The early morning sun glinted off the waves as Sean Epstein tightened his grip on the ship's wheel. The ocean was calm, a rare moment of tranquility in the usual tumult of his seafaring life. The ship, the Mariner's Grace, cut through the water with a steady rhythm, its sails billowing gently in the breeze.
Sean's thoughts drifted to the distant port they were approaching. It had been a few months since his last visit, and he was eager to restock supplies and perhaps enjoy a brief respite from the constant grind of the sea. The crew bustled about, preparing for docking, their voices mingling with the soft creaking of the ship.
Unbeknownst to Sean, his return to port would set off a chain of events far beyond the usual demands of maritime life. In the opulent halls of the Imperial Palace, Empress Yulia Domina Berilus reviewed reports and rumors with her advisors. Her gaze was sharp, her demeanor unyielding as she scanned the latest news.
The incident that had occurred weeks prior, a public misstep involving the Empress, had not been forgotten. Yulia's resolve to address it was unwavering. The sailor who had unwittingly played a part in the scandal was about to become the focus of her ire.
As the Mariner's Grace docked and the crew disembarked, Sean felt a ripple of unease. The port was as lively as ever, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a sense that something was amiss. He shook off the feeling, focusing instead on the familiar routines of port life.
Little did Sean know, the ordinary day was about to unravel into something far more complex. His encounter with the Empress's emissaries would mark the beginning of an unforeseen and tumultuous journey, one that would test his mettle and change his life in ways he could never have anticipated.
Sean stepped off the Mariner's Grace and into the bustling port town, the salty air mixing with the smells of fresh fish, spices, and sweat. Dockworkers shouted orders, merchants haggled over goods, and sailors from different ships roamed the streets, laughing and drinking. It was the kind of organized chaos Sean had grown accustomed to.
The market was alive with activity. Vendors called out to passersby, peddling spices, silk, and freshly caught fish. Sean wove through the crowd, his arms full of supplies for the Mariner's Grace. His mind was focused on getting everything back to the ship before the crew grew restless. The town had a strange energy about it today—something more frantic than usual—but he chalked it up to the usual chaos of port life.
Sean moved through the crowded marketplace, weaving between stalls as he collected provisions for the crew. His arms were full of dried meats, fresh fruit, and spices—simple but essential items for the long voyage ahead. The noise of haggling merchants and shuffling feet was familiar, almost comforting, as he bartered with an old fishmonger over the price of salted cod.
"Two silvers," the fishmonger insisted, slapping a piece of fish onto the table.
Sean shook his head, laughing softly. "Two silvers? For that? You'd be better off feeding it to the gulls."
The old man scowled, but before he could retort, the hum of the marketplace fell silent. Sean's words caught in his throat as the air around him seemed to still. The crowd parted like the sea itself, and through the opening strode a procession of imperial soldiers. Gleaming armor, bearing the crest of the Empress, clinked in unison as they marched down the center of the square. All eyes turned toward them—heads bowed in respect or fear.
At the head of the procession was a herald, dressed in fine robes, his face impassive as he unfurled a long scroll.
"The Empress seeks him," the herald announced, his voice ringing out over the marketplace. "Sean Epstein, step forward."
Sean froze, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The crowd around him murmured, eyes darting in his direction. He wasn't sure whether to run or stay put, but either choice felt like walking into a trap.
The herald's eyes scanned the crowd, then fixed on Sean. "There," he pointed. "Seize him."
Two soldiers stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they closed in on him. Sean felt the tension rising in his body, instinct telling him to flee, but he forced himself to stand still. This was not a fight he could win—not here, not now.
The lead soldier stopped inches from him, his expression hard as iron. "You will come with us."
Sean glanced at the provisions in his hands, then at the soldier. "I need to get these back to the crew."
"The Empress does not wait," the soldier replied coldly. "Drop them."
Sean reluctantly let the provisions fall to the ground. The moment they hit the dirt, the soldiers flanked him, leaving no room for escape. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. What could the Empress possibly want with a man like him? His life had been spent on ships, far from the world of palaces and rulers.
With the soldiers on either side of him, the crowd closed in again behind them, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The marketplace resumed its bustling activity, but Sean's mind was far from the haggling and clamor. His path now led straight to the Imperial Palace.
Sean's feet moved without thought as the imperial soldiers led him through the winding streets of the port town. The usual din of the marketplace faded into a distant hum, the sounds of everyday life feeling suddenly far away. His mind was racing, trying to piece together why an empress—the Empress—would seek him out. He'd had no dealings with the court, no enemies of such power. Nothing came to mind except... that incident.
His jaw tightened. He had barely thought of it since it happened—a small, unintended slight. But in the Empress's world, where the smallest breach of decorum could carry the weight of insult, maybe it hadn't been so small after all.
The soldiers said nothing as they marched him up the wide, paved road that led to the palace. The walls of the Imperial Palace loomed larger with every step, their smooth white stone glowing faintly in the midday sun. Sean had seen it before, from a distance, towering over the town like a reminder of the power that resided within. But now, approaching it as a summoned man, it felt even more imposing.
They passed under a massive arched gate, the iron portcullis hanging above, ready to drop at a moment's notice. Beyond the gate, the palace courtyard was expansive, lined with manicured gardens and statues of past emperors and empresses. The splendor of it all only deepened Sean's sense of unease. He wasn't meant for a place like this.
The soldiers guided him through the courtyard, past columns and pavilions, until they reached the massive entrance to the main palace. Inside, the air was cool and heavy with the scent of incense. The sounds of Sean's footsteps echoed off the polished marble floors as they made their way deeper into the heart of the palace.
He couldn't help but notice the eyes of the courtiers as they passed—richly dressed men and women, their expressions carefully neutral but their whispers barely concealed. A foreign sailor dragged through the halls of the empire's greatest power? Word would spread quickly.
