(Almera POV)
The harem had never been so quiet.
It was not the peaceful quiet of dawn, nor the respectful stillness before ceremony. This silence was sharp—unnatural—like the pause before a blade fell. I felt it before I saw anything, a tightening in the air that made servants slow their steps and concubines retreat behind curtains and pillars.
Something was ending.
I stood near the inner corridor when the sound of measured footsteps reached me—boots, not slippers. Imperial guards.
The line parted instinctively.
Zafira emerged between them.
She was not bound.
No chains marred her wrists. No hood hid her face. She walked as she always had—head high, back straight, silk robes flowing like water around her steps. Even now, she looked every inch the woman who had once ruled the harem without a crown.
Her eyes did not search for allies.
She already knew there were none left.
As she passed, the reactions were immediate and telling.
