CHAPTER FIVE: The Festival of Silk and Smoke

The Lantern Festival was not merely a celebration of light.

It was a test.

A pageant of grace, wit, and veiled dominance — where noble houses paraded their eligible daughters, generals offered gifts of tribute, and the imperial harem displayed unity through choreographed opulence. But within the lanterns' soft glow and the music's lilt, alliances shifted, rumors were born, and women like Liora walked narrow paths between admiration and annihilation.

She arrived just before dusk, dressed in a robe of pale silver that caught the last rays of sunlight. It was the color the King had ordered, and in the palace, royal command was sacred — even if it drew envy like blood drew wolves.

The Lotus Row was arranged in tiers along the Vermilion Terrace, overlooking the sacred lake where a thousand lanterns floated. The Empress sat at the highest dais in imperial gold, a figure of stillness and silent authority.

Her crown was new. Her power was not.

Though only crowned Empress three days prior, she'd long served as the King's foremost consort — first chosen during his years as crown prince, when his claim was still contested and war still roared at the borders. Her rise had been slow, strategic, and merciless.

Liora's seat: third tier, central.

Not last. Not hidden.

Visible.

Elevated.

Not a single courtier missed it.

---

Lady Zhen was already seated nearby, her expression uneasy.

"You're glowing," Zhen whispered, eyes darting to where Elira sat one row above them, haloed in white and jade. "She'll notice."

"She already has," Liora replied.

Lady Wen, observant as ever, leaned in from the opposite side. "Elira may act composed, but she does not forget insults — or competition."

"I didn't come to compete," Liora said.

Wen's smile was faint. "That's what makes you dangerous."

As the sky darkened, music began — the hum of zithers and the soft thunder of drums — followed by the entrance of the Crown Prince's Banner across the promenade. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

But Liora's gaze shifted to the King's balcony, where he stood in the shadows beside the Empress. He wore no jewels. No ornate robes. Only black and silver, like a raven dressed for war. He did not look at her.

Yet she felt it.

The slow heat of being seen — not as a woman, but as a move on a board no one had taught her to play.

---

Later, during the ceremonial lantern release, each concubine offered a lantern with a personal inscription. A symbolic wish — for fertility, favor, or peace.

Zhen's: "May love grow where the moon smiles."

Wen's: "Let wisdom light our children's paths."

Elira's: "For the strength of virtue to endure beyond temptation."

A barb. Beautifully phrased.

Liora's turn came.

She took the brush. Dipped it in ink. Wrote with care.

Then turned her lantern outward.

"From shadow, even stone may bloom."

Wen stifled a smile. Zhen blinked, confused. Elira's fan snapped shut.

And from the King's balcony, a quiet laugh — brief and unmistakable.

---

As the concubines descended the terrace, Liora's procession was intercepted by a messenger.

She was to remain behind.

She waited in the Moon Garden — the King's private courtyard, where few ever stepped without invitation.

He arrived without guards.

No ceremony.

Just him.

"You write like a woman with something to avenge," he said.

Liora bowed low. "I write like someone who remembers the dirt she was born from."

He stepped closer. "And what do you want, Liora of Verath?"

"To remain standing."

A pause.

"Then learn to kneel wisely," he said.

His hand touched her chin — not with affection, but appraisal. Like a sculptor examining flawed marble. He said nothing more. Only turned and vanished into the deeper halls, his scent lingering like smoke.

---

Back in her chambers, Liora undid her hair with shaking fingers.

It had begun.

Not love. Not favor.

Relevance.

And in the palace, that was far more dangerous.