Finally, they stopped at the base of a set of grand doors. The lead soldier stepped forward, gave a signal to the guards stationed there, and the doors creaked open slowly.
Sean's pulse quickened. The Empress was on the other side of those doors. A woman whose power spanned the empire, whose word was law, and whose favor or displeasure could reshape lives in an instant. His mind raced again with questions—what did she want from him? Would this be his punishment for a momentary mistake?
He was ushered inside, and the doors closed behind him with a heavy thud.
The throne room was vast, its ceiling high and adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to swirl into the sky. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, casting long beams across the polished floor. At the far end, seated upon a throne of gold and ivory, was Empress Yulia Domina Berilus.
Even from this distance, Sean could feel the weight of her gaze. She was younger than he'd imagined, though no less commanding. Draped in flowing robes of black and crimson, the Empress sat with a regal stillness that made the room itself seem to hold its breath.
"Step forward," she commanded, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.
Sean's legs felt heavy as he took slow, deliberate steps toward her. He could sense the guards watching him, feel the tension in the room thickening with every footfall. He stopped at a respectful distance, lowering his head slightly, unsure of the proper protocol in front of a ruler like her.
"Do you know why you've been summoned?" she asked, her voice cool, but with an undercurrent of something darker.
Sean swallowed. "No, Your Majesty."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she leaned forward just enough to show that his answer hadn't pleased her. "You publicly disgraced me."
Sean's heart dropped. So, it was that. The incident flashed through his mind—a moment he had tried to forget. A simple misstep at the docks weeks ago, where he had unknowingly walked into the path of the royal procession, blocking the view of the Empress during a ceremonial visit. To him, it had been a mistake—an apology issued, a brief humiliation at worst. But to her? It was something far worse.
"I didn't—" Sean began, but the Empress raised her hand to silence him.
"There is no need for explanations, sailor. What's done is done," she said, her tone softening into something unsettling. "What matters now is how you intend to make amends."
Sean felt his stomach knot. There was no way to predict what she wanted from him, but he could sense it wouldn't be something easily escaped.
The Empress stood, descending from her throne with graceful, deliberate steps. She circled him slowly, inspecting him with the intensity of someone studying a rare object. He kept his gaze forward, trying to mask his growing anxiety.
"You intrigue me, Sean Epstein," Yulia said, her voice lowering, almost as if in thought. "And I do not forget those who stand out. Your fate," she paused, her eyes gleaming, "will be decided in due time. For now, you will remain under the watch of my guards. There are... decisions to be made."
As the soldiers began to lead him away, Sean felt a surge of frustration rising in his chest. His heart was still pounding, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. He had faced danger at sea, survived storms that could swallow ships whole, but this—this was something else entirely.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Why? Why is a mere joke about your rule so insulting?"
The guards froze, the echo of his voice bouncing off the marble walls. It wasn't the kind of question you asked an empress, especially not one as powerful as Yulia. For a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
The Empress stopped in her tracks, turning slowly to face him. Her eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with a calculated intensity. She stepped forward, and the guards, sensing the shift, loosened their grip slightly, allowing her space.
Sean stood his ground, though he felt the weight of her gaze as if it could crush him. She regarded him for a long moment, as if considering whether to dignify his question with a response. Then, she spoke, her voice calm but laced with the steel of command.
"You think this is about a joke?" she asked, her tone almost bemused. "You think a slight against me is a trivial thing?"
Sean opened his mouth to reply, but she continued, her voice growing colder. "In your world, perhaps a jest means little. A passing embarrassment, a moment forgotten in time. But in my world, every word—every glance—is power. Every gesture of mine is a reflection of the Empire, and any challenge to that power, no matter how small, is a challenge to the throne itself."
She circled him again, the sharp click of her heels echoing with each step. "When a sailor—an unknown, insignificant man—publicly mocks the Empress, it is more than an insult. It is a fracture in the fabric of authority. If I allow such a slight to pass unpunished, others will think they can do the same. And the Empire will crumble, not by force, but by whispers."
Sean swallowed hard. He hadn't considered it that way—hadn't thought a simple misstep or ill-timed remark could carry such weight. But even as she spoke, he couldn't fully grasp it. It still felt like an overreaction, the workings of a mind far removed from the common man.
He shook his head slightly, eyes meeting hers. "I still don't get it. It was just... a mistake. Not some act of rebellion."
The Empress's eyes flickered with amusement, though it was tinged with something darker. "Of course you don't understand," she said softly. "You live a life of simplicity, of free will, where the consequences of your actions affect only yourself and a few men aboard your ship. My world is different. In my world, mistakes cost lives. Mistakes cost empires."
She paused, her lips curling into a faint, almost cruel smile. "But you will understand, sailor. When I deal with you—publicly—then you'll understand the gravity of what you've done."
Her words hung in the air like a blade over his head, and Sean felt a cold chill run down his spine. He tried to speak again, but no words came.
The Empress turned to the soldiers, her voice sharp once more. "Take him to the holding cells. He is to remain there until I summon him again."
The soldiers resumed their grip, this time with more force, and Sean was pulled away. His heart pounded, not from the fear of imprisonment, but from the unsettling realization that this was far from over. Whatever Yulia had planned, it would be a lesson delivered on her terms, in her time.
As they led him down the long, dimly lit corridors toward the dungeons, Sean couldn't help but think back to her words. He had never considered how fragile power could be—how easily it could be questioned or dismantled by something as simple as a misplaced word. But now, he was about to become an example of what happens when that fragile line is crossed.
The cold, damp air of the palace's lower levels seeped into his bones as the soldiers led him deeper into the fortress. The sounds of the palace above faded, replaced by the distant drip of water and the faint moans of other prisoners. The holding cells loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, a stark contrast to the opulence above.
With a heavy clang, the door to his cell was opened, and Sean was shoved inside. The iron bars slammed shut behind him, and the soldiers walked away without a word.
