In Lara's absence, the palace had become a hissing serpent. Malice hissed in every corridor, every smile cloaked fangs.

It began with subtlety—the 2nd and 3rd Empresses sending polite inquiries to Lara's chambers, feigning concern. As days passed without response, courtesy gave way to cruelty.

“She thinks herself above us,” the 3rd Empress spat one afternoon, her voice like cut crystal. “Let us see what her silence is worth.”

And so they did.

They fell upon Lara's wing like a storm. Lilliyana tried to bar their way, hunching low without yielding. "Her Grace is not receiving," she said, her voice low and inflexible.

It came before she had finished the sentence, and it resounded through the hall, welcome as laughter.

For days afterward they played with her. The guards turned their heads; the servants stopped their ears. Every morning, Lilliyana was hauled from her station to suffer fresh agonies—whips and cold water, shut in the courtyard when rain fell. She said nothing, did nothing, bit her lip, looked straight ahead.

On the fourth day, her body shook with such fury that she was unable to hold herself up. Yet when one of the maids in the palace whispered, maybe she should be begging for leniency, Lilliyana only smiled faintly. “If they believe I am weak,” she muttered, “then they will stop fearing her. I can’t let that happen.”

It spread like a forest fire in that harem. The name of Lara, the absent Fourth Empress, was a ghost over them. Some said she had fled; others, that she was imprisoned elsewhere by the Emperor. The braver ones said she was dead.

But nobody dared to go in her rooms. The heavy doors remained unmoved, unconsidered. Even the 2nd and 3rd Empresses did not cross the threshold; they jested outside, their laughter loud, resonant, but hollow. Somewhere deep inside, they were afraid of what might happen if they stepped inside.

As anarchy brewed below, the First Empress sipped her tea in the upper gardens, serene as ever. The scent of white jasmine wafted through the air, and a gentle breeze stirred her silken sleeves. Her attendant read aloud the latest dispatch from the Chamberlain.

“So,” she said with softness, “the concubine confessed?”

“Aye, Your Grace. Before her execution. She named several accomplices in the lower markets. The under-district slave trade has been exposed.”

The First Empress’s lips curved into the barest of smiles. “Then our Emperor has one less distraction.”

Her father sat across from her, the Governor, his face pleased but calculating. “You've done well. That woman needed to be removed. She was careless—and getting close to the wrong secrets.”

The Empress's gaze slid away to the horizon, where the roofs of the palace sparkled gold and red in the sun. “One less snake in the garden,” she said. “But there are always others. Always more.”

The Chamberlain bowed deep. “Your Grace, the question of the Fourth Empress—”

She waved her hand lightly, never the smile faltering. “Leave her be for the time being. The younger ones will gnaw at her shadow until they choke on it.”

They had toasted quietly over the overturning of the First Concubine, whose attempt to drug the Emperor had signed and sealed her fate. The court called it justice. The First Empress called it housekeeping.

Down below, servants whispered of the guillotine's crimson stains, the post-execution silence. The message was clear: power in the harem had shifted again, and the woman who drank her tea with steady hands now ruled in all but name.

By dusk, the screams from Lara’s wing had stopped. The rain had retreated, leaving the courtyards slick and dark. Lilliyana lay inside the chamber she guarded, her back striped with welts, her lips cracked from thirst. She whispered a single name before sleep claimed her—“My lady.”

Beyond the heavy doors, silence took on substance. Somewhere, a door creaked open. The First Empress's shade stretched long across the marble as she passed, eyes unreadable. And in the echo of her footsteps, there was, hanging in that air, one thought: The palace was going to devour its own once more.

On the third day, the torture ended, and the palace grew quiet. Whispers still roamed its halls, but now they walked on softer feet, catching their breath over what silence could hide from them.

Karina came with the false dawn. She had ridden in with one of the supply caravans, dressed in servant's livery. As she entered Lara's quarters, she saw that the wing was almost deserted. A heavy layer of dust lined the corridors, curtains drawn, the air thick with the scent of damp stone.

Bruised, pale-lipped, Lilliyana lay on a narrow bed inside the inner chamber, completely still. Her light breathing rustled softly around the room.

