The morning began with a sound like thunder-but it was no storm. Rather, it was the sound of feet and voices, of doors bursting open and scrolls unrolling; and the very air seemed to shake under the weight of the decree.

“By command of His Majesty,” the herald cried, and his voice cut through every courtyard and corridor of the harem, “a grand banquet shall be held in the Imperial Hall at the turn of the second bell. All Empresses and Concubines are summoned to attend—by royal decree, under penalty of contempt.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, as if the world had drawn in breath, chaos erupted.

The harem was a hive set aflame. Silk rustled, voices clashed, perfume and panic filled the air. Servants ran in all directions with bolts of cloth, chests of jewels, trays of gilded combs. Polished floors, once serene and gleaming, were transformed into rivers of footsteps in rapid succession. A girl tripped, fell, scattered pearls everywhere like drops of rain; another screamed at a hairdresser tugging too hard; laughter and hysteria intertwined into one frantic, glittering sound.

No one could recall such an order ever being given. Not even on coronation day had the occupants of the harem been acknowledged as members of the imperial family. They were decorations, not relatives. Yet now—now the Emperor had declared them all his guests.

“It means something,” one concubine whispered, clutching her robe. “It must.”

“Of course it means something,” another hissed, eyes bright with hunger. “It means we are no longer just shadows.”

And with that, every heart in the harem started beating quicker—some out of hope, others out of dread.

In her wing, the Second Empress paced like a caged tiger. “He dares to put us beside them? Those courtesans?” she spat, her nails dragging against the marble.

Her chief attendant murmured, “Perhaps His Majesty seeks harmony—”

“Silence!” the Empress snapped, though her eyes betrayed fear. “Harmony is for equals. This is humiliation!”

From the next room, the Third Empress laughed—a soft cruel sound. “Oh, don’t sulk, sister. Perhaps the Emperor is simply bored of you.

The Second Empress turned on her, hand raised, but before a word could pass between them, another cry echoed down the hall: “Dressmakers! Jewelers! The Emperor commands haste!”

And with that, the fight was over. They both turned to their mirrors.

The First Empress received the decree alone.

Her maid brought the scroll, trembling in both hands. “Your Grace,” she whispered, bowing low. “The royal command.”

The Empress took it, breaking the seal and reading. The wax still smelled faintly of smoke.

Her hand froze. Then, with no warning at all, she flung the scroll across the room. It hit the wall and fell, rolling up against a vase. She followed it—her slippers whispering against the floor—and kicked the vase to shards.

“He’s mocking me,” she whispered. “Mocking me.”

Her voice rose. “After all I've done to hold this palace together-he dares make a circus of it?

Her reflection stared back from the mirror: perfect, unflinching, untouchable. For twenty years, she had ruled this palace in silence and with precision. No emotion. No weakness. But now, as the fury swelled inside her, cracks were forming in that flawless surface.

She tore the mirror from the wall. Glass shattered across the tiles.

Her maid gasped. “Your Grace—please!”

“Get out!” the Empress screamed.

The maid hesitated, desperate to intervene-and that was her mistake. The Empress seized her by the hair, nails slicing through skin. The girl screamed as she was dragged down, her cheek raked open. The sound only fed the madness.

The porcelain shattered, silk tore, and the air filled with perfume and blood. When finally the Empress let her go, she was shaking and breathing hard, her eyes wet from fury and confusion.

“He’s taken everything from me,” she whispered. “My crown, my power… my dignity.”

But she was wrong.

It was the Emperor who had not divided her power; he was collecting it—only to tear it apart.

By noon, the palace had been changed. It was no longer a house of rulers but a living market. Dressmakers darted through corridors with mouths full of pins. Merchants bowed under boxes of gemstones. Rose oil fragrances mingled with the smoke of a hundred braziers. From every balcony hung fabrics of emerald, crimson, and gold.

The noise was relentless: laughter, gossip, the hiss of silk, the clink of jewels. Beneath it all, the unspoken thought pulsed through every chamber: The Emperor is watching.

Yet the Emperor himself was nowhere to be found.

He stood by the window of his private study, staring out toward the gardens. His expression was unreadable.

A small cage rested on the table beside him; inside, a pigeon preened its feathers, sleek and dark and intelligent.

He reached for it, his touch slow, almost tender, and it cooed softly, recognizing its master.

“Fly,” he said softly, opening the latch. “And don’t be late.”

The pigeon took to the air, disappearing into the sun-drenched distance.

he had set the stage.

Far north, the sky hung low and gray over the frozen woods. Snow fell in thin, whispering sheets. Lara rode through it with her hood drawn, her horse's breath rising in clouds. Marcus followed close behind, his silence the kind that held both respect and worry.

They had been on the road since dawn. Eleven miles now separated them from Baron Nagir's estate, the man who bought Nina like livestock. Lara's eyes were fixed ahead, sharp and burning, though exhaustion traced faint shadows beneath them.

"Rest, my lady," Marcus said quietly. "We can't face him without strength." Or more like he meant with your unstable state but could not say that out loud.

She shook her head. "If we stop, I'll start thinking. And if I think… I'll lose my mind."

The wind tugged at her cloak. Somewhere aloft, the pigeon crossed the clouds—still hours away.

Lara didn't see it. Not yet.

But by the time it reached her, she would have to choose. If she turned back, she might save her maids. If she kept forward, she would avenge her friend. Only one route would make it through the night. Far behind her, in the heart of the empire, the palace glittered under a dying sun, a stage dressed for a performance none of its actors understood.