Sean sat down on the cold stone floor, his mind racing. Whatever was coming, he knew it wouldn't be simple or easy. And somehow, the Empress's promise echoed in his mind:
When I deal with you publicly, then you'll understand.
August 15, 1756
Sean lay on the cold, hard floor of the cell, staring at the small slit of light that barely reached him from the tiny barred window. He had long lost track of time in the dungeon's shadowy depths, but he knew it had been at least a day since he was thrown in here. The silence weighed heavily on him, interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of feet from guards passing by or the distant moans of other prisoners.
Just as his thoughts began to drift to the crew, wondering if they had left port without him, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. The clink of the keys in the iron door made Sean sit up, his muscles tense with anticipation.
The door creaked open, and to his surprise, the Empress herself stepped in. Yulia Domina Berilus, draped in a dark robe, stood just beyond the bars, her regal presence almost out of place in the dank cell.
"Still clinging to your pride, are you?" she said, her voice soft but laced with contempt. "It would be so much easier for you to simply ask for forgiveness."
Sean met her gaze, unflinching. "I don't see what I need to apologize for," he said flatly.
The Empress's lips twisted into a smile, cold and without warmth. "We'll see how long that stubbornness lasts," she replied. "You'll come to realize how much you've underestimated me."
Without another word, she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a resounding clang.
August 16, 1756
The second day dragged on, marked by the growing ache in Sean's bones from the unforgiving stone beneath him. He tried to pass the time by counting the minutes, tracing patterns in the cracks of the cell's walls, but nothing could drown out the gnawing dread of what was to come.
Once again, her footsteps approached.
The door opened, and Yulia stood there, more elegant than the day before, a faint amusement playing on her lips.
"Two days," she said lightly. "Two days of sitting in filth, and still you say nothing."
Sean clenched his jaw but said nothing. His silence was deliberate now. The Empress's voice was a poison that sought to weaken him, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
"Perhaps," Yulia said, her tone lilting as she leaned closer to the bars, "you'll break before the week is out. Men like you always do."
She waited for a response, but Sean remained as still as stone. Her smile faded into a frown before she turned and swept out of the cell, her robe trailing behind her like a shadow.
August 17, 1756
By the third day, Sean's exhaustion began to claw at his mind. The hunger was a dull, persistent ache, and the thirst gnawed at his throat. His muscles felt weaker than they had the day before, but still, he refused to bend to her whims. His resolve was firm. This was a test, and he wouldn't be broken by it.
Again, the Empress came.
Her demeanor was sharper now, less patient than before. She walked with a certain stiffness, as if his refusal was beginning to test her own limits.
"I wonder, sailor," she said coolly, "how many more days you'll last. Do you think your stubbornness will outlast my will?"
Sean looked up at her through bleary eyes, still defiant. "I didn't mean to offend you, Your Majesty," he said, his voice rough from thirst. "But I won't apologize for something I don't believe was wrong."
Yulia's eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. "You truly believe yourself innocent?"
Sean nodded slightly. "A mistake, yes. But not a crime."
The Empress stared at him for a long moment before letting out a soft, almost cruel laugh. "Innocent. I think you'll find that the public doesn't share your view. You'll learn soon enough."
Her words left him uneasy, but he refused to show it. As she departed, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever punishment she had in mind, it would be worse than anything he'd imagined.
August 18, 1756
On the fourth day, Sean awoke to the sound of heavy boots and the rustling of metal. His body protested as he sat up, every muscle aching from four days of confinement. For a moment, there was a faint hope that the guards would simply deliver his meal or water, but the door swung open with more force than usual.
One of the imperial soldiers, his face unreadable behind the cold mask of duty, stepped forward. "It's time," he said gruffly.
Sean's heart sank. Time for what?
The soldier beckoned him to stand, and Sean did so slowly, his legs stiff and weak. His mind raced as they guided him through the dark corridors, away from the dungeons and into the daylight of the palace courtyard. The bright sun stung his eyes after days in near darkness, but what unnerved him more was the crowd gathering in the square just outside the palace.
He had a sinking feeling that this was the public event Yulia had promised.
As they led him to the center of the courtyard, his stomach churned. The Empress's words echoed in his mind: When I deal with you publicly, then you'll understand.
The square was buzzing with whispers, the people waiting in anticipation, but it wasn't until the herald stepped forward that Sean felt the full weight of what was happening.
The Empress herself appeared at the edge of the platform, her gaze locked on Sean. She wore an expression that was impossible to read—somewhere between satisfaction and indifference.
The crowd fell silent as the herald raised his voice. "For crimes against the dignity and honor of the Empress, Sean Epstein will now face judgment before the people of the Empire."
Sean's blood ran cold. Whatever was coming, it was far more than just a lesson in humility.
The Empress stood tall, her eyes glinting with cold authority as she looked down at him. "Now, sailor," she called out, her voice clear and steady, "you will learn the true cost of your pride."
The Empress stepped forward, her gown flowing behind her like a storm cloud. Her piercing gaze met Sean's, but there was a flicker of something else there—something cold and calculating. Without a word, she raised her hand. From behind her, one of the imperial guards approached, carrying a long, gleaming sword.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, Yulia caught the blade's hilt and tossed it toward Sean. It clattered to the ground at his feet with a metallic ring that echoed through the courtyard.
Sean stared at the weapon in disbelief, his mind sluggish from the days spent in confinement. His body felt weak, aching from lack of food and water, but that wasn't what confused him. The Empress stood there, waiting, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
"A duel," she said coolly, her voice cutting through the silence of the crowd. "We shall settle this with swords."
Sean's brow furrowed as he looked at her, bewildered. This wasn't the punishment he had expected. Was this some twisted game to her? He hesitated for a moment, then bent down to pick up the sword. His fingers closed around the hilt, but as he lifted it, he realized just how weak his body had become. The blade felt heavy in his hands, more so than it should have. His arms strained as he raised it, the lack of food making each movement a struggle.
