The Queen's garden was in full bloom, and every blossom felt like it had teeth.
Silk parasols lined the path as attendants guided concubines toward the central pavilion, each draped in shades of power — seafoam, crimson, pale ivory, and midnight blue. Perfumed air hummed with tension more than fragrance.
Liora arrived in silence.
She wore a robe of storm-grey silk, unembellished except for a narrow thread of gold at the collar. Her hairpins were silver, carved into the shapes of twin blades — an old war-gift from her father's better days.
Whispers followed her steps.
They had not forgotten the King's summons. The king had called for her first.
Not Elira. Not the Queen.
Liora.
And now they would watch how far she might fall — or rise.
---
Under the central pavilion, the Queen sat with her back straight, her expression as serene as carved jade. Lady Elira flanked her left side, with a mild smile so perfect it felt carved. Lady Wen, ever quiet, sipped from a pale green teacup, her gaze sharp as ink.
And beside the Queen, dressed in translucent white layered over mourning violet, sat Iria.
Her veil had been replaced by a light band of pearls across her brow, framing a face still astonishing in its beauty — more mature now, more tempered, but no less arresting. She tilted her chin toward Liora as if greeting an old friend.
"Sister," she said sweetly. "It's been far too long."
The Queen's smile didn't waver. "And yet you arrive just in time to reunite."
Liora bowed smoothly, meeting Iria's gaze. "We were never apart in spirit. What touches her touches me."
Iria's lips curved. "Then you must have been sorely burned."
Lady Hua choked slightly on her tea. The silence that followed was delicate — almost reverent.
The Queen laughed softly, a sound like porcelain tapping wood.
"Sisters may quarrel," she said, "but roots run deeper than flowers. Let us enjoy our tea, and let the past sleep."
---
The conversation drifted to court matters — a foreign emissary, a proposed festival, a poet's scandal — but Liora remained alert. Every word Iria spoke was wrapped in velvet, but sharp as a hidden needle.
She spoke of her late lover, the Queen's brother, with deep sorrow — and subtle pride. She let slip that she had been keeping household accounts, learning trade routes, handling negotiations for the estate.
"Women," she said, "must be sharp, even in grief. One never knows when one might be called to serve again."
Elira smiled, eyes glinting.
"Some of us never stopped serving."
Liora did not bite. Instead, she leaned forward and refilled Lady Wen's teacup, speaking gently.
"Wisdom shows not in the sharpness of one's words, but the gentleness of one's hands."
Lady Wen blinked once — then nodded.
A reply in silence.
An ally confirmed.
---
As the sun dipped lower, the Queen rose to leave. "Lady Iria," she said, "will remain in the inner palace as my guest. I hope you will all extend her the same courtesy… and caution… you would to me."
Liora watched as her sister bowed low. When Iria lifted her head, their eyes locked again.
The game had begun.
But this time, Liora would not fight alone.