[Lavinia's POV — Imperial Palace, The Tea Party—After the Whisper]
The garden had never been so silent. Not even the wind dared stir the leaves. Fans froze mid-flutter, goblets stilled halfway to lips.
A single rumor, spoken aloud, had turned the air into glass—fragile, brittle, and ready to shatter at the faintest sound.
And through it all, I smiled. Calm. Serene. Untouchable.
"Rumors are fascinating things," I said at last, my voice light as though discussing nothing more important than the color of the sky. My gaze drifted across the nobles—one by one—making each squirm beneath the weight of my eyes. "They grow like weeds. Easy to spread, hard to kill. But a garden only flourishes when weeds are torn out by the root."
A sharp clink echoed as I set my cup down, the note ringing like steel.
Several nobles flinched. Some paled. Eleania's fan snapped shut with a crack that sounded far too much like breaking bone.