Across from him, Yulia unsheathed her own sword, its polished steel gleaming in the sunlight. She moved with practiced grace, her feet light as she assumed her stance. Sean could see it in her movements—this wasn't her first time holding a blade.
She gave him no time to adjust.
Without warning, the Empress charged at him, her blade slicing through the air with precision. Sean barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the strike, the force of her attack sending shockwaves through his body. His legs wobbled, nearly giving out from the effort.
"Is this the best you can do, sailor?" Yulia taunted, her voice sharp as she pressed her attack. She swung again, and Sean stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the edge of her sword. "For a man who spoke so boldly, I expected more."
Sean gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. His muscles screamed in protest as he tried to fend off her blows. Each swing of her sword was faster, more precise, but somehow—against all odds—he held his ground.
The Empress moved with deadly elegance, her strikes coming from all directions. Yet, despite his exhaustion, Sean managed to block or deflect most of them, though it was clear he was outmatched. Every movement was slow, labored, but something inside him refused to give in. He had faced worse than this before—storms that threatened to tear his ship apart, seas that nearly drowned him—and he wasn't about to let a spoiled monarch be the end of him.
Yulia stepped back, her breath steady, but there was a gleam of something in her eyes—something like admiration. She twirled her sword with ease, her gaze fixed on Sean.
"I must admit," she said, her voice softer now, "for a starving man, you have some strength left in you. But don't mistake my acknowledgment for mercy. You're still nothing but a fool who doesn't understand the weight of his words."
Sean's chest heaved with each breath, his body drenched in sweat. He glared at her, his jaw clenched, but didn't respond. He wasn't here to trade barbs. He could barely stay on his feet, but he wasn't going to let her mock him without a fight.
The Empress took a step forward, her tone shifting. "You still have a chance, though. Let's make this interesting." Her lips curled into a sly smile. "If you win this duel, I'll let you go. You'll be free to leave the city and never face my judgment again."
Sean stared at her, his heart racing. Was she serious? Or was this another cruel game? He didn't know, but he also had nothing left to lose. His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword, the weight of her words settling over him.
"If I win," he said slowly, "you'll let me go?"
Yulia nodded, her eyes glinting with amusement. "That's right, sailor. Defeat me, and you'll be a free man. But..." Her gaze hardened. "If you lose, you'll face the consequences I have planned. And trust me, they will be... memorable."
Sean swallowed hard, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He looked down at the sword in his hands, the dull ache in his muscles flaring up again. But his determination flared brighter. He wasn't going to bend to her will, no matter what.
"I accept," he said, his voice firm.
The Empress's smile widened. Without another word, she rushed at him again, her sword a blur of steel as it came toward him. Sean braced himself, the muscles in his arms straining as he met her attack head-on. The impact rattled him, nearly knocking the sword from his grasp, but he held on.
This time, though, something shifted. Maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in, or maybe it was the sheer force of will pushing him forward, but Sean began to fight back. He parried one of her strikes and countered with a swing of his own, forcing her to step back.
Yulia's eyes flashed with surprise, but her grin never faded. "So, you do have some fight left in you," she said, circling him with renewed vigor.
But Sean wasn't paying attention to her taunts anymore. His focus was entirely on staying alive, on keeping his feet moving, his sword up, his defenses intact. Every time she attacked, he managed to block or deflect, even though each clash sent fresh waves of pain through his body.
The crowd, which had been mostly silent, began to murmur. They were witnessing something unexpected: a mere sailor standing his ground against the Empress. It wasn't a victory yet, but Sean could feel a shift in the air, a growing sense of unease around him.
But Yulia wasn't done. With a fierce yell, she charged again, her strikes faster and more aggressive. Sean was barely keeping up, each movement a blur as he struggled to defend himself. His arms burned, his legs felt like they were made of lead, but he couldn't afford to stop. Not now. Not when the possibility of freedom was within reach.
The Empress's blade slashed dangerously close to his side, but Sean sidestepped, using what little energy he had left to dodge the attack. As she came at him again, he swung with all his might, his sword crashing against hers with a force that sent sparks flying.
Yulia stumbled back, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and admiration. "You're better than I thought, sailor. But this isn't over."
And with that, she lunged at him once more, their swords clashing in a brutal dance of steel.
Sean's heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged as the clash of steel rang out around the square. His arms ached, the weight of the sword dragging him down, but the adrenaline kept him upright, driving him forward. The Empress moved like a whirlwind—sharp, fast, unrelenting. He was barely holding his own.
Then, through the chaos, he heard it—a familiar voice rising above the din.
"Sean!" a shout rang out.
Sean's focus wavered, and he risked a quick glance toward the edge of the crowd. There, pushing through the throng of onlookers, were faces he thought he'd never see again. His crew. His captain. The men who had stood by him through storms and battles, who'd probably thought he was lost after four days in the Empress's dungeon.
"Sean!" the captain shouted, his voice booming over the crowd. His weathered face was twisted in a mix of relief and fury, his fists clenched at his sides. "Fight, damn it! Don't let her win!"
The rest of the crew joined in, their voices a chorus of encouragement, urging him to hold his ground. They were shouting his name, calling for him to win. For a moment, he felt a surge of strength he didn't know he still had. His brothers-in-arms had come to witness his fight. They believed in him.
But his momentary distraction cost him.
With a sharp twist of her wrist, Yulia's blade came rushing toward him. "Bold of you to look away," she hissed, her sword aiming straight for his chest.
Sean's instincts kicked in just in time. He brought his blade up, barely managing to block her strike. The force of the impact sent him staggering back, his boots skidding across the stone floor. His muscles screamed in protest, but something had shifted. He wasn't just defending anymore—he was starting to understand her movements, her rhythm. The way she flowed through the fight, graceful and deadly.
