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sir-tuitsum · 22 days ago

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An Empress' Harem: Interacting with their Empress.

In where, the honkai star rail men interact with you, their Empress, in little scenarios.

See part one: here part two: here

Notes: Empress is a bit of an douche, I don't remember what I wrote, unedited low-key, Empress' thinly veiled sexism, Empress is her own warning.

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Sunday

The hour of nine had been made known by the echoes of the bells some time earlier. Now, the private dining chamber of the current reigning Lord Consort’s palace was silent, save for the patter and clink of porcelain under the fork of the Empress. The room was warmed by candle light and scented by the presence of delicacies but you could not force a comfortable atmosphere with ease.

You sat at the round, filled table but your appetite has never been more empty. Next to you, Sunday stood rigidly, one hand behind his back, his head slightly bowed in deference.

“A little man like yourself shouldn't be standing so long,” You twirled the wine cup in your hand, watching the liquid dance. “But you will stand there all night, won't you?”

It is tradition,” Sunday replied, his voice steady, as if the phrase were a shield against any argument. “At the hour of nine, the Empress dines, and her husband ensures her safety and comfort. To sit would be…”

“A break in tradition, yes.” You hoped you sounded mocking enough.

Sunday didn’t rise to the bait, his posture unwavering. “It is not my place to question what has been done for centuries, Your Majesty.”

You huffed and leaned back in your seat, swirling the wine in your hand once more. Just imagine nagging your wife at such a young age.

“Your Majesty,” Sunday said after a long pause, his voice low but measured. “You haven’t drunk your wine. Should I request a different vintage?”

You looked up at him, your eyes scanning his face for a crack in the mask of composure he always wore. He was as handsome as ever, his bright hair neatly combed, his ceremonial tunic perfectly pressed. But there was a special stiffness in him now that hadn’t been there when they were children. Always the rigid boy he was but these days it felt different.

Always a keen observer, he must've noticed you would rather swirl the wine than drink it, “The wine is fine.”

The silence resumed and you stared back at the filled table in front of you, you didn't look up until you saw a plate held before you. Sunday kneeled before you in the appropriate fashion and offered the plate to you, “I asked this to be made for you, it's good for relaxing the body after a long day.” It was possibly Barley Porridge, or not. You didn't have all the energy to care or bother.

If this was some other night, you would just thank him and drink it, just so he would not pester you about your health until you give in.

“Isn't kneeling almost the same as sitting.”

Sunday’s expression shifted then reverted back to its usual status of composed, “Kneeling before one's wife to offer her the meal is part of custom.”

You didn't hold back the tch sound from leaving your lips and you turned away from him, reaching for the other bowl before you. You didn't even bother to check what you were eating. Whatever it was, it made you feel hotter.

Sunday's brow furrowed, but he didn’t move. “It is my duty, my Empress. My role. I was raised to honor these traditions, to uphold the sacred customs, to respect you above all. It was never hidden in my intent to displease you by this.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“You’ve been busy,” you said after a moment, your voice soft but laced with something unspoken. “I hardly see you anymore.”

Sunday paused, his fork hovering in the air. “There is much to manage, Your Majesty. As your husband, I must ensure the household remains in order, oversee the petitions regarding your harem, and maintain the harmony of the court on your behalf.”

“Yes,” you said, leaning back in your hair, you dropped your fork onto the plate loudly. You made sure your tone was cool, “You’re always managing something, aren’t you? Always working.” If you heard his whine about tradition and duty one more time you would surely throw the fork at him next time.

He looked up, his amber eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—but it was quickly buried under the calm veneer he had perfected over years of training. “It is my duty. I was raised for this, my lady. Groomed to be the husband of an Empress. To support you. To bring balance to your reign”

It's good you put the fork down beforehand then, “It's always about your damned Empress, do you think for me anymore?”

Sunday flinched, just barely, but enough for you to notice. He set his fork down carefully, his movements deliberate. “You are the Empress. My wife. My highest priority. Everything I do is for you.”

“You can't even make a woman happy. I come here after slaving all day for this Empire and you make me feel like I'm still sitting in a council meeting.” You weren't aware of your tone or manners anymore. You stood up. You were tired. You didn't have the energy for one more debate this evening.

His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his plate. For a moment, he seemed to falter, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he had built around himself. “I only wish to be what you need,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.

He wanted to turn, to take your hand, to pull you close. But the voice of his upbringing rang in his head: An Empress deserves a husband who is steady, composed, unyielding.

