Anhai learned quickly that the palace was not built for comfort.
It was built for control.
Her new chambers were elegant but cold—lacquered floors, painted screens, silk bedding stiff with embroidery. Servants bowed too low, eyes fixed to the ground. Even the air felt curated, perfumed with plum blossoms and quiet fear.
By the second morning, Anhai had memorized the rhythm of bells.
First bell: rise.
Second: wash.
Third: morning court.
Fourth: lessons, prayers, inspections.
Fifth: silence, unless summoned.
Everything had its hour. And everyone had a place.
She sat now in the Garden Pavilion, hands folded in her lap, listening as a woman in silver robes droned through etiquette instruction. Fifteen other noblewomen sat with her, all brought to the palace this season. Some, like Anhai, were here for marriage. Others, for show.
One girl yawned. Another scowled when her robe was corrected.
Anhai smiled—just barely. Mistakes were noted here. Every expression filed away. The court was not a place for loud rebellions. It was a place for silent victories.
"Lady Yu," the instructor called. "Tell us the proper order for greeting a Princess of the First Rank during a tea ceremony."
Anhai stood and bowed. "Three steps from the mat, hands folded right over left, with a full curtsey if seated, a half bow if standing. Wait to be addressed before speaking."
"Good," the instructor nodded. "And if she offers tea?"
"Receive it with both hands, eyes down. Compliment the porcelain, not the brew."
The older woman raised a brow in approval. Anhai sat again, hiding the heat that rose in her chest. Praise was rare. But earned.
Across the courtyard, she caught sight of Lin Meiqi, who had been given quarters just two courtyards over. She was seated beneath a cherry tree, surrounded by scrolls. A senior eunuch pointed at one, and Meiqi laughed—openly, without fear. Her sharp wit danced even here, in this quiet prison.
Anhai admired it.
And near the lotus pond, Sera Whitmore was clearly ignoring every rule.
She stood with one foot on the edge of the marble bridge, arms outstretched as if testing balance, while her maid nearly fainted from panic. Sera grinned, unbothered by gasps from nearby servants.
Anhai closed her eyes. These two... they were fire and wind.
And she?
She would be water—shaping stone, reflecting light, patient and deep.
But still, she wondered...
How long could any of them survive a place where a glance could be poison, and a smile could be a blade?