For the first time, Sean pushed back.
He parried one of her attacks and followed it with a swift counterstrike. His sword met hers with a resounding clash, and for a split second, he saw surprise flash across Yulia's face. Her strikes, once overwhelming, didn't seem so unstoppable anymore. He could see the flow of her movements, anticipate her next steps. He matched her energy, matching each blow with one of his own.
The Empress stepped back, her lips curling into a wicked smile. "So, the sailor learns." Her voice held a strange mix of amusement and approval. She moved with renewed vigor, shifting her stance, changing the tempo of her strikes.
She came at him with rapid, unpredictable blows, her sword dancing through the air with precision. But Sean was ready. He moved with her, his sword meeting hers in a rhythm that felt almost like a brutal dance. Every time she changed her flow, he adapted, matching her strikes with a newfound confidence.
The crowd murmured in awe, and even his crew fell silent, watching as Sean began to hold his own against the Empress. For every feint she threw, he had a counter. For every attack she launched, he had a block. Sweat dripped down his face, his muscles burning with every move, but there was no turning back now.
Yulia's eyes gleamed, her grin widening. "You've surprised me, sailor," she said, her voice laced with something close to admiration. "But don't think for a second that I'll go easy on you now."
She came at him harder, her strikes faster, more aggressive. Sean gritted his teeth, focusing all his energy on keeping up with her. Every clash of their swords sent sparks flying, the force of their blows echoing through the square. His body was screaming for rest, but he refused to give in. Not with his crew watching, not with his freedom on the line.
The Empress spun on her heel, delivering a sharp slash aimed at his side. Sean twisted his body, barely avoiding the blade, and retaliated with a strike of his own. Yulia blocked it with ease, but he saw it again—just a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
She wasn't expecting him to keep up with her. But he was.
They circled each other, breathing hard, the square now silent except for the sound of their swords meeting. Sean could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him—this wasn't just a duel anymore. It was a test. A test of his will, his strength, and his ability to survive.
Yulia lunged forward with a powerful overhead strike, and Sean met her blow with everything he had. Their swords locked, the steel grinding together as they pressed against each other, their faces inches apart.
"You're better than I thought," she said, her voice low, almost grudgingly impressed.
"And you're more relentless than I expected," Sean replied, his breath heavy.
The Empress's eyes sparkled with a dangerous light. "I like that," she said with a grin. Then, with a sudden twist, she broke the lock and spun away, her sword arcing through the air as she prepared for another strike.
But this time, Sean was ready. He sidestepped her attack and swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for her exposed side. She twisted just in time, but the edge of his blade grazed her arm, drawing a thin line of blood.
Yulia paused, glancing down at the small cut on her arm. She raised her eyes to meet Sean's, and for a moment, there was only silence between them. The crowd held its breath.
Then, to Sean's surprise, the Empress laughed.
A deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the square.
"You've drawn first blood," she said, her voice filled with a strange mix of excitement and respect. "Perhaps I've underestimated you after all, sailor."
Sean didn't respond, his chest still heaving from the effort. He wasn't sure what to make of her reaction. The cut was minor, barely a scratch, but something about it seemed to have shifted the tone of the fight.
Yulia wiped the blood from her arm with a smirk. "But don't get too confident," she warned. "This isn't over yet."
And with that, the Empress launched herself back into the fray, her attacks faster and fiercer than before. But Sean matched her blow for blow, his mind and body working in sync now. He wasn't fighting to survive anymore—he was fighting to win.
Sean's focus sharpened as Yulia came at him again, her sword flashing toward him in a swift, deadly arc. But something had changed. The exhaustion that had weighed him down moments ago seemed to lift, and suddenly, he felt faster—more agile. He sidestepped her strike with ease and, before she could react, twisted his body and slammed the hilt of his sword into her side.
Yulia stumbled, her eyes wide with surprise. Sean didn't stop. He followed up with a kick, sending her reeling backward. She tried to regain her footing, but he moved faster than she could anticipate. In one smooth motion, he swept her legs out from under her.
The Empress hit the ground hard, but even as she fell, she wasn't done. With a fierce growl, she swung her sword at his legs in a desperate attempt to regain control of the fight. But Sean was ready. He parried the blow, knocking the sword from her hand, and in the next instant, his own blade was at her throat.
"Do you yield?" Sean demanded, his voice steady but his breath still heavy from the effort.
Yulia lay there for a moment, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. A smile slowly spread across her face, her eyes glinting with a mixture of admiration and defiance. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could speak, a few of her soldiers rushed forward from the edge of the square, their weapons drawn.
Sean tensed, his sword still pointed at Yulia's neck. He braced himself, ready to defend himself from the oncoming attack.
"Stand down!" Yulia commanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her soldiers hesitated, their eyes darting between Sean and their Empress, unsure of what to do. "I said, stand down!"
Reluctantly, the soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped back, though their eyes remained wary.
Yulia's smile returned as she looked up at Sean. "You've bested me, sailor," she admitted, her tone surprisingly soft. "I never thought I'd say this, but... I yield."
The crowd, which had been holding its breath, suddenly erupted into murmurs of shock and awe. Yulia, the fierce Empress who had never been publicly defeated, was surrendering. Sean's grip on his sword loosened, and with a slight nod, he stepped back, pulling his blade away from her throat.
"You're free to go," Yulia said, rising to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. She dusted herself off, her expression still unreadable. "But remember this, Sean Epstein. Not many have had the privilege of besting me in combat."
Sean stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, before glancing down at the sword still in his hand. Without a word, he tossed it back toward Yulia, the weapon clattering to the ground at her feet.
"I'm not keeping this," he said, his voice laced with a mixture of defiance and exhaustion.
Yulia's lips curved into a small, amused smile. "Keep it," she replied, her eyes gleaming with a hint of something—respect, maybe. "A reminder of today's duel. And of the fact that our paths may cross again."