Aventurine

The chamber was dimly lit, the intricate latticework casting fractured shadows across the marble floors. You sat on your raised throne, your robes spilling over the edges like cascading waterfalls. Your sharp, stormy eyes bore into the spot the IPC envoy stood before, heavy feelings of before the woman left your presence still remained. A minute has passed by now.

From the shadows of the chamber, a soft, measured voice broke the tension.

“Your Majesty,” said Aventurine, stepping forward with a grace that bordered on feline. He was dressed in silken robes of red and black,though the simplicity of his attire only served to accentuate his striking brighter features. His golden hair gleamed under the dim light, and his coloured eyes were calm, like a still lake.

You turned your sharp gaze to him, expression softening just slightly at the sight of your current favorite. “Aventurine. Do you too seek to explain this man’s impudence?

Aventurine watched you from a respectful distance, noting the way your shoulders rose and fell with each measured breath. The IPC envoy’s earlier gaffe still lingered in the air like a bad taste. Words of cooperation had somehow sounded like veiled commands, and His Empress, his lady, was not a woman who took kindly to even the suggestion of subservience.

The blond tilted his head, a smile made its way onto his face like the slow slithering of a snake, “I only bring concern for my Mistress.”

Your gaze became harder, “For me? Or for the precious position your IPC holds at my court?” “He stepped closer but slowly, “They value the peace your majesty has with you, their methods of expressing this admiration was perhaps…” he put his hand to his cheek, “clumsy.”

Your small laugh held no humor, “Telling me what to do with my own army feels like deliberate orders to a child, it was not clumsy.”

His response was quick, “And yet you did not strike them down for the impertinence. I admire your restraint as a leader, darling.”

Your lips twitched, but your anger had not yet abated. “Do not think flattery will blind me, Aven. I am not so easily swayed.”

Another smile on his face, “How could I ever sway you,” His steps slithered closer to you as he spoke, “Only to remind you who is being orbited. The IPC may fumble in their path but the orbit remains the same, around you. Not the other way around.”

“And what do you orbit, Aven?” He observed the way you tilted your head, you were studying him.

He was before you, replacing the spot the envoy of earlier had stood, “I orbit you as well, your majesty. What else am I supposed to be?”

You felt your lips curve into a smile, “You and your boyish flattery.” You took a breath before you continued speaking, “But the IPC is becoming bold, this orbit you speak of, are they not swaying away from the direction?”

He put his hands behind his back, his eyes staring off into the far corner of the ceiling, his brows knitted in confusion now, “Perhaps their boldness is not insolence. Do you think they seek to align themselves closer to your brilliant glow instead, like excited children who stumble from not paying attention?”

Your brow furrowed. For a moment, the air between them was heavy but Aventurine could sense the embers of your fury cooling.

Your gaze fixed on him, a lighter look on your face,“You speak well, Aven. Too well. It is my fault for asking a little guy like yourself about politics.” You stood from your seat, stretching as you did, “I let you learn a bit of Astronomy and look at the way you're speaking..”

Aventurine let out a light laugh, the room felt easier to breathe.

Your eyes glanced over at the blond’s figure and then you grinned, “You should wait for me back in the chambers like you were supposed to, I think I'm done with work for the day.” You walked down from the stairs leading up to your seat and patted the blond on his shoulder, “I'll go bath first.”

As you left the room,your robes trailing behind you, Aventurine remained where he was, exhaling softly. The Empress’s anger had been tempered—for now. But the IPC would need to tread more carefully, and Aventurine, the favored star in her constellation, would have to continue this dangerous dance for as long as the peace demanded it.

JingYuan

The Imperial Gardens, a rare concession the Empress grants herself when you feel to avoid the formality of your status. The winter-blooming plum trees stand in stark contrast to the chilly air, a reminder of resilience in the face of hardship. The Empress is seated by a small pavilion overlooking a fish pond.

Jingyuan walked the path of stone with measured steps, the cold of the winter made him clasp his hands together in the muffs. He knew this audience was a gamble but it was the final option. Any mistake will cause more than just his nation wide shame.

The Empress waited in the pavilion overlooking the fish pond. Your silhouette was framed by the rising sun, your expression as sharp and cold as the season itself. Jingyuan paused at the edge of the pavilion, bowing deeply. There was only one chance to get this right.

“Your majesty,” he said, “you honor me with your permission to have an audience.” Indeed, the Empress had ignored his request to see her ever since the sudden news of Auntie Jingliu’s betrayal. The fact she answered him now, after all these days, was a miracle in itself. He worried for stable means of interfering, for days. This was a matter of the privilege, reputation and overall of his clan after all.

