The palace shimmered beneath the noonday sun, its jade pillars dressed in flowing golden silk. Gongs rang from every corridor, and the aroma of sweet lotus wine and roasted sesame filled the air.
It was the first birthday of Concubine Ruo's son, the only living child born in the palace in the past year. Tradition dictated that such a celebration be grand — but this… this was a spectacle.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the imperial garden, her gown trailing behind her like woven moonlight. Mira flanked her right, wearing a soft blush hanfu with sapphire embroidery. Arabella, ever regal, wore warrior-inspired court robes and a blade carefully hidden beneath her sash — just in case.
Behind them, Maelis squealed in delight as she adjusted the Empress's veil. "Your Majesty, today is your first appearance as Empress in a public imperial celebration. You look… radiant."
Seraphina gave a quiet nod. "Let's just survive it."
As they entered the main courtyard, music swelled, and the noble crowd parted like the sea. All eyes turned to the Empress — returned, radiant, and still shrouded in whispered mystery.
From across the garden, Concubine Sun smiled. Not warmly.
But like a snake basking in the sunlight — ready to strike.
The banquet was in full bloom.
Silken drapes swayed under the breeze, imperial musicians played delicate strings, and the concubines, dressed in their finest, clustered in perfect smiles and poison-dipped words.
Concubine Sun sat at the head of the circle of women — calm, poised, her hair coiled in a mountain of gold pins. Her gaze met Seraphina's across the banquet courtyard, and her smile deepened.
Too wide.
Too knowing.
"Your Majesty," she called sweetly, rising as though greeting an old friend. "I was wondering when you'd grace us."
Seraphina smiled with practiced serenity. "You've been wondering a lot of things lately, I hear."
Soft gasps fluttered like butterflies across the crowd.
Mira smirked. Arabella's hand twitched near her sword.
Concubine Sun's face didn't crack. She simply waved toward the front.
"As you know, every consort is required to prepare a gift for the child's celebration. I thought… what better gift than culture and elegance?"
She stepped forward and unfurled a scroll.
It was a calligraphy piece — stunning, poetic, and, admittedly, expertly done. The ink curved like flowing water, the message praising the virtues of rebirth, loyalty… and obedience.
Everyone clapped politely. The Emperor nodded in approval.
And then — the trap was sprung.
"Oh! But we've saved the most anticipated performance for last," Concubine Sun announced. "Our glorious Empress… has agreed to dance."
A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.
Seraphina blinked.
"I… what?"
Concubine Sun's lips curled. "The Dance of the Flowering Spring. A timeless treasure of the court. Surely the Empress, with her unmatched grace, would honor us with it."
Arabella's face darkened. Mira stepped forward immediately. "That dance hasn't been performed in decades. It requires six months of training."
"Which is why," Sun said smoothly, "it will be all the more divine when Her Majesty performs it with ease."
Every eye turned to Seraphina. The Emperor looked surprised — but intrigued.
Maelis whispered from behind, "Your Majesty… it's a trap. No one has danced it well in a hundred years."
Seraphina stepped forward.
"I accept."
Mira hissed, "Sera—"
"I said I accept." Her voice was calm, eyes locked on Sun. "I was trained in the classics. This will be no different."
Arabella narrowed her eyes at Seraphina but said nothing.
Concubine Sun bowed slightly. "We eagerly await your performance."
And as she stepped back, the smirk on her lips said: Dance, puppet.
Seraphina turned, walked to the center of the clearing — and whispered under her breath:
"If this is your game… let's play."
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Servants rushed forward, clearing space in the center. The lanterns above dimmed slightly, leaving the platform bathed in soft gold. All eyes locked on Seraphina.
She stood alone.
No dancers.
No musicians.
Just her.
The Dance of the Flowering Spring — a masterpiece of grace, difficulty, and pain. It told the story of a flower blooming through winter, reaching for sunlight even in storms. A metaphor… and a weapon in the wrong hands.
And right now, every hand here wanted her to fall.
Arabella's fists clenched from her seat. Mira leaned forward, muttering, "She shouldn't do this. Not without the flute… not alone."
Seraphina closed her eyes, and the wind kissed her cheek. Her arms rose slowly, petals of her flowing sleeves twirling like breath.
She began to dance.
Her movements were delicate. Controlled. Poised. Each turn was like poetry. But something was… off.
The rhythm faltered.
Without the accompanying flute, the dance lacked heart. The original choreography had been designed with the notes of an ancient melody in mind — a song only a handful still remembered. A haunting tune carried by strings and, most importantly, the flute.
