The throne room smelled of ink, sandalwood, and nerves.
I had been in halls like this before—war courts, midnight councils, hushed sessions with only a handful of ministers daring enough to argue against me.
But this was different.
This was the court.
Every minister, every secretary, every watcher with a ledger waited in rows that climbed like terraces around the dragon throne.
And beside that throne, for the first time in Daiyu's history, a seat had been raised for an Empress.
Not gold.
That belonged to the sun.
Mine was silver, hammered into phoenix wings that arched as if mid-flight.
Moonlight to his sunlight, reflection to his blaze.
My robes matched—woven with white cranes and phoenixes stitched in threads so pale they looked carved from light. When I stepped forward, silence carried me like a tide.
They weren't ready for me.
And that was the point.