Sean said nothing. He simply turned and walked back toward his crew, who had been watching the entire duel with bated breath. As he approached, their worried expressions turned into triumphant grins. They erupted into cheers, clapping him on the back and shouting his name as they made their way out of the square.
"Epstein, you madman!" the captain boomed, his voice filled with pride. "You did it!"
Sean managed a tired smile as they headed toward the tavern just outside the town square. His body ached, and his stomach growled after days of near starvation, but the relief of freedom washed over him. The crew's laughter and shouts filled the air as they pushed through the tavern doors, ready to drink and celebrate his victory.
Meanwhile, back in the square, Yulia slowly stood, watching Sean walk away with his crew. She bent down, picking up both swords—her own and the one Sean had returned to her. With a quiet, thoughtful expression, she held the blades for a moment before sliding them both into their respective scabbards.
The crowd began to disperse, and Yulia gestured for her soldiers to return to their posts. "Let everyone return to their day," she ordered, her tone calm and authoritative once again. "There's nothing more to see here."
Her soldiers obeyed, moving through the square to resume their duties around town. Yulia, flanked by a few of her most trusted guards, began the short walk back to her castle. As she moved through the streets, her mind lingered on the duel, on Sean's strength and defiance. There was something about him that intrigued her, something that made her feel as though their paths had only just begun to intertwine.
But for now, she would wait. Time, after all, was on her side.
With one final glance back toward the town, Yulia smiled to herself and continued on her way.
A few hours had passed since the duel, and the tavern was filled with the sound of boisterous laughter, clinking tankards, and rowdy sea shanties. Sean sat at the center of it all, a grin plastered across his face, energy and spirits renewed after days of confinement. His crew surrounded him, hearty men who raised their mugs high, singing songs of victory and freedom. It was a celebration that washed away the tension of the day.
The captain clapped Sean on the back, shaking his head with an impressed grin. "Never thought I'd see you take down an empress in single combat, lad. You've got the devil's luck, I swear it!"
Sean chuckled, raising his mug to meet the captain's. "That or she let me win. Either way, I'm just glad to be out of that dungeon."
They laughed, the sound mixing with the chorus of the other sailors. They chatted, sang, and toasted to their escape from the empress's grip. Sean's hunger was long gone, replaced with good food, strong drink, and the company of his crew. The night was perfect, almost making him forget the surreal events that had led to this moment.
But as the hours passed, the crew slowly began to trickle out, eager to return to their ship and get ready to set sail again. Sean, however, remained at the table, his thoughts drifting back to the duel and the strange way Yulia had looked at him when she admitted defeat. There was something unsettling in the way her eyes lingered, almost like she wasn't quite finished with him.
As the last few men made their way toward the tavern doors, a group of soldiers appeared in the doorway, halting them in their tracks. Sean's gut twisted as they stepped forward, and one of them, a young man with sharp eyes, spoke.
"The Empress wishes to see you," the soldier said, his voice firm but respectful.
Sean's smile faded, his brow furrowing. "Me?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
The soldier nodded. "She's asked for you by name. She wants to speak with you—alone."
The crew glanced at Sean uneasily, the laughter dying down as they exchanged concerned looks. "Sean, you don't have to go," one of the sailors said. "You've done your part. Let's get back to the ship."
Sean hesitated. A part of him wanted nothing more than to leave this place behind, to get back to the safety of the sea and forget about the empress altogether. But another part of him, the part that couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, felt that he had to see this through. Whatever Yulia wanted, he'd face it head-on.
"I'll go," Sean finally said, standing up. "I'll meet you all back at the docks. Don't worry."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "You sure about this?"
Sean nodded. "Yeah. I'll be fine."
The crew reluctantly agreed, leaving the tavern and heading back to the docks. Sean turned to the soldiers and gestured for them to lead the way. They marched in silence, the streets now quiet and empty as the night deepened. Sean's mind raced with questions, but the soldiers offered no answers, only repeating the same line when he pressed them.
"The Empress just wants to talk," one of them said. "Alone."
After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the castle, its tall stone walls looming against the dark sky. The soldiers escorted Sean inside, leading him through the grand corridors until they reached a large chamber bathed in moonlight. There, standing by one of the tall windows, was Yulia, her back to him as she gazed out over the city.
"Leave us," Yulia said, her voice calm yet commanding. The soldiers bowed and left without a word, closing the doors behind them.
Sean stood in the middle of the room, tension creeping up his spine. "I thought you said I was free," he started, his voice edged with suspicion. "You changed your mind?"
Yulia turned to face him, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. "No, sailor. I am a woman of my word. When I declare something, I mean it." She took a few steps toward him, her gaze sharp and calculating. "You are free. But I cannot shake this feeling."
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. "I have never known defeat," she continued, her voice lowering. "Yet I was bested today by a mere sailor. Are you really just a sailor, Sean Epstein? Or is there more to you than meets the eye?"
Sean could see where this was going, and he quickly cut her off. "I am a sailor," he said firmly. "That's all I am. My crew and I, we're seafarers—nothing more."
Yulia's smile widened, though there was something unsettling in her gaze. She took another step closer, her presence almost suffocating. "You expect me to believe that? After what happened today? You held your own against me, a trained warrior, despite being weak from your imprisonment. There's more to you, Sean, I'm certain of it."
Sean stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Believe what you want," he replied. "But I'm just a man who wants to get back to his ship. That's all."
Yulia's expression softened slightly, her head tilting as she regarded him. "You're an interesting man, Sean," she said quietly. "And I suspect that our story isn't finished yet. But for now... you are free, as I promised."
Yulia took slow, deliberate steps toward Sean, closing the distance between them. He instinctively took a few steps back, but her gaze never wavered, her eyes locking onto his. "I like your type," she said, her voice soft but unwavering.