Karina froze in the doorway. Her eyes widened. “By the gods,” she breathed. “How is she still alive?”

The old physician who had been bribed to take care of her shrugged powerlessly. “De obstinación, I think. She refuses to die.”

Karina fell to her knees beside the bed and pressed a damp cloth to Lilliyana’s forehead. “Rest,” she whispered, knowing full well the woman could not hear her. “You’re safe now.”

She sat with her for hours—cleaned her wounds, changed bandages, and whispered words she hadn't said since she was a child. Hours later, Lilliyana stirred, her eyes fluttering open to blink at Karina in confusion.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lilliyana rasped. “They’ll hurt you too.”

“I have been hurt before,” Karina finally whispered. “Besides, Lara brought me here, and I am not leaving her people behind.”

The faintest smile ghosted across Lilliyana's lips. “Then we’re both fools.”

By evening, the two women shared a quiet corner of the chamber lit by a single candle. The palace beyond the door was alive with chatter—the 2nd and 3rd Empresses returned to their gardens, triumphant after days of cruelty, unaware it was a hollow victory.

Karina listened to the noise and shook her head. “I thought the brothels were cruel,” she said. “But this place… it’s worse. At least in the streets, people admit what they are.”

Lilliyana made a strangled laugh. “Here, they hide it under silk.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the candle jumping between them. Then Karina spoke again. “We should send word to her. She needs to know what’s happening.”

Lilliyana’s gaze strayed to the window, where moonlight shone with dim gentleness through the mist. “She has her own battles to fight. I won’t call her back to this.”

“She’d never forgive us if we let this keep happening.”

“Perhaps,” Lilliyana whispered, “but I would rather she stay angry than return only to find herself trapped.”

Karina looked unconvinced but said nothing. Outside, from the garden, one heard laughter—a brittle, poisonous sound.

At that exact moment, the 2nd and 3rd Empresses sat beneath a tangle of lanterns, their bejeweled hands grasping cups of sweetened wine.

“She won’t last long,” one sneered, beaming with confidence. “Soon we shall claim her wing for ourselves. The servants will forget her name.”

The other chuckled lightly. “And the Emperor? He’ll hardly notice. He has not spoken her name once... It is clear she does not exist—for him.”

Their voices carried upon the wind, up the marble walls and down open corridors, until they reached a spy in the rafters: a young servant who owed her life to Lilliyana.

She stole away unseen.

By nightfall, it found its way into her chamber. Lilliyana paled as she read the hasty note: *They will burn the Fourth Empress’s quarters before morning.*

Karina trembled. “We can’t stop them alone.”

Lilliyana’s gaze veered to hers. “Then we won’t. But someone else can.”

She limped to the desk, wrenching it open to disclose a small, ornately carved box inside. Inside lay a carrier pigeon—sleek, dark, sharp-eyed. Lara’s pigeon. It had returned only once since her departure, always finding its way to the same place.

Karina hesitated. “If we send it, where does that leave it?”

Lilliyana’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Where it always goes—to her.”

Karina swallowed hard. “The Empress?”

A slight nod.

Lilliyana attached the small scroll to the bird’s leg. Her writing was uneven, rushed—*They’re out to burn your chambers. Halt them lest there be our blood.*

The window creaked as Karina pushed it open; the pigeon took flight across the moonlight, gone into the night.

Far across the palace, the Emperor sat huddled in his private study. The fire in the hearth had burned low. Papers lay scattered across his desk, ignored. He had not slept.

As he heard the fluttering of wings, he looked up.

The pigeon landed on his desk, feathers ruffled, eyes bright. He reached for it, untying the scroll with firm hands. His gaze traced the words once, twice.

This was followed by absolute silence. Then, as suddenly as unobtrusively, the Emperor got up from his chair. The bells of the midnight watch were ringing out of doors.

“Come in,” he commanded to the guards standing at their service. They swiftly and quickly came in.

“Call the Chamberlain. Tell him tomorrow there shall be a grandiose ball and that I demand everyone’s presence.”

The guard nodded at the stern and short command given by the Emperor and left hurriedly, trying to reach the Chamberlain.

Soon, as the door shut, the Emperor put back the note and sent the pigeon to her.