A board of checkers sat in the middle of the pavilion, laid between himself and the Empress. You sat on the edge of the pavilion’s balcony, overseeing the fish pond with interest. The head servant of your palace stood next to you to attend to your wants, giving Jingyuan a bow upon his arrival. JingYuan was no fool, that bow was degradatory, if the Empress did not speak then this gave him a clear view of how you saw him. Aunt Jingliu has committed something terrible indeed.

“You are here.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

You didn't say anything after that, you simply took a bag from your servant and began to sprinkle the contents into the fish pond. JingYuan now understood.

“I read that book you gave to me again.”

You paused in your sprinkling, seeming surprised with his choice of words, then you continued again, “It enlightened you so much, you pestered me for days for an audience?”

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“An old book of prose I gave to you months ago?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

You stopped your sprinkling again, sighing, “you may proceed.”

Jingyuan took a careful step forward, his voice soft but steady as he began.

“In a remote valley, there stood a mighty tree—ancient and proud, its roots deep and unshaken by storms. For years, it sheltered a small vine that had been brought to it by chance. This vine, though fragile, grew strong under the tree’s protection, clinging to its bark and flourishing in the sunlight that filtered through its branches.” He paused, then continued, “But one day, the vine, in its foolishness, extended itself too far and ensnared a passing traveler. The traveler stumbled, fell, and chaos ensued. The villagers, seeing this, cried out to cut the vine from the tree. They said the vine’s foolishness was a stain upon the tree’s honor.”

You tilted your head, your expression inscrutable to him.

“The tree did not wither. It did not fall. Its roots remained strong, its branches unbroken. When the vine was untangled and allowed to grow again, it clung closer to the tree, humbled by its near demise. In time, it became a symbol not of weakness, but of the tree’s enduring strength and mercy.”

Silence followed. You turned your gaze back to the pond, your fingers lightly drumming against the walls of the pavilion, you spoke, “Justice is the root of your power, mercy is its blossom. Without one, the other cannot thrive. Let the vine be pruned, so it may grow anew.” You spoke the final words of the short story, almost begrudgingly, “then the meaning behind this prose interests you?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“If that is all you wanted to say, you can leave.” You placed the bag of fish food onto the tray the servant held it on and sat back in your seat, to finish your game of solo checkers, he assumed. Jingyuan merely bowed, not being met with any acknowledgment from you then left the pavilion.

Half way outside the imperial gardens, the servant caught up to him.

“Her majesty the Empress says this poem has had great influence on her and urges you to copy it 50 times before the dawn of tomorrow.”

Oh.

Dr Ratio

The golden morning light streamed through the silk curtains of the Empress’s private garden. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint aroma of jasmine and honeyed porridge. You sat in your usual place, your posture regal yet relaxed, as you reached for a delicate piece of fruit. Across from you, your concubine,Veritas Ratio, meticulously arranged his black and white checkers on the board with steady hands.

“Your Majesty,” Ratio began, his voice warm and measured, “as we talk about the theory of governance, might I posit that decentralization could be a double-edged sword?” He placed his first piece with precision, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with an eager spark.

The Empress arched a brow, intrigued but guarded. “Go on, Ratio,” you replied, your tone indulgent but commanding. You slid a checker forward with a graceful flick of your fingers, your painted nails catching the sunlight.

“Imagine, if you will,” Ratio said, leaning forward slightly, his voice rising in pitch and fervor, “a network of leaders, each with agency but united by shared principles. It creates adaptability, fosters competition, and-”

“Ratio,” you interjected gently, but your tone carried the weight of expectation.

He either did not notice or chose to ignore the subtle warning, his passion carrying him away. “And yet! The historical precedent shows that such a system, while revolutionary, risks fragmentation if not properly unified by a strong—”

“Veritas,” you said again, your voice as calm as the surface of a still pond but with an edge sharp enough to cut through his enthusiasm.

Ratio froze, his words caught in his throat like a trapped bird. His hand hovered over the checkerboard as the weight of your gaze bore down on him. He realized his error too late. A man speaking so forcefully, especially to the Empress herself? It was unthinkable, unforgivable in the eyes of society.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said quickly, his voice softening as he leaned back slightly, giving you the space you deserved. “I may have gotten carried away.”

You tilted your head, a faint smirk playing at your lips. You slid another checker forward, capturing one of his pieces in one move. “Carried away, indeed,” you said, your tone now tinged with amusement. “It is a rare sight, a man forgetting his place. But rarer still-” your gaze softened, your smirk blooming into a genuine smile “-is a mind like yours.”

You leaned back slightly, satisfied. “Good. Then perhaps we can discuss influence without forgetting our manners.” You gestured toward the breakfast spread. “But do eat, Ratio. A sharp mind falters on an empty stomach.”

