Night fell softly over the inner palace, the stars winking like secrets held too long.
Liora's quarters were quiet, save for the occasional rustle of silk or the clink of porcelain. Jun brought in the final tray — candied plum wine, sliced pear, and warm jasmine tea. Three cups.
Not two.
Liora smoothed the folds of her robe and turned toward the low table. Her robe tonight was pale blue, deliberately softer than the storm-grey of the garden. Invitation, not defiance. She needed allies who would come willingly, not followers born of fear.
"Show her in," Liora said.
Lady Wen entered like a wisp of fog — no fanfare, no perfume. She bowed lightly, her expression unreadable.
Behind her came a second guest, unexpected but welcome: Lady Rui, a lower-ranked concubine with no title but a keen eye and sharp tongue, known more for listening than speaking.
Jun served the tea, then withdrew.
Liora poured herself last.
"I won't insult you by pretending this is casual," she began. "What happened in the garden was a warning."
Lady Wen lifted a brow. "From your sister?"
"From the Queen," Liora replied, voice cool. "And Iria is the blade she's chosen to wield. She's not here to mourn — she's here to climb."
Lady Rui spoke softly. "Then why not cut her down now, before she's armored?"
Liora met her gaze. "Because the Queen still holds the sheath. Strike now, and we all bleed. Wait — and we may find where her grasp falters."
Wen nodded, tapping a fingernail against her cup. "You seek to build your own wall before the wind turns."
Liora smiled faintly. "No. I seek to plant roots. A wall may crumble. A tree endures."
---
They talked for over an hour.
Lady Rui offered news from the kitchens — that Elira's attendants had been seen gifting candied lotus seeds to servants near the Queen's wing. Wen shared a rumor that the King's grandmother had asked to see portraits of "all sons and daughters born within the year," suggesting a shift in royal priorities.
Liora listened more than she spoke.
She made no promises, no demands. But she let it be known: her protection came with purpose, and her memory was long.
When they left, she knew she had not gained servants — but she had gained watchers. Whisperers. Women with nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
---
Later that night, Liora stood by the window as a faint breeze stirred the lanterns.
She didn't hear Jun enter, but the maid's voice was soft.
"A message, my lady. No seal. It came through the washing line."
Liora turned. Jun handed her a small paper folded four times.
Inside, a single sentence:
"The Queen plans to raise Iria to titled status before the solstice."
No name. No signature.
But it was enough.
"Then I'm out of time," Liora murmured.
She would need more than alliances.
She would need a move — a favor to the king himself, something that could earn her not just attention, but advancement.
And somewhere in the palace… opportunity waited.