Murmurs began. A few of the younger concubines hid their smiles behind painted fans.
"She's beautiful, but—"
"It's empty…"
"She's stumbling…"
Concubine Sun smiled like a snake fed fat on poison.
Seraphina twirled once more — but her foot nearly slipped. The beat was wrong. She was fighting with air.
She exhaled sharply, steadying herself. The next step was meant to be accompanied by a slow, high flute note. But it never came.
Until—
A sound pierced the silence.
Soft.
Clear.
Otherworldly.
A flute.
A single note — trembling at first, then rising in perfect harmony with Seraphina's next movement. The crowd gasped. Seraphina's body responded without thinking — muscle memory waking from slumber.
She moved again. Stronger. With rhythm.
Another note. Then a cascade of them. The flute sang as if it had waited years for this moment.
And behind the line of stunned nobles and concubines—
A figure stepped into the light.
Prince Lucien.
He wore simple silver robes, his long hair loose, a flute pressed to his lips. But his eyes never left Seraphina.
Arabella stood instantly. Mira's hand flew to her mouth. Maelis was already whispering prayers of joy.
But Seraphina?
She danced.
Not for the crowd.
Not for the court.
Not even for Lucien.
She danced for herself.
The rhythm overtook her. Her sleeves flared like wings, her steps turned fire into silk. When she spun, the air shimmered. And when she landed, bowing low as the final flute note faded—
The courtyard was dead silent.
Until someone clapped.
Then another.
Then — a thunder of applause.
Even Emperor Kai rose to his feet, eyes wide with something unreadable.
Lucien slowly lowered the flute.
Concubine Sun's smile had frozen in place. Her fan trembled in her grip.
And Seraphina — chest rising and falling, sweat glistening on her brow — turned ever so slightly and bowed… to Lucien.
Their eyes met.
And for one fleeting second, she smiled.
But beneath that grace — there was fire.
Because now, everyone saw it.
She wasn't just the Empress.
She was the storm in bloom.
A hush still lingered.
Seraphina stood tall, the lingering trail of her dance wrapping around the hearts of all present like blooming ivy.
But while most still clapped in awe, one woman's expression cracked — Concubine Sun.
Her fan trembled like a broken mask as she forced a thin smile. "How... exquisite, Your Majesty," she said, voice falsely sweet. "Though I never expected the Flower of Spring could be interpreted… so untraditionally."
Whispers began to creep through the crowd.
Seraphina turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "You mean without a flute?" she said, tone cool and sharp as polished jade. "Yes. It was… difficult."
A ripple passed through the onlookers.
Concubine Sun laughed. "Indeed, Your Majesty. But of course, a true master does not rely on external crutches."
"She's calling Lucien a crutch?" Mira hissed from her seat. Arabella scowled.
Then—Lucien stepped forward.
Still holding the flute in one hand, his other slipped behind his back. His expression was polite… but his eyes were forged of steel.
"Forgive me, Concubine Sun," he said, voice soft but cutting through the air like a blade through silk. "I was unaware that music — the soul of this imperial culture — was considered a crutch in your eyes."
Gasps.
Concubine Sun's eyes widened, lips parting. "I-I didn't mean—"
Lucien didn't let her finish.
He bowed slightly, addressing the Emperor. "Your Majesty, may I ask: was it not you who once declared that the Flower of Spring dance was to never be performed without the sacred flute? That to do so would be… disrespectful?"
Emperor Kai, clearly caught, blinked. He straightened in his throne. "...That is true."
Lucien turned to Concubine Sun once more, smiling without warmth. "Then I suppose your suggestion was meant to embarrass Her Majesty." His smile deepened. "Though unfortunately for you, she bloomed regardless."
Smack.
The court erupted with murmurs. Some concubines quickly turned their heads to hide their smirks. A few even giggled behind fans.
Concubine Sun paled.
Lucien offered one last bow toward Seraphina. "Forgive my interruption, Empress. I was merely doing what I've always done… play for the girl who once danced among the stars."
That single line made Seraphina blink. Her heart stuttered—just once.
Arabella smiled. "He never did forget you," she whispered.
Mira grinned. "And she's not alone anymore."
Concubine Sun, however, stepped forward, clearly desperate to recover her shattered pride. "Then perhaps next time, Your Highness, you might wait for an invitation before interrupting an imperial celebration."
Lucien turned slowly, his voice laced with unshakable calm. "I go where I am needed… not where I am wanted."
Another slap. This time, with velvet gloves and royal composure.
Concubine Sun's jaw tightened, her carefully composed smile twitching at the corners. But she dared not speak again. Not with Emperor Kai now watching her with narrowed eyes.