Ratio picked up a steamed bun, chewing thoughtfully. His pride simmered beneath the surface, but he knew better than to let it spill over. The subtle reminder of his place stung, but he bowed his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of your authority. He reached for his next move.

“I am fortunate, Your Majesty, to have a place where my thoughts can find an ear,” he said, his voice measured once more. “Even if I must learn when to temper my excitement.” He found himself struggling with his tone, this was the Empress. He was also one of her men.

You chuckled softly. “Indeed, Ratio . Temperance is a virtue, one you must practice if you intend to continue playing games with me.”

Your jesting hung in the air, light yet pointed. Ratio met your gaze, his lips curling into a small, resigned smile. He wanted to push, to challenge, to show that his mind was worth just as much as yours, but he knew the lines he dared not cross, not yet.

“I shall take that lesson to heart, Your Majesty,” he said, moving his piece with deliberate care.

You watched him, your smile deepening ever so slightly as you placed another piece on the board. “Good. It would be a shame for such a sharp mind to dull itself on unnecessary defiance.”

Ratio placed his next piece with deliberate care, his voice quiet but firm. “I assure you, Your Majesty, my defiance if it can be called that comes only from a desire to engage, to share ideas. Not to challenge.”

“Is that so?” You asked, arching a brow. You captured another piece with surgical precision. “Then perhaps you should consider how best to share those ideas without forgetting who you are addressing.”

Your words were honeyed steel, and Ratio felt the subtle pressure behind them. He knew better than to push further. “As always, your wisdom humbles me,” he said with a small, practiced smile.

You let the silence stretch between you both for a moment before offering him a piece of fruit. “Now,” you made your tone warmer, “if decentralized is the sword..”

Ratio accepted the fruit, his expression softening. He treaded carefully as he spoke, adjusting his words to match the Empress’s tempo. Despite the undercurrent of frustration, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of triumph. You may hold the reins, but he would find a way to ensure his voice remained part of the song.

Dan Heng

In the dimly lit recesses of the imperial archives, the scent of aged parchment and ink permeated the air. Dan Heng, once a favored concubine, now thrown into the role of temporary archivist, meticulously organizing scrolls and manuscripts, his demeanor composed despite his altered circumstances.

It was easier to ignore the questioning stares around him, they granted him the dignity of looking away and carrying on with their businesses once he glanced at them. It felt better, a steady flow in comparison to the vipers of the harem who pounced at him the moment the Empress showed disinterest in him. Perhaps, he should've been born someone ordinary, sent to the palace to look through the Imperial Department of Archives all day. If the next life even exists, he hopes to sit in an archive all day, reading aimlessly.

The soft rustle of silk announced the arrival of the Empress, your presence commanding and deliberate. You observed Dan Heng in silence, noting the grace with which he performed his menial tasks. After a moment, you spoke, your tone laced with condescension.

“It seems the duties of an archivist suit you, Dan Heng. Perhaps this is where your true worth lies.”

Dan Heng paused, then turned to face the Empress, bowing respectfully. “Your Majesty, I serve where I am needed. If tending to the archives is my duty, I shall perform it to the best of my abilities.”

Your eyes narrowed, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Do not mistake this demotion for mere reassignment. Your refusal to seek my favor, to acknowledge the opportunities I have extended, the stench of arrogance. Do you believe that by denying me, you elevate your own worth?”

“I harbor no such illusions, Your Majesty. My intent has never been to defy or demean you. I simply remain true to myself.”

You stepped closer, your gaze piercing. “True to yourself? Or merely too proud to submit? Men in this palace have risen and fallen by their ability to please me. Your obstinance serves only to isolate you.”

“If my actions have caused offense, I regret that. However, I cannot feign affection or desire where none exists.”

It became obvious among many, since the young Vidyadhara had entered the harem that he was favored despite his background. Given gifts, given favor, the Empress adorned him with the fruits of her admiration. However, Dan Heng’s demeanor was far from submissive. He maintained a deliberate distance, his interactions with the Empress marked by a calculated indifference.

Perceiving his behavior as a challenge to your supremacy, you resolved to break his defiance.

You began by withdrawing the privileges he had enjoyed. Dan Heng was removed from the roster of those who would share your bed, a clear demotion in the hierarchical world of the harem, a response to his constant disrespect you claimed. The palace staff, ever attuned to the Empress’s favor, began to treat him with increasing disdain. Gifts once bestowed upon him were confiscated, and the servants assigned to his quarters were reassigned, leaving him to tend to a smaller household to tend to his needs, even then the number grew smaller from their personal choice to just leave him and find better masters. Even the Empress’s symbolic gestures were pointed; you had his cherished flowers transplanted to the imperial gardens, interspersed among wild blooms, pushing the nail further in of his fall from grace.