Sean blinked, caught off guard by her statement. "My type?" he asked, confused. "What do you mean by that?"
She smiled, a small, almost predatory curve of her lips. "You're not like the others. You don't waste time with formalities, niceties, or unnecessary chatter. You don't ponder or beat around the bush. You go straight to the heart of things."
He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or some kind of insult. Before he could fully process her words, she continued, "That's why I called you here. I have a proposal for you."
Sean tensed, narrowing his eyes. "A proposal? What kind of proposal?"
"How would you like to have more freedom than you've ever known?" she asked, her voice smooth, laced with an air of persuasion.
Sean frowned, his skepticism evident. "More freedom? How could I possibly have more freedom than what I have now?"
Yulia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I can make you my royal consort. You would have power, influence... freedom beyond what you could imagine."
He was taken aback, eyes wide with surprise. "Your royal consort? Why me? This feels... sudden."
She nodded, acknowledging the randomness of her offer. "Yes, it is sudden. But with the short time we've spent together, I can see something in you. A strength, a defiance, a spirit that doesn't bend easily. That's something I admire."
Sean struggled to process it all. Her words seemed genuine, but the whole situation felt surreal. "I don't understand. Why would you trust me with something like that?"
Yulia shrugged slightly. "I'm not asking you to understand right now. I'm asking if you'll consider it."
His mind spun with possibilities, but none of it made sense. Finally, he spoke, "Can you give me time to think about this?"
The empress nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'll allow it. You can return to the docks for now. We'll speak again in the morning."
Sean exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Okay... I'll think about it."
With that, Yulia turned back toward the window, dismissing him without another word. Sean quickly made his way out of the castle, his thoughts swirling as he navigated through the empty streets back toward the docks. He couldn't make sense of any of it—why would she offer him such a position? And what was her true intention?
By the time he reached the docks, the crew was waiting for him, their expressions a mix of relief and curiosity. The captain was the first to speak. "What took you so long? We thought you'd been locked up again."
Sean shook his head, still trying to piece everything together. "She made me a proposal. A crazy one."
The crew gathered around him, intrigued. "What kind of proposal?" one of them asked, raising an eyebrow.
"She offered to make me her royal consort," Sean said, almost disbelieving the words as they left his mouth.
The crew stared at him in shock, the disbelief reflected in their wide eyes. The captain was the first to speak. "Her consort? Did you agree to any of that?"
"No, of course not," Sean replied quickly. "I don't even know what it really means."
The captain looked at him gravely. "Do you even know what being a royal consort entails?"
Sean shook his head, suddenly realizing he was in way over his head. "Not really."
The captain sighed, lowering his voice. "It's not just a title. Being a royal consort means more than just being at her side. You'd be bound to her for life. It's not just about power or status—it's about control. She'd own you, lad. Your freedom would vanish. You'd be expected to live under her rules, serve her in every way, and who knows what else."
Sean felt a cold pit in his stomach. "I don't want that. I didn't ask for this."
The captain nodded slowly, his voice cautious. "Then be careful how you play this, lad. She might not take no for an answer."
Sean glanced around, lowering his voice. "I don't want to be tied to a woman like that. I don't care how much power or freedom she offers. I'm not the type who wants authority or responsibility like that. I'm a sailor—I want to live my life out on the seas, free to go wherever the wind takes me. And if I'm going to settle down with someone, I'd rather it be with a woman from the local tavern than a stuck-up royal like her."
The captain chuckled softly but shot him a warning glance. "Keep your voice down, lad. You never know who might be listening."
Sean grumbled, but his tone stayed defiant. "I don't care. After spending a few days with her, I can tell you I don't want anything to do with that life. I'm not built for it."
The captain sighed again, shaking his head. "How long did she give you to decide?"
"Until tomorrow at sunrise," Sean replied, his voice heavy with resignation.
The captain clapped him on the shoulder. "When you see her tomorrow, just tell her what you need to say and get it over with. The sooner you're clear of her, the better."
Sean nodded, his mind still reeling as he glanced toward the horizon. Tomorrow would bring another meeting with Yulia, but this time, he knew he had to find a way to end things for good.
The morning sun crept over the horizon as Sean and the crew readied their ship for departure. The sounds of ropes being untied and crates being shifted filled the air as they worked efficiently, preparing to sail away from the port. Sean kept his mind focused on the tasks at hand, eager to put distance between himself and the events of the last few days.
As they unhooked the last of the dock lines, one of the crew looked out toward the edge of town and muttered, "Uh-oh."
Sean followed his gaze, and sure enough, a carriage approached, flanked by soldiers. His stomach tightened. He didn't need to guess who it was. The captain looked to Sean, giving a knowing nod. "She's here."
The carriage stopped at the walkway that led down to the port, and the Empress Yulia Domina Berilus stepped out. She wore an elegant gown, the flowing fabric catching the wind as she moved. Her soldiers flanked her as she made her way toward the ship, stopping just a few feet from the gangplank.
The crew tensed, but Sean remained calm, though his pulse quickened. He could feel every eye on him as she looked directly at him, her piercing gaze cutting through the morning mist. "Leaving so soon?" she said, her voice cold but measured. "I thought you were still thinking about my proposal."
Sean descended from the ship, motioning for the crew to continue their preparations. He approached Yulia, stopping just short of her as she stood regal and poised. "I've thought long and hard about it," Sean said, his tone even.
"And?" Yulia asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the weight of his words.
Sean exhaled, feeling the tension in the air. "I've come to a decision."
Her expression remained unreadable as she asked, "And what is that decision?"
"I refuse," Sean said, his voice firm.
For the first time, Yulia seemed caught off guard. She blinked, her lips parting slightly. "What did you say?"
"I refuse," Sean repeated, standing his ground. "I cannot accept your offer. It's too sudden, and I don't know you well enough to make such a commitment."
