Silken fabric rustled as the maids tightened the sash around my waist.
I stared straight ahead at my reflection, unmoving, letting them tug and pull at my sleeves as if i were some lacquered doll they had to dress for display.
The robe was crimson and gold colors i never liked.
They didn't belong to me.
They belonged to this palace, to Lucien's family, to the throne i'd been married into like a pawn on a board of ruthless men.
"My lady, please raise your arms," one of the girls whispered, head bowed low.
I obeyed without a word.
Elise stood by the door, her eyes cautious, hands folded.
She knew better than to speak when my face was like this, set, unreadable, cold. The last time she tried to comfort me before a royal event, I snapped at her.
Not because i was angry at her, but because i couldn't breathe inside this place. Not truly.
A final pin was tucked behind my ear. A golden peony. Symbol of status. Fertility. Obedience.
How ironic.
"You look beautiful, Your Highness," one of them murmured.
I did not respond.
The palace grounds had been transformed overnight. Silk banners fluttered from every rooftop, music echoed from distant courtyards, and the scent of roasted meats, sweet lotus pastries, and jasmine wine hung heavy in the air.
Courtiers in jewel-toned robes bowed as i passed, but no one smiled.
Not truly.
Not at me.
As we neared the central pavilion, my pace slowed.
The grand hall was open on all sides, draped in white and gold cloth, with lacquered tables arranged in a crescent around the king's elevated platform.
And there he was, His Majesty, the Emperor. Seated tall in the center with the Empress at his side, her hands resting gently on her lap like they'd never once ordered a whipping behind closed doors.
Lucien stood beside the throne, dressed in his formal black robes embroidered with dragons.
His presence alone was sharp enough to cut.
He turned when he saw me.
For a brief second, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then it was gone.
I stepped forward.
Everyone bowed. I followed suit, lowering myself with practiced grace, the edges of my sleeves brushing against the lacquered floor.
"Your Majesty," I said clearly, offering the traditional greeting. "May your health last a thousand years."
The King lifted a hand, rings glittering on his fingers. "Rise."
I obeyed.
Lucien waited for me at the table assigned to us, front and center, directly below the throne.
When i sat beside him, the space between us was barely a breath.
"You're late," he murmured without looking at me.
"I was dressing as your mother required," I replied flatly.
He said nothing.
I could feel their eyes, every noblewoman in the hall. Every councilman. The wives. The concubines. Their stares clung to me like burrs on silk.
I was the foreign princess. The unwanted bride. The girl who was supposed to stay quiet and bear children and never raise a sword.
I didn't belong here.
They all knew it.
Including the King.
Including the Queen.
Lady Mei.
She arrived moments later, escorted by a procession of handmaidens, dressed in lavender silk that fluttered like butterflies as she moved.
Her hair was a waterfall of obsidian, pinned with amethysts and silver combs. She bowed before the King and Queen, who both smiled.
Not at me.
Never at me.
Then, with calculated grace, she took her seat two tables away, close enough to be seen, far enough to be reminded of her place.
Concubine.
I met her eyes across the space, calm and empty.
She smiled. Sweetly.
Fake.
The celebration began with performances.
Dancers from the southern province, pale girls with painted hands, floated across the polished floor like mist.
After them came sword exhibitions, musicians, fire breathers, actors portraying epic love stories i couldn't bear to watch.
I sipped my tea in silence.
Lucien didn't speak to me again.
He clapped when it was appropriate. He smiled when the King looked his way. He poured the Empress a cup of wine without being asked.
But when it came to me, there was nothing.
Not even a glance.
I was here because he married me.
He married me because it stopped the war.
And the war was the only reason the Emperor had tolerated me in the first place.
The sun dipped lower.
Wine was poured. Toasts were made. Laughter rang from the nobility like bells.
I didn't drink.
I hadn't planned to.
Not after last week.
Not after what happened in the alley.
I still didn't know who sent those men, but i knew better than to lose focus in this den of wolves.
Until a servant appeared at my side.
He was young, thin, not one i recognized.
"My lady," he said with a bow, offering a cup of amber liquid in a jade goblet. "From the Empress herself."
I blinked.
My hand paused over the goblet.
Lucien turned his head.
I could feel him watching me now.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"The Empress has sent wine," I answered.
He frowned. Just slightly.
"She has never done that before."
"No."
The servant waited, still bowing.
Every instinct in me screamed.
But the Empress was watching. So was the King. So was everyone.
To refuse would be... disrespect.
To accept could be—
I reached for it.
Lucien's fingers brushed mine. "Don't."
Too late.
I lifted the goblet and took a sip.
Just a small one.
The servant bowed once more and disappeared.
I set the cup down slowly, heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Lucien stared at me.
I stared ahead.
The taste was sweet. Almost too sweet. Like honey masking something else.
Something bitter.
It began slow.
A prickling behind my eyes.
Then heat in my chest.
My hands trembled as i reached for the edge of the table.
The sound of laughter blurred.
The floor tilted slightly under me. Or maybe i was the one swaying.
I gripped the wood tighter.
Lucien noticed.
"Seraphine," he said under his breath.
"I'm fine," I managed.
But i wasn't.
The room was spinning now.
Faces blurred together.
Noise tunneled.
"Seraphine—"
My vision darkened at the edges.
Then pain.
Sharp, hot, like a fire curling in my gut.
I gasped, one hand pressing to my stomach, the other gripping the table so hard i thought it might crack beneath my nails.
And then—
Nothing.
Just black.