(Almera POV)
The harem was quiet.
Not the gentle quiet of dawn before servants stirred, nor the heavy hush that followed ceremony. This silence was deliberate—tightened, measured, as though every breath taken within these walls was weighed before release.
I felt it the moment I stepped out of my chambers.
Servants moved with softened footsteps, heads bowed lower than before, eyes carefully averted. Silk brushed stone with restrained grace. Even the fountains in the inner courtyard seemed muted, their trickling reduced to a whisper.
This was not peace.
This was fear rearranging itself.
I walked slowly, allowing myself to observe without being obvious. Where laughter once lingered in shaded alcoves, there were now only murmurs. Where groups of women had once gathered—confident in numbers—there were only pairs, sometimes solitary figures drifting like leaves unsure where to land.
Zafira's absence was not a hole.
It was a pressure change.