You did everything to make him miserable. He remained relentless. And now, even in the walls of scrolls and ink you had confined him into as a final warning, he remained careless of your attempts to fix him.

A tense silence hung between them, your expression hardened. “You overestimate your position, Dan Heng. In this court, worth is determined by favor and influence, not personal conviction. Continue on this path, and you will find yourself forgotten, buried among these scrolls, your beauty will be wasted.”

Being met with silence and his defiant, nonchalant look again, with a voice laced with mockery, you addressed him, “Dan Heng, your stubbornness is as admirable as it is futile. Do you not know that a man’s appeal lies in his willingness to seek a woman’s favor? Your silent suffering is unbecoming. No woman desires a man who cannot humble himself before her. Yet, I have shown you leniency. Should you not be more grateful?”

Dan Heng met your gaze, his expression serene. “Your Majesty,” he replied, “gratitude is due for kindness freely given, not for favors extracted through submission. If my demeanor displeases you, it is only because I remain true to myself.”

A sound of tch left your mouth, you've spent enough time here. You had better things to do.

“Honorable fools like yourself are better off hanging themselves, no?”

With that, you turned and departed, leaving Dan Heng alone amidst the silent testimonies of history.

Gepard

The private garden pavilion was quiet, lit by the soft glow of lanterns and the silver gleam of the moon. The Empress leaned against the balustrade, gazing out at the rippling pond, your presence regal and strangely relaxed. Gepard stood a respectful distance behind you, his posture stiff.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, your voice casual but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

“Never, Your Majesty,” he replied smoothly. “You are always where my thoughts lead.”

You let out a soft chuckle, though your gaze didn’t waver from the water. “Such a practiced answer. Did they teach you that in the countryside or have you honed the art since returning to court?”

“I’ve had excellent teachers,” Gepard said with a faint smile.

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable to him. Then you smiled faintly and gestured toward the bench nearby. “Walk with me,” you said, commanded was how he would describe it.

The walk was silent at first, their footsteps and the rustle of trees conversed with one another instead.

You looked at him, your eyes felt as if they bored him for an answer, “I remember when we used to sneak into the kitchens.”

Gepard glanced at you quickly, seeming surprised by your question, “I remember you demanded me to follow you there.”

You laughed at his reaction, a soft, genuine sound. “And you were the one who got caught stealing honey cakes because you couldn’t hide your guilt.”

“I was young,” he said with a faint smile. “And terrible at lying.”

Some things haven’t changed,” you teased, your gaze flicking toward him. “You’re still terrible at hiding your emotions, even when you’re trying not to show them.”

His smile faded slightly, his composure returning. “I’ve learned to stay within my place, Your Majesty. That’s all that matters.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “Is it?” You asked softly. “Even now?”

The weight of your question hung between them, but Gepard only bowed his head. “I would never presume to question your decisions. You know what is best for the empire.”

You searched his face, you didn't know what you were looking for either, “You're frustratingly loyal, Gepard. It's dull.”

When he didn't respond, you sighed and looked towards the exit, “I have other matters, I will leave first.”

You began walking towards it almost immediately.

“Your Majesty-”

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him over your shoulder.

I… must apologize,” he said, his words careful, deliberate. “For speaking beyond what a concubine should. I know I have no right to ask, but…” He hesitated, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “May I know what will happen to my sister?”

Your expression softened slightly, though your gaze remained sharp. You turned back to face him, a faint smile curving your lips. “Why didn’t you plead for her earlier?”

He straightened, meeting your eyes despite the tension radiating from him. “Because I understand who I am in your court. It isn’t my place to interfere in politics or question your authority.” His voice dropped, quieter now. “But I ask this not as a concubine, not as a subject of the empire, but as her brother. I only wish to know.”

You stepped closer to him, your hands clasped behind you, “You are filled with contradictions, Gepard. A loyal servant of the crown who follows rules yet breaks his bondages when the blood starts to drip.”

He bowed his head, his voice barely audible. “If that is a failing, Your Majesty, then it is mine alone to bear.”

For a long moment, you said nothing. Then, to his surprise, you reached out and lightly brushed his shoulder, a gesture both surprising and disarming.

“You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for,” you said, your tone lighter now. “But don’t mistake this as permission to push boundaries in the future.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gepard replied, his head still bowed. He could only hope that his moment of vulnerability hadn’t cost him more than he was willing to lose.

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tuit note: I didn't mean for this to take two weeks mb gang.

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