Emperor Dottore - Zandik

The first time Emperor Dottore saw you, he stopped listening to the meeting entirely.

Kings were speaking. Diplomats were arguing. Advisors filled the grand hall with endless politics disguised as sophistication, each voice trying desperately to sound more important than the last. Normally, Dottore tolerated these gatherings only because they benefited the empire. Human beings bored him more often than not.

Then he noticed you.

You stood beside your father’s throne dressed in white and silver, looking less like royalty and more like something carved from moonlight itself. Gentle eyes. Soft voice. Kindness woven so naturally into your expression that it felt almost unreal amongst people like them. When disputes rose between delegates, you calmed them effortlessly. When servants trembled near the emperor’s retinue, you thanked them softly instead of ignoring them.

You were unbearably delicate.

And Dottore could not stop staring.

People called you ethereal.

Too gentle for politics.

Too soft for war.

Dottore despised softness.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

Soon, curiosity became routine. Advisors noticed the emperor requesting updates about your kingdom far more often than necessary. Merchants traveling through your lands were questioned privately before being dismissed. Servants delivering reports to his study began finding unfinished sketches of your face abandoned beside medical diagrams and war plans.

The emperor never explained himself.

But the obsession worsened quietly.

At first, he mistook the feeling for curiosity. That was dangerous enough already. Very little intrigued him anymore; human beings had long since become predictable creatures in his eyes. But you were strange. Not because you were naïve, but because despite understanding cruelty perfectly, you still chose kindness anyway.

It fascinated him in the way rare phenomena fascinated scholars.

He spent the remainder of the summit watching you instead of listening to negotiations.

The way you smiled politely even when exhausted.

The way children hiding behind palace staff immediately drifted toward you.

The way your hand lingered over injured soldiers during ceremonies as though mourning them personally.

You were soft in ways the world should have destroyed by now.

And Dottore wanted to understand why it hadn’t.

So he began asking more questions.

At first, they were harmless inquiries directed toward spies and diplomats. Your favorite flowers. The books you read. Whether the rumors about your generosity toward commoners were exaggerated. But information led to more interest, and interest became fixation with alarming speed.

Soon, reports from your kingdom arrived daily upon his desk.

He learned you secretly fed stray animals in the palace gardens yourself despite servants offering to do it for you. He learned you hated executions so deeply that you once argued with your father for pardoning a thief. He learned your people adored you because you remembered names no royal should bother remembering.

And he learned you hated him.

That should have ended the fascination.

Instead, it ruined him completely.

Because unlike the rulers who feared him and the nobles who flattered him, you looked at Emperor Dottore as though he were something tragic. Something monstrous. Your gaze never held admiration whenever his name surfaced during political discussions—only quiet disappointment.

It was unbearable.

It was intoxicating.

By the time he proposed marriage, Dottore had already memorized things about you no sane man should know.

The exact flowers arranged outside your bedroom balcony every spring.

The fact you reread the same poetry collection whenever overwhelmed.

How you often wandered palace gardens after midnight because sleep rarely came easily to you.

He knew everything.

And still, he wanted more.

The proposal itself arrived alongside treasures extravagant enough to make neighboring kingdoms envious. Jewels from conquered nations. Silks threaded with gold. Rare artifacts scholars had spent decades searching for.

But the letter attached remained painfully simple.

Become my empress.

No declaration of love.

No desperate pleading.

Just certainty.

And before your entire court—

You rejected him.

“I would never marry a tyrant.”

The silence afterward felt catastrophic.

Your father looked horrified.

The nobles surrounding the throne stared at you as though you had just signed the kingdom’s death sentence with your own hand.

Perhaps you had.

Because although Dottore smiled when the messenger repeated your answer to him days later—

War began not long after.

It did not arrive dramatically at first.

There was no official declaration. No warning sent to your kingdom demanding surrender.

Only silence.

Trade routes vanished first.

Then border villages stopped responding entirely.

Then smoke appeared at the horizon.

Your kingdom fell apart frighteningly fast after that.

Imperial soldiers moved like a tidal wave swallowing everything in their path. Cities surrendered within hours rather than face the emperor’s brutality firsthand. Entire battalions disappeared overnight. The sky itself burned beneath the empire’s machines.

And somewhere amidst the chaos, Dottore advanced steadily toward the capital.

Toward you.

You remembered the night the palace fell more vividly than you remembered your own childhood.

Servants screaming through smoke-filled corridors.

Your brother holding a sword in his trembling hands that barely knew how to use one.

Your father barking orders at guards while explosions shook dust from the ceilings overhead.

“Get her out of here!”

Someone grabbed your wrist.

You fought instantly.

Your family was still inside the palace.

You refused to leave them behind.

Then the corridor ahead flooded with imperial soldiers.

The guards protecting you were cut down before your eyes.

You still remembered the blood splattering across marble floors.

The screaming.

The feeling of gloved hands restraining you while you clawed desperately to get free.

And after that—

Darkness.

When you woke, everything smelled unfamiliar.

The bed beneath you was softer than any you had ever slept in. Silk curtains draped around towering windows overlooking an enormous city of black stone and gold-lit streets. Somewhere beyond the walls, distant bells echoed across the imperial capital.

Panic struck immediately.

You stumbled from the bed only for the doors to open before you reached them.

Dottore entered quietly.

He did not look like a conqueror.

There was no armor on him. No visible blood. No sign that he had personally destroyed an entire kingdom only days before.

He looked composed.

Elegant.

Almost gentle.

And somehow that frightened you more.

Relief softened his features the moment he saw you awake.

“There you are,” he murmured.

You stared at him with raw hatred.

“Where is my family?”

The silence that followed nearly killed you before his answer did.

Your voice cracked. “Where are they?”

Dottore approached slowly, as though wary of startling you.

“Your father refused surrender.”

Your stomach dropped violently.

“My brother?”

“He attacked one of my soldiers.”

The room blurred.

“No,” you whispered immediately. “No, you’re lying—”

“I am not.”

The honesty shattered something inside you.

You stumbled backward, horror and grief crashing into you so violently your knees nearly gave out. Tears blurred your vision almost instantly, but Dottore crossed the room before you could collapse entirely, catching you carefully against him.

You shoved at him desperately.

“Don’t touch me!”

Still, he held on.

Not forcefully.

Almost tenderly.

“You hate me,” he murmured quietly against your hair.

“You killed them!”

“Yes.”

No excuse.

No denial.

Only calm acceptance.

The emperor lowered his head slightly, gloved hand brushing against your trembling fingers while you cried.

“I offered peace first.”

“You destroyed my kingdom because I rejected you!”

His eyes finally darkened then.

“Because they intended to take you away from me.”

The words came so naturally from him that it made your skin crawl.

You stared at him in horror.

And Dottore looked back at you with something terrifyingly close to devotion.

The room fell silent except for your uneven breathing.

Then, after several moments, he spoke again.

“You once said you would rather die than marry a tyrant.”

Your body stiffened immediately.

Dottore’s hand lifted slowly, brushing a tear from beneath your eye with impossible gentleness.

“I’ve decided,” he said softly, “that I would prefer you alive.”

You could barely breathe.

“So I will give you a choice.”

His lips curved faintly—not cruel, not mocking.

Worse.

Patient.

“You may marry me willingly…”

His fingers tilted your chin upward carefully.

“…or you may continue hating me from the throne beside mine.”