CHAPTER FOUR: Beneath the Golden Wing

The Lotus Quarters were silent in the early hours, but not still.

Every gesture here meant something. Every robe color, every seating position, every scent in the air spoke of hierarchy more rigid than the empire's laws. Liora quickly learned this was not a place of rest. It was a battlefield—without blood, but full of scars.

Her chambers were modest: three rooms, a private garden with a single withered plum tree, and two silent servants assigned to her. One older, the other barely into womanhood. Neither offered names unless asked. Liora did not ask.

On the second morning, she was summoned.

Not to the King.

To the Pavilion of Harmony, where the concubines gathered beneath silk eaves to sip jasmine tea and watch one another devour themselves politely.

There, she met them.

---

The first to speak was Lady Wen, draped in pale green embroidered with ink-scroll motifs, her posture as precise as her voice.

"You must be Liora. The court is always hungry for a new story."

Wen was beautiful in the way books were: not flashy, but deeply composed. She came from a family of scholars who had served three dynasties. She smelled of camphor and paper. Her smile was thin and dry.

"You read?" Wen asked as they took their seats.

"I was taught in the monastery," Liora said.

Wen nodded, satisfied. "At least someone in this place can carry conversation."

Then came Lady Zhen, with wide eyes and a girlish smile, seated not far from Wen but already fluttering like a nervous bird.

"She's so quiet," Zhen said, peering at Liora. "But the King saw her. That must mean something."

"Many women are seen," Wen replied without looking. "Few are remembered."

Zhen's voice dropped to a whisper. "They say she refused Lord Hadren. Do you think she's cursed?"

"I think she's observant," came a new voice.

Liora turned. Lady Hua had entered silently. She wore a robe of midnight blue edged with fire-gold thread, her skin the warm umber of desert lands to the west. Her eyes were shaped like blades.

"The desert teaches us to make the first strike count," Hua said, seating herself with perfect poise. "You struck well, Verath girl. But now you've drawn blood. The others will circle."

"The others?" Liora asked.

"You haven't met her yet."

Silence fell as the courtyard doors opened again.

She arrived without fanfare — no announcement, no flute or servant — and yet the air shifted as if it had bowed to her presence.

Elira, Virtuous Consort.

The highest-ranking concubine beneath the Queen.

Her robes were the purest white, trimmed in jade. Her lips painted the soft crimson of nobility. Her gaze swept across the room like a knife's edge and landed — deliberately — on Liora.

"So this is the bold little flame everyone is whispering about."

Liora bowed slightly. "Consort."

Elira didn't return the gesture.

"I thought I would be bored this season," Elira said with a sigh. "But the palace has delivered an unexpected diversion."

"She's barely arrived," Zhen murmured.

"Exactly," Elira said. "And already too close to the sun."

Her words were honeyed with contempt, but her eyes were calculating. Liora knew that look. The Queen had once worn it.

Elira did not strike impulsively. She waited. Studied. Measured your worth — and your weakness.

"Welcome to the harem," Elira said at last. "Let's hope you don't wilt."

---

That night, Liora sat in her garden, staring at the plum tree's bare branches.

A wind stirred. Leaves rustled, though there were none.

A shadow flickered behind the screen.

She turned—but found no one.

The old servant, sensing her unease, approached quietly and set down tea.

"They say some trees bloom only after a death," the servant murmured, unprompted. "This one hasn't flowered in years."

"What happened?"

"A consort once lived here. She bore the King's stillborn child."

"What became of her?"

"She jumped from the western balcony the night after the funeral. Some say she cursed the tree. Others say she whispered something into its roots."

Liora looked back at the twisted trunk.

She didn't believe in curses.

But she did believe in warnings.

---

At dawn, a scroll arrived — sealed with the King's mark.

It was brief.

> You will attend the Lantern Festival with the Inner Court. Wear silver. Sit third in the Lotus Row.

Not last.

Not invisible.

Third.

Not even Elira could pretend not to notice now.

The game had begun.