In the grand ballroom, amidst glittering chandeliers and the clinking of glasses, stood Eleanor de Merville, the Duke's daughter, in a sumptuous crimson gown that reflected her fiery red hair.
Her blue eyes were sharp as daggers, and her white, freckled skin gave her a rare appearance, like the cold light of a winter night.
Eleanor wasn't in love with her fiancé, Emperor Kyle. The engagement was a political deal... nothing more. But, as usual, she played the role of the perfect fiancée with a gentle smile and a noble silence.
Until she heard the unforgivable.
Behind the velvet curtains, a few steps from the ceremony, she caught a glimpse of the Emperor whispering adoringly into the ear of one of his ladies-in-waiting. He smiled at her, his hand on her waist, as if he didn't already have a bride waiting for him in the hall.
Eleanor smiled... but it wasn't a gentle smile.
She walked in slowly, as if on a stage, then stood between them without saying a word.
Kyle was confused. He tried to speak, but a single glance from her silenced him.
Suddenly, she raised her hand... and slapped him in front of everyone.
A slap that was louder than the hall's applause.
Then she said in a steady voice that everyone in the room could hear:
> "I never liked you, but I thought you at least had an ounce of dignity. You betrothed me to improve your image before the nobility? Well... so everyone can witness your mask slipping."
She turned around and, in a cold voice, added:
> "No man who betrays deserves the crown, and no woman who remains silent in the face of insult deserves respect."
Then she left.
She didn't cry, she didn't stagger, she didn't break.
That night... Emperor Kyle fell, not from his throne, but from the gazes of everyone.