A poised, striking woman stood by the window, looking out at the city shimmering in gold. The city lay so close—right at the foot of the steep hill on which her estate stood—yet dusk had already settled there, and lights had begun to bloom; here, near her manor, it was still bright. She shifted her gaze to the garden beneath her windows, then back to Onilam, exhaled, turned around, and slowly, in quiet contemplation, crossed the room. The door slid aside with a soft motion—she stepped into the corridor. She walked a few steps with a wandering, unfocused look, then gave a brief, questioning shake of her head, turned back, and returned to the room.

She settled at the large dressing table, crowded on one side with jars and tubes and on the other with boxes and stands of jewelry. Aliana looked at her reflection in the triple mirror, tilting her head slightly. Then she reached for the first case of earrings, tried on one, shook her head with a hint of doubt, and moved on to the next pair. After some time, having gone through several sets, she rose, walked lazily toward the bed, and let herself collapse onto it face-down.

Above the bed hung an illustration of a woman with a jug. The woman was drawn from the waist up, one hand clasping the vessel’s neck, the other supporting its base. It was more of a sketch—broad but recognizable features of the room’s owner.

Aliana rolled onto her back, slid her red underwear down to her ankles, and with a wide, elegant flick of her leg tossed them onto the portrait. Smiling at her own precision, she ran a hand over her stomach and lowered it further, intending to take her pleasure into her own hands.

On the finely crafted bracelet adorned with small elegant charms, an incoming call lit up—the balding man with narrow features appeared in the tablet’s video window by the window. The woman approached the screen reluctantly. The projection light outlined the tense set of her brows, while her interlocutor began speaking at once.

“Aliana, in a couple of hours—right after dinner—Jiapr will arrive. Dress up nicely, the way I like. You’ll sit with us,” the man said, giving a nasty little smile.

 “Listen, I’m not in the mood. Maybe you can sit without me?” She winced. “And I find that Tirak extremely unpleasant. The way he looks at me—feels like he’s about to start drooling. And you still want me to dress provocatively.”

“Yes, that’s exactly how he looks,” her interlocutor chuckled. “And I enjoy that jealous stare of his. To make people like him obedient, you need not only status but also possession of what they want and cannot have.”

Aliana rolled her eyes skeptically.

“I want you at your best. And have them set the table on the far terrace with the blocking half-sphere. Check it yourself.”

“Yes, of course.”

The connection cut off.

Aliana’s nostrils flared, releasing a forceful burst of air; black, red, and gray swirled around her. “Not what, but who!” she hissed. “You’re forgetting yourself, darling.”

She glanced at her aura, took a few meditative breaths, and it vanished. Then she turned left from the window, made a wide, sweeping gesture, and the wall sank inward and slid aside, revealing a large dressing room.

____________________________

The estate stood atop the hill—severe and majestic. Symmetrical facades of pale synstone caught and reflected the soft light, while the thin screen-panels embedded in the colonnades came alive at the owners’ approach, shifting into smooth visual fields.

In the center of the small, perfectly round pond lay an island of the same shape. The pond reflected the stars and glimmered softly from within—the water served both as a decorative element and as a conduit for the terrace’s fountain systems.

A couple of hours later, as dinner was nearing its end, two figures appeared on the path leading from the flipp parking area: a guard and Tirak Jiapr, whom he was escorting to the Monarch and his consort.

“Your Majesty,” Tirak inclined his head slightly but precisely toward the ruler, “my lady,” — a diagonal bow toward the beautiful woman. “Good evening.”

 “Good evening,” Aliana replied. Riapuar only nodded and began rising from the table.

“Bring appetizers and drinks, and leave us alone. Everyone — beyond the perimeter until I call. And in general, make sure no one drifts into view,” he ordered as he walked toward the three armchairs arranged in a half-circle around a small, round, translucent table at the far edge of the terrace. The chairs faced the pond.

“Shall we clear the table?” the attendant asked with a bow.

 “No. Just be quick about it,” the monarch said, lowering himself into the center chair.

When the half-sphere sealed, the world went instantly mute. The air thickened—sound dissolved into a violet haze of light. His consort rose and walked toward the chairs. She was dressed in a short, form-fitting top with long sleeves and bare shoulders; a loop of copper mesh encircled her neck, holding the edges of the neckline in place. At her hips, the dense, flowing fabric of her skirt swayed, joined to the top at the front by a wide strip of the same copper mesh, though woven in a larger pattern. Both the top and the skirt were the same rich amber color.

Tirak followed behind her, openly eyeing her neck, back, and hips. Reaching the table, he instantly stepped ahead and courteously pulled out the chair to the ruler’s right; the latter smirked in satisfaction. Tirak then circled the table and, waiting for the woman to sit, glanced questioningly at Riapuar—and, seeing the monarch’s approving half-closed eyes, sat down at once.

“Well then, Tirak, do you have anything to add to the information you’ve already given me? You see, two points trouble me—things we didn’t account for in our plan, and yet here they are. First: the large number of inmates who escaped from the prisons, and not just escaped but seized weapons. And second—the expenses tied to all this have multiplied. I don’t quite see why you also need a stationary base, and of this scale at that. And the reasoning behind merging it with one large unified prison instead of restoring the old facilities in their former locations… hmm.”

“A single large prison is precisely for the sake of saving costs,” Tirak replied quickly.

Riapuar grimaced, clearly trying to recall something.

“Ah, yes!” he waved his hand. “Have the operatives been cleaned up? You didn’t report back to me.”

“Of course.”

“I trust the cleaners don’t know the reason for the cleanup.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Not our first day on the job, as they say.”

And while Tirak gazed obsequiously into the monarch’s eyes, Aliana fixed her attention on his disk, which had appeared above him the moment the question about the cleanup was asked. The disk was much larger than the ones she had seen before, and it was two-toned—its edges a dark, blood-red.

Her husband reached for a tall glass, brought it to his lips, and took a long, slurping sip, nodding as he did so. It was unclear whether the nod was approval of Tirak’s answers or simple enjoyment of the drink. Meanwhile, the head of URCC cast a furtive glance at his left hip. Noticing this, Aliana instinctively looked there as well—the table was translucent enough for her to see the faint violet glow shining through the fabric of his trouser pocket.

Apparently sensing it himself, the man slipped his hand into the pocket, and the glow vanished. Aliana immediately looked away and reached for the appetizers, pretending to have noticed nothing. Tirak’s expression, however, grew pensive, as if he had retreated into his own thoughts.

A silence settled over them, but it seemed to suit everyone—each of the three had sunk into their own thoughts.