Chapter Five: The Empress’s Game

The morning after the chapel oath, the world felt heavier.

Not with sorrow or hesitation—but with consequence.

Word had already begun to spread through the capital like wildfire. Whispers filtered through court corridors, noble parlors, and merchant taverns alike: the disgraced Lady Evelyne Rosenthal had not only survived—she had returned, thrown a banquet on the Empress’s own feast night, and danced with the High Sorcerer Rael Nox in full view of every noble eye.

The nobles called it a scandal. The soldiers, a power play.

The Empress, however, called it an insult.

Lira Velessa, Empress of the Dominion of Evera, did not scream.

She did not pace.

Instead, she sat before her mirror in her private palace chamber, eyes locked with her own reflection, hands still as a marble sculpture.

"She dares," Lira whispered.

A maid trembled nearby, silent.

Lira’s fingers curled around a silver brush, dragging it through her moonlight hair. Her movements were slow, deliberate. Her gown was seafoam silk laced with pearl-thread, and her crown—though modest—rested like a halo above her brow.

Beautiful. Serene. Deadly.

“Prepare a summons,” she said. “To Lady Rosenthal. She will attend me at the Imperial Garden at noon.”

The maid fled to obey.

The Empress smiled.

“She wants to play the game again,” she said to her reflection. “Then let’s see if she remembers the rules.”

When Evelyne received the summons, she did not hesitate.

“Clara,” she said, calmly closing the scroll. “Fetch me the green dress. The one with the ivory sleeves.”

Clara froze. “The one you wore... the day you were cast from the palace?”

“Exactly.”

The Imperial Garden was a cathedral of color and symmetry. Marble paths wove between sculpted trees and mirror-still ponds. Even the koi swam in disciplined formations. Everything here was curated perfection.

Evelyne arrived alone.

No carriage, no herald, no fanfare.

Only silence—and the soft hiss of wind through hedge-mazes.

The Empress waited beneath the white-lotus pavilion. She was seated at a table set with a tea service of amethyst glass. Two cups.

Always two.

“Your Majesty,” Evelyne said, bowing with measured grace.

Lira did not rise. “Lady Rosenthal.”

They regarded each other like queens on a chessboard—one in jade, the other in ice.

“You returned uninvited,” Lira said.

“I was born here,” Evelyne replied. “This is my court.”

“Not anymore.”

A pause. Lira poured tea for both of them. “You embarrassed me.”

“I only held a party. Can one woman’s gathering outshine an empress’s?”

The teacup cracked faintly in Lira’s hand. She did not flinch.

“You speak boldly, Evelyne.”

“I learned from you.”

Silence again.

Then Lira leaned in. “You were a necessary sacrifice.”

“I was a scapegoat,” Evelyne said.

“You threatened the court’s balance. You—”

“Loved the wrong man?” Evelyne interrupted. “Or discovered secrets too dark to bear?”

The Empress’s gaze darkened. “Careful.”

“Always.”

They sipped tea like queens sipping poison. And beneath the surface, old games stirred.

“You’re making allies,” Lira said.

“I’m making amends.”

“Rael is dangerous. So is Vale. Do you really believe they’ll serve you?”

“They already do.”

“And what do you want, Evelyne?”

Evelyne leaned forward.

“To take back what was mine. Title. Estate. Dignity. And one day… justice.”

Lira stood slowly. “You’ll have to prove your loyalty.”

“Then test me.”

The Empress turned her back. “A diplomatic envoy leaves tomorrow for the Southern Border. Pirates are raiding supply lines. Go. Represent the court. Succeed, and we speak again. Fail, and you disappear.”

Evelyne rose. “Very well.”

“Take no knights. No sorcerers. Only your wit.”

“As you wish.”

Lira looked back once, her expression unreadable.

“Do not make me regret sparing your life a second time.”

That night, Evelyne stood before her fireplace, Rael and Leonhart flanking her like shadows.

“She's testing me,” she said. “Sending me into a trap.”

“Then let me come,” Rael said. “I’ll burn their ships to ash.”

“And I’ll ride with you,” Leonhart added. “Guard your life with mine.”

Evelyne looked at them.

“No,” she said. “She wants me alone. I’ll play her game.”

“But—”

“You will stay,” she ordered. “And keep the capital watching. While I plant my seeds elsewhere.”

They did not like it. But they obeyed.

Evelyne turned to the flames, eyes sharp as daggers.

Let the Empress test her.

She would return not as a pawn—but a queen reborn.

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