Seraphina took a breath and faced the Emperor.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing, "I thank you for hosting such a joyous celebration. The child is truly blessed."
Emperor Kai's expression softened. "Your dance was…" he paused, then said more carefully, "unforgettable."
She smiled thinly. "As was the music."
Lucien's flute glimmered under the lantern light.
And in the shadows behind the courtiers, a servant girl trembled as she stared at Concubine Sun… her lips mouthing a silent warning: "The tides are turning."
The celebration continued, but the glow had shifted. The concubines still offered gifts, but none dared stand too close to Seraphina now — not after that dance… not after Concubine Sun's humiliation.
Seraphina stood beside Mira, her posture perfect, but her eyes kept scanning the room — alert. Watching.
"She's not done," Arabella muttered behind her fan. "Concubine Sun is the kind who bites harder when wounded."
"She'll try something before the night ends," Mira whispered, clutching her cup of untouched wine.
As the final music faded, Emperor Kai stood and declared the banquet concluded. "Tonight, we've seen beauty, loyalty, and tradition. Let harmony remain among the imperial family."
Seraphina bowed with the rest, but her gaze remained on Concubine Sun — who bowed a little too deeply… a little too slowly.
She's plotting something.
Later, as the night air cooled and lanterns were dimmed, Seraphina walked the palace garden paths with Mira and Arabella flanking her like silent shadows.
"Shouldn't we rest?" Mira asked quietly.
"No," Seraphina said. "She's planning something. I want to know what."
And just then… they saw her.
Concubine Sun.
Alone. Cloaked. Slipping behind the side gate near the lotus pond.
Arabella stiffened. "She's not going to her quarters."
"Follow her," Seraphina said.
They moved like whispers, darting behind pillars and trees, staying just far enough not to be heard.
They reached a side pavilion half-draped in silk curtains — and there, through the veil of white fabric, they saw her.
Concubine Sun.
Whispering to a man.
Tall. Sharp-jawed. Dressed like a guard — but not one of Kai's. His face was partially hidden, but his voice carried.
"She's harder to corner than I thought," Concubine Sun said, voice tight with anger. "I need more than just poison this time."
Poison?
Arabella's breath caught. Mira looked like she might explode.
The man replied, "Then let me handle it. You distract her, I'll switch the medicine myself. If she falls ill before the consummation night, she won't bear a child. She'll be cast out."
Concubine Sun hissed, "Do it clean. I won't have her dying too soon — just weak enough to lose the Emperor's favor."
Seraphina's nails dug into her palm.
So that was it. This wasn't just about humiliation. This was about making sure she never gave Kai an heir.
Arabella stepped forward, but Seraphina grabbed her wrist. "Not now," she whispered. "Not yet."
Mira's eyes burned. "What do we do?"
Seraphina smiled coldly. "We let her think she's winning."
They turned, vanishing into the shadows like ghosts.
But behind her calm, Seraphina's heart pounded.
You want poison? Then I'll feed you the sweetest taste of your own trap.
The next morning arrived wrapped in golden silk and hidden daggers.
Concubine Sun had personally requested Seraphina's presence for tea in the Spring Pavilion — a place known for its rare lotus-brewed tea and, more importantly, its distance from the Emperor's usual rounds.
Arabella frowned as she helped Seraphina dress. "She's baiting you."
"I know," Seraphina said, slipping her jade earrings into place. "But we won't dodge her traps anymore. We'll spring them."
Mira appeared beside them, holding a small vial. "This will expose any poison if it touches the tea. Elaris gave it to me before we came back."
"Perfect," Seraphina said.
Maelis, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke. "My lady… I'm scared. What if she really tries to kill you?"
Seraphina smiled softly. "Then I'll make sure she regrets not succeeding."
---
The Spring Pavilion was quiet when they arrived. Too quiet. Only the gentle bubbling of the nearby koi pond could be heard.
Concubine Sun was already seated at the carved jade table, her smile tight, her posture regal.
"My Empress," she purred. "You honor me with your presence."
Seraphina sat with grace, Mira and Maelis behind her, eyes sharp. "How could I refuse the leader of the concubines?"
A flicker of irritation flashed in Concubine Sun's eyes — then vanished beneath a polished grin. "We concubines live to serve. Of course, we only wish to assist Your Majesty in keeping His Majesty happy."
"How generous," Seraphina said calmly.
Moments later, the tea arrived — a delicate lotus blend, steaming and aromatic.
Concubine Sun poured two cups. One for herself. One for Seraphina.
