Serbia and the Empire have a tangled relationship in many ways.
Serbia, originally formed by Slavs opposing the Empire, and the Empire that sought to subjugate them. Even after Christianization, Serbia continually eyed the throne of Constantinople, especially during the era of Stefan Dušan.
It was only with the emergence of external threats that these two nations, bound by war and submission, began to pursue genuine peace and coexistence.
Constantine, the Prince of the Empire, and Princess Sophia of Serbia.
The meeting between these two, bearing the future and fate of their nations, finally takes its first step…!
…Or so it was thought.
“Is the only thing you’re curious about in that field?”
Sophia’s abrupt question sounded strange, at least to the prince. For him, it was a baffling shift in the conversation. He tilted his head, reflecting on their dialogue so far. The greetings had been ordinary, marked by respectful and noble decorum.
From there, they exchanged insights about the internal affairs of Serbia, the Empire, and the Balkans in light of the Ottoman movements—a highly informative discussion. Was there something else Sophia wished to discuss? Although he saw no other topics, Sophia seemed to think otherwise.
With consideration, the prince asked for her opinion.
“Is there another topic you wish to discuss?”
At this, Sophia sighed deeply, filled with disappointment and resignation. She didn’t hide her feelings.
“…I think I understand why you’re not popular.”
“??”
To the prince, Sophia’s muttering sounded entirely odd. Her strange behaviour aside, Sophia had no desire to continue the boring, excessively formal conversation. With a faint smile, she rose gracefully from her seat.
“My apologies for interrupting, but it seems the fatigue from travel hasn’t quite lifted. I’ll take my leave to rest. I hope you have a pleasant day, Your Highness.”
Her face clearly reflected irritation rather than favour. Sophia left, followed by the silent Serbian delegation trailing after her out of the banquet hall.
The prince was left alone in the vast hall.
He felt neither defeat nor anger at the rudeness. Quietly, he reached for a wine glass and took several sips. Perhaps a bit tipsy, he heard a voice of reproach directed at him.
‘Do you even intend to get married?’
Would he? The prince, slightly intoxicated from the rarely-touched wine, seriously pondered the phantom question. It churned in his mind for a long time. Eventually, the prince found a clear answer.
‘Well, what if I don’t?’
The prince had been a potential successor to the throne. This marriage wasn’t just about political leverage; it was a strategic move to secure an alliance with the Empire and safeguard his position as Prince of Morea.
It was the right thing to do.
The marriage lacked nothing.
Even so, why did he hesitate?
‘Was I lacking in any way?’
He recalled the image of a pure young girl gazing up at him with pleading eyes. Yes, he had been lacking. Very much so. The prince repeated his words to himself over and over, trying to justify his decision. He suppressed his guilt and the vague, indescribable feelings.
“It was the right thing to do…”
From the moment he saw the frightened citizens behind the besieged capital’s walls, he resolved to take this path. Once a life seeking romantic love shifted to prioritize responsibility and duty.
What drove him to this obsession?
What made him so cold?
He slowly recalled the moment, eyes closed.
At first, it might have seemed like a mere game. But the chilling wind and physical pain he felt moved him. He didn’t want to be hurt. Even if it was a game, the pain was real.
To escape a miserable fate, he took his first step, struggling. That struggle turned to anger as he saw others resigned to their fate. He was trying so hard to survive—how could they accept suffering so easily? By whose permission?
So he forced them to stand, to suffer in the struggle.
What began as selfishness born from a desire to avoid pain turned into something more. The trustful gazes and hopeful cheers from the people reshaped him. The saying that a position shapes a person had become true for him.
He realized his responsibility and duty.
This was the prince’s punishment for dragging others into suffering due to his whims. Bearing the Empire’s flag was a serious obligation imposed upon him. His yearning for power, cloaked in responsibility, was a burden he would carry for life.
But without results, such agonizing thoughts would be meaningless.
As soon as the prince opened his eyes, he stormed out of the banquet hall. The ending wasn’t ideal, but he had adhered to the formalities expected before the wedding. He reminded himself of the purpose of this marriage—it was never meant to be a sweet honeymoon. This union was merely a stepping stone to save the Empire.
Whether Sophia felt pleased or displeased was none of his concern.
If she wished, he would grant her a divorce—once the Empire had firmly secured its dominance over Serbia. That would only happen after ensuring their survival against the Ottomans.
Love or tender romance had no place here.
Not yet. There was still more to be done.
//
On her way back to her chamber, Sophia couldn’t help but stew over her grievances.
Even if this was a political marriage, how could he be so oblivious to the atmosphere? Not a single compliment or line to smooth their relationship was offered. Perhaps his harsh surroundings had left him ignorant of how to interact with women.
“Still, that tone was too much, even for a noble.”
As a prince of an esteemed empire, he should possess the refinement expected of his station. His speech was so blunt it felt almost crude—had he never polished his speech? It was understandable, to a degree, that he had a soldier’s disposition rather than that of a diplomat, but as a ruler, he should have shown the qualities befitting his role.
“I expected some challenges, but this is too much…”
Her disappointment in the prince only intensified the vivid memory of another man.
The gallant knight who was always noble and, at times, recited romantic poems with a gentle smile. His tender gaze and whispered sweet nothings during their dreamlike days together now shackled her heart. Memories that were once warm had become chains binding her.
“I mustn’t think of him… I can’t.”
Sophia recalled a promise made with her father during her childhood.
It was the day she first understood the adult truth that love could be both desired and discarded. Her father’s solemn words had etched themselves into her broken heart, teaching her that the only thing a noble could truly hold onto was power. She repeated this lesson countless times.
From that perspective, Constantine was the ideal groom.
He had stabilized Morea from a young age and now stood at the center of imperial power, capable of steering the Empire’s future.
Yet, something still left her dissatisfied.
“No… I won’t be swayed by love again. I can do this. I will do this.”
Marrying the prince was a highly beneficial decision for both Serbia and Sophia herself. The advantages were too significant to overlook. As she reaffirmed this resolve, her attendant, observing her expression, hesitantly spoke.
“Your Highness, if you’re unhappy with this marriage, perhaps the second prince would be a better choice?”
Sophia paused. Abandon the prince now and choose the second prince instead? That would only further damage the already fragile trust. Besides, what did Theodoros have that could compare to the prince? I can do this. Sophia pushed all past memories to the farthest corners of her mind.
With a serene face, having banished her earlier turmoil, she turned to her attendant and smiled brightly.
“No, it’s fine. I’m satisfied.”
“Your Highness…”
“Don’t worry.”
Concern born from loyalty was appreciated, but if it led to ruin, it was misplaced. Sophia craved power. To be content as a princess of Serbia meant relinquishing the most precious value she could possess.
“Prince Constantine is more than charming enough.”
Sophia desired power.
For the sake of the old memories her broken heart might still hold on to.
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