the bedroom featured a single standout: a walk-in closet carved from spatial stone, glowing faintly under the overhead lights. The real centerpiece, though, was the study. It towered like a cathedral—walls of translucent spatial stone, easily as tall as a small building. The ceiling displayed a living starmap of the Empire, constellations shifting across the vast dark like moving ink. Books lined the shelves, actual paper ones mixed with thin glowing data-tablets. Every inch of the massive desk was occupied by advanced equipment, models of warships, and weapons so intricate she didn't even recognize half of them. Off to one side sat a reading nook with a single chair and lamp—his one concession to comfort. To the east was another chamber made entirely of spatial stone, bigger than the study itself and filled with weapons—ancient, modern, and experimental. Lucien took her hand gently and guided her toward the desk. "Sit here for a while," he told her. "I'm going to change. Won't take long." Emma caught his wrist before he could walk away. "Change? For what, exactly? I thought you actually needed my help." She honestly couldn't see what she could possibly help with here. He leaned in, gently kissed her lips, and gave a mysterious smile. "You'll see soon enough." What's with all the mystery? She watched him disappear into the adjoining room, her curiosity burning hotter by the second. Right then, her lightcore buzzed. It was Edric. "Emma, did Lucien take you out somewhere? I went to your room, and you were gone." He'd clearly finished cleaning with the smart robot and panicked when she wasn't around. "I'm still at the manor," she reassured him. "Lucien wanted my help with something in his room." "Oh." His tone loosened. "Alright, just making sure. I'll be training for a while. Once I'm done, I'll swing by." Edric had been walking with a shadow over his shoulder lately—a quiet reminder that every one of Emma's other suitors outmatched him. He needed to climb higher, and soon. Emma didn't judge by strength, but he couldn't let himself lean on her warmth. In this world, the line between a suitor and a true mate was drawn by power. She told him softly, "Train hard, Edric. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Emma could tell the others weighed on Edric's mind, but she didn't think that pressure was wrong. It was fuel—the kind that forged strength. In her heart, she believed her little Edric would fight his way up and stand beside them someday. Emma ended the call and let her gaze drift to the massive battleship model dominating the study. It was the same kind they used on the outer battlefield—scaled down to a tenth of the real thing, but still fierce enough to command the room. The longer she looked, the more she felt that pull. She thought, One day, I want to see it for myself—the outer battlefield, the stars, all of it. The idea felt wild, but thrilling. Ever since coming to the Empire, she hadn't seen anything beyond its border.Then she heard her name. "Emma." Lucien's voice came from the doorway. She turned and froze. Lucien stood there dressed in a full military uniform. The uniform fit him like it had been tailored by command itself—every line sharp, every fold exact, every movement deliberate. The polished triple stars on his epaulets caught the light, flashing across the dark stone walls like shards of fire. His boots sank into the carpet with a muted rasp, leather whispering through the quiet. He looked like discipline made flesh—authority and restraint wrapped in one impossible frame. His tone stayed casual, but his presence carried weight. "I've got a video conference in a few minutes. Needed to change into uniform. You don't mind, do you?" The warmth in his voice clashed with the quiet danger radiating off him. The contrast hit hard. Emma's pulse tripped. She blinked, caught between awe and disbelief. "No. I just—it's my first time seeing you in it."She mused, Oh, Beast God, look at him. That uniform should be illegal. How can one male look that good? Lucien smiled as he moved closer. He braced his arms on the desk, his hands resting on either side of her chair, closing the distance until the quiet weight of him surrounded her. His voice dropped low, threaded with calm confidence. "So... do you like me in uniform?" Emma swallowed, her gaze locking with his. What is it with these guys and uniforms today? First Silas, now Lucien—both could turn discipline into a d*mn weapon. Were they trained at the same charm academy or something? "Yeah," she admitted. "I do. A lot." No one else understood, but she was irresistibly drawn to it—absolutely captivated. Uniforms, authority, that subtle danger—she loved every bit of it. Lucien's gaze lingered on it. The amber in his gaze intensified, glowing faintly like a spark about to ignite.