Seraphina reached out… but accidentally brushed the cup with her sleeve, knocking it slightly.
"Oh no," she said smoothly. "My hands have been clumsy lately. Maelis, please wipe it before I drink."
Maelis stepped forward — and discreetly touched the cup's edge with the vial Mira had slipped into her apron.
A faint shimmer.
Mira caught the glow and subtly nodded.
Poison. Confirmed.
Seraphina lifted her eyes and smiled. "On second thought… let's not waste such fine tea. Concubine Sun, why don't you have mine instead? I insist. A gift from one woman to another."
Concubine Sun stiffened.
"I…" she began, but the moment of hesitation betrayed her.
"Oh dear," Seraphina said softly. "Is something wrong with the tea?"
The silence that followed felt like thunder in disguise.
The tension in the pavilion coiled tighter than a drawn bow.
And then—
Arabella entered without warning, holding a scroll. "Your Majesty. News from the Emperor."
"Read it," Seraphina said, not taking her eyes off Sun.
Arabella opened the scroll. "His Majesty has declared a surprise inspection of the palace kitchens this afternoon. Any trace of toxins or tampering will be met with immediate punishment under the Emperor's personal order."
Concubine Sun went pale.
Seraphina stood, voice soft but slicing like frost.
"Next time you try to poison me, Concubine Sun… make sure it isn't in a cup you were too afraid to drink."
With that, she turned and walked away — her silk train sweeping like a blade behind her.
Mira followed, eyes gleaming.
And Maelis, before leaving, gave Concubine Sun a sweet smile.
"Would you like us to save the tea? You didn't even take a sip."
Concubine Sun sat frozen in the pavilion long after Seraphina and her entourage had left.
The untouched tea steamed mockingly beside her.
Her hands clenched on her lap, nails biting into her skin. She hadn't expected Seraphina to strike so soon. And definitely not so cleanly.
She hadn't just dodged the poison… she turned it into a blade.
Later that afternoon, just as Arabella had warned, Emperor Kai arrived at the palace kitchens—not with guards, but with the Royal Disciplinary Envoy.
The head of the kitchens fell to his knees before the Emperor, trembling. "Your Majesty… we've followed every safety ritual…"
Kai's voice was sharp. "Then you will have no issue if we test every recent brew for poison."
Arabella handed over the vial Mira used.
Mira herself stepped forward. "Your Majesty, we believe there was an attempt to poison the Empress this morning. This vial reacts to darkroot venom. When used on the tea cup given to Her Majesty… it glowed."
The court gasped.
Emperor Kai's eyes darkened. "Who poured the tea?"
A trembling kitchen maid stepped forward. "C-Concubine Sun, Your Majesty. She insisted on pouring it herself."
Silence.
Then Kai turned. "Summon her. Now."
---
Scene: Throne Hall
Concubine Sun was brought in, dressed in her finest purple silks, trying to look composed. But her face was tight with fear.
She bowed. "Your Majesty. Surely this is a misunderstanding—"
"Is it?" Emperor Kai's voice boomed. "Then drink from the same cup you served Her Majesty."
She froze. "I… I cannot…"
Kai stood from his throne. "You tried to harm the Empress again."
The court erupted into murmurs.
Seraphina remained seated to the side, regal and quiet, her gaze unreadable.
Mira and Arabella flanked her, unwavering.
Concubine Sun looked around the room — the concubines who once pledged loyalty to her now shifting away. No one stepped forward. Not even her brother, General Sun, who stood like a statue, jaw clenched but silent.
"You overstepped," Emperor Kai said coldly. "You thought the Empress was still the quiet girl from the countryside… but she's the crown I placed on the empire."
He raised his hand.
"From this day forward, Concubine Sun is stripped of her title. Confined to the Cold Palace until further notice."
Gasps. Screams. Pleas.
But none from Seraphina.
Only silence.
---
Scene Shift: Later that Night – Seraphina's Chambers
Arabella placed a shawl over Seraphina's shoulders. "You did it. One snake down."
Mira brought in tea. "And word's spreading fast. The palace is seeing you differently now. They know you're not to be trifled with."
Seraphina nodded quietly. "But this was just the beginning. A leader doesn't rise by force alone. She rises by never letting herself be pushed again."
Maelis beamed as she returned with a message scroll. "Also… you might want to read this."
Seraphina opened it.
Her heart skipped.
From: Prince Lucien.
"I didn't play the flute for the Empress today. I played for the girl who once saved my heart in springtime. You danced beautifully, Seraphina. If you're ever in danger again… I will come."