Yulia's eyes hardened, though she remained composed. "If you're worried about losing your freedom," she began, her voice laced with a seductive undertone, "you're mistaken. Being my consort would grant you the highest form of freedom. You could do whatever you want, go wherever you please. You'd have wealth, power, and anything you desired. You wouldn't even need to remain in my presence if it bothers you so much. You could travel the world, knowing we are simply bound together."
Sean shook his head. "That's exactly the point. I don't want to be bound to someone like you."
Yulia's composure faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained it. "And why not?" she asked, her voice a shade colder now.
Sean squared his shoulders, speaking with more conviction than before. "Because I don't care for power or wealth. I don't care for being tied down by someone with authority like yours. The way we met, the way you've treated me... it tells me all I need to know. I'd much rather be with someone more genuine, someone from the town or a tavern—a woman who isn't constantly looking to control everything and everyone."
Yulia's eyes flashed with something—anger, perhaps, or maybe even hurt—but she kept her face unreadable. "So, you'd reject me for a tavern wench?"
"It's not about that," Sean replied. "It's about the fact that we're not right for each other. You may find someone else, someone who fits into your life and wants the things you offer. But that's not me."
There was a long silence between them, the air thick with tension. Yulia's soldiers watched from a distance, uncertain of what might happen next. Yulia herself stood still, her eyes boring into Sean's as if searching for any trace of hesitation or weakness.
Sean watched in disbelief as Yulia stood there, her expression shifting from regal calm to something darker. Her lips curled into a chuckle, low at first, then building into manic laughter. It echoed off the nearby docks, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. She stared at him with wild eyes, madness simmering just beneath the surface.
"So, you'd rather have some tavern wench than be with the likes of me?" she hissed, her voice sharp.
Sean didn't hesitate. "Yes. That's exactly it."
She chuckled again, more maniacally this time, her eyes wide with fury. "Then I guess I'll have to fix that."
Before anyone at the docks or nearby soldiers could process what was happening, Sean's instincts kicked in. "Oh, hell no," he muttered under his breath before turning on his heel and bolting toward the ship. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted across the wooden planks, which creaked under his weight. The ship had already started to drift away from the dock, but it wasn't too far gone—he had a chance.
Behind him, he could hear her heels pounding against the dock, and the image of her manic expression spurred him to move faster. He reached the end of the dock, put everything he had into his legs, and vaulted himself off the edge toward the ship. In midair, his hands found a dangling rope—left by one of the crew—and he grabbed hold with all his strength, his body swinging hard into the ship's side.
"Pull me up!" he shouted as he clung to the rope.
But when he glanced back, his blood ran cold. Yulia had taken off her shoes and was sprinting barefoot toward the dock's edge. She leaped off with the same ferocity, her bare feet kicking off the barnacle-covered hull as she latched onto the ship's rear, gripping whatever she could find. Her strength was shocking, even as she clung to the side of the ship like a cat refusing to let go.
Sean scrambled, pulling himself over the railing with help from the crew. "Pull the rope up!" he commanded, breathing heavily as he looked down. She was making her way around the side of the ship, climbing hand over hand like a woman possessed.
One of the crew members, wide-eyed and panicked, called out, "What are we gonna do, Sean?"
"Just wait," Sean panted, keeping his eyes on Yulia. The empress was already reaching the spot where he'd just been, her hand gripping the railing now. Her eyes locked onto his, burning with a dangerous intensity.
"You're not getting away that easily!" she screamed, pulling herself up onto the rail, drenched but determined.
Sean gritted his teeth. In one swift motion, he lifted his leg and kicked her square in the face. "Hope you can swim!" he yelled.
The force knocked her back. Her fingers slipped from the rail as she tumbled backward into the sea with a splash. For a moment, everyone on the ship was silent, staring in shock at the spot where she'd fallen.
One of the crew members looked at Sean in disbelief. "Why'd you do that?!"
Sean caught his breath, his heart still racing. "It's the only thing I could think of," he said, leaning against the rail. "Besides, she can swim... hopefully."
The ship continued to drift farther from the docks, the crew still stunned by what had just happened. The captain, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. "You've got a hell of a way with women, lad.
A few tense seconds passed, the only sound being the distant creaking of the ship's wooden hull and the lapping of the waves against it. Then, with a sudden splash, Yulia's head emerged from the water. Her soaked hair clung to her face as she glared up at the ship, her eyes burning with unrestrained fury.
"Sean!" she yelled, her voice sharp with anger. "You will regret this! Mark my words, you'll live a life of hell!" Her voice carried across the distance, a promise of vengeance that sent a shiver down the crew's spines.
She turned and began swimming back toward the docks, her movements swift and controlled despite the weight of her drenched clothing. One of the soldiers rushed to the edge, reaching down to pull her up as she neared the dock. She grabbed his hand, and with a strong tug, was hoisted back onto solid ground, her body soaked and disheveled, but her demeanor composed.
As she stood on the dock, wringing the water from her hair and dress, her eyes remained fixed on the horizon where the ship was now barely visible, a mere dot against the expanse of sea. One of the soldiers, concerned but wary, stepped forward.
"Are you alright, Your Majesty?" he asked hesitantly.
She gave him a sharp glance, her lips curling into a bitter, humorless smile. "Peachy, as one would say," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
After a few more moments of ringing out her hair, she turned to face her soldiers, her expression hardening once more. "When we return to the castle, I want a message sent to all the nearby regions under my control and those allied with me," she commanded, her tone cold and decisive. "Tell them to be on the lookout for Sean Epstein. They are to apprehend him on sight. Dead or alive, it makes no difference to me."
The soldiers nodded, clearly understanding the gravity of her words. Yulia glanced one last time at the sea, her eyes narrowing in silent determination. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. Sean Epstein had just made himself the target of her relentless obsession, and no matter how far he sailed, she would hunt him down.