The news came wrapped in silk.
Literally.
A basket of early peaches, a rare delicacy not yet in season, arrived from the outer palace with a simple tag: "A gift of remembrance — the fruit you once shared with family."
Liora stared at it for a long time before lifting the cloth.
Peach blossoms were her sister's favorite. They used to pick them together when they were girls, before the scandals, before the disgrace.
And before Liora betrayed her.
She didn't need to taste the fruit to understand:
Her sister had made it to the Queen's side.
---
That night, Liora walked the garden paths alone, wrapped in her heaviest shawl though the air was warm.
Every birdcall in the trees, every crunch of gravel underfoot, sounded too loud. The Queen had played her piece — brought back the forgotten rival, a woman tied to a powerful house, once disgraced but now unburdened by any man. Widowhood was, in its way, a freedom.
"What does she want?" Liora whispered to herself.
Power, yes. Revenge, likely. But more than that — validation. Her sister had always believed she should have been queen. Not just by beauty, but by cunning.
And now, with the Queen at her weakest — childless and grieving — she'd found her moment to reenter the game.
---
By morning, the effects were already rippling through the court.
The Queen's smile had returned at formal assembly.
Elira looked more composed than she had in days.
Even Lady Hua had received an unexpected bouquet of foreign lilies in her courtyard — a subtle gesture meant to restore dignity, and allegiance.
It was coordinated. Purposeful.
Liora knew a campaign when she saw one.
---
Jun appeared at her elbow as she was dressing.
"Should I prepare your day robes, my lady? You've been summoned to the Queen's gardens this afternoon."
Liora paused. "What's the occasion?"
Jun's eyes were careful. "A gathering of women — tea and courtesy. Lady Elira will be present. Lady Wen, too. And… your sister."
Liora turned to the mirror. She studied the face reflected there: composed, graceful, tired.
"Bring me the robe in sea-grey silk," she said. "And the hairpins carved like blades."
Jun hesitated. "Those are war gifts, my lady."
Liora smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
"Then it's time they were worn."
---
As she was being dressed, she sent word to Lady Wen — a subtle message in poetry form, referencing plum blossoms and the harshness of winter.
It was Wen who had once said:
"You cannot stay still."
She would not.
Not now.
Not when shadows from her past were walking freely in the Queen's court.