The robe was red silk today. Not because it was a festival, but because Liora had learned that color demanded attention — and she no longer needed to ask for it.
Servants bowed deeper now. Not out of love, but out of caution. Noble Consort was not a decorative title; it meant she could now summon, reprimand, or favor any lesser consort without permission. The harem whispered differently about her now.
Even her footsteps had weight.
But weight was not power. Not yet.
---
The Queen did not attend morning rites. Again.
Lady Wen noted it quietly as she passed Liora in the Hall of Fragrance, her voice hushed beneath the rustle of her sleeves.
"She is not sick," she said. "She is watching."
Liora didn't answer. She already knew.
Ever since her promotion, the Queen had vanished from public harem life — no gifts, no greetings, no summons. It was as though the palace's most powerful woman had become a ghost.
But ghosts saw everything.
---
Elira, on the other hand, had begun to smile again.
She hosted a poetry gathering in the Lotus Courtyard and invited every ranked consort but Liora. The exclusion wasn't subtle — and neither were the looks shared when her name was inevitably mentioned.
"She's patient," Lady Zhen had said, half-compliment, half-warning.
"She's patient like a noose," Elira replied.
The ladies laughed — but none too loudly.
Liora sent no reply. But she did send sweet Osmanthus cakes to the gathering. A quiet reminder: she could be gracious even when excluded.
Graciousness, she'd learned, was terrifying when done correctly.
---
In the nursery, her son took his first real steps. He stumbled once, then again — then grinned when he reached her lap. Liora kissed his brow.
Her daughter watched jealously, then demanded to be lifted.
"She'll try to rule the palace before she grows her back teeth," her nurse said, smiling.
"I'll teach her not to," Liora murmured, "until it's time."
Later that evening, the King came — and he asked only about the children.
"You've given me a future," he said, voice low as he held his son. "Not many women know how to give more than beauty."
He left soon after.
But not before laying his hand briefly over Liora's — a silent moment, heavy with what wasn't said.
---
The summons from Lady Hua came unannounced.
It was not customary. Ranked wives did not summon higher-ranked ones.
But Liora went.
She found Lady Hua in a quiet pavilion, half-shaded by swaying bamboo. The woman looked thinner than before, her eyes more distant. The perfume in the air was not floral — it was ashroot, a bitter herb meant to ward off illness or hide a miscarriage.
"Why did you call me?" Liora asked, her tone neither soft nor unkind.
Lady Hua poured tea.
"I want you to know," she said slowly, "that I'm not trying to climb anymore. I'm only trying to survive."
Liora raised a brow.
"And you think aligning with me helps with that?"
"I think the Queen has teeth. And Elira has claws. And the others? They don't notice blood until it's on their skirts."
Liora didn't answer. Instead, she sipped the tea.
Later, as she returned to her courtyard, she saw a small token on the edge of her doorway — a branch of fresh peach blossoms, untouched by guards or servants.
A message.
In palace language, peach blossoms meant hope in spring… or betrayal in bloom.
---
The Queen finally made her move.
Three days later, a surprise inspection of the harem quarters was ordered — not by the King, but in the Queen's name. Every servant, every hallway, every closet was examined for contraband, misplaced items, or signs of disloyalty.
Liora's rooms were turned over thoroughly.
Nothing was found. But that wasn't the point.
"She's reminding me," Liora said to her head maid that night, "that nothing I hold is truly mine."
"Except the children," the maid replied.
Liora nodded.
"And maybe the silence I keep."
---
In the still hours of the night, as she watched her children sleep beneath mosquito nets and peachwood charms, Liora whispered to herself:
"Let them try to move me. I am not the King's favorite. I am not a storm. I am stone."