CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Quiet Thunder

The news broke like thunder in a clear sky.

Lady Mei was pregnant.

Once favored, now disgraced, she had lived on the edge of the palace's memory — a quiet ghost in faded silks, rarely summoned, rarely spoken of. Her child, long lost in the early days of the palace conflict, had been her only foothold, and when he died, so too had her standing.

No one expected her to rise again.

And yet, here she was.

The royal physician himself confirmed it.

The King had visited her only once — in what most assumed had been a moment of pity. Yet that single visit had stirred something far more lasting than compassion.

The Queen's expression, when she heard, was unreadable.

Elira's was not.

---

"She's cleverer than I gave her credit for," Elira said coldly, her hair unbound as she paced her private chamber. "To hide it this long."

"She may not have known," her maid offered. "Her health has been poor…"

"Then the gods have a cruel sense of humor."

Elira stopped, eyes flickering with calculation.

"She will gain sympathy. The King will visit her again out of guilt. And if she bears a healthy child—"

"She could regain favor," the maid finished.

"No." Elira turned. "She must not."

---

In the outer court, Liora heard the news in silence.

"Lady Mei?" she repeated, seated beside Zhen, who had begun stitching another baby robe in pale lilac.

"She's hardly spoken to anyone," Zhen said. "No one expected it."

"She doesn't need alliances," Liora murmured. "The court will come to her. Pity is as powerful as favor in times like these."

Zhen paused. "Do you think Elira will strike her?"

Liora's gaze drifted to the courtyard beyond. "If she's smart… she already has."

---

But Lady Mei had changed.

She no longer wept in the night, nor trembled when she passed through the Queen's garden. The fragile grief that had once defined her had crystallized into something sharper — not vengeance, but resolve.

She welcomed the King's gift of medicine with soft gratitude.

She accepted the Queen's embroidery with an unreadable smile.

And when she received a note — unsigned, sealed with a single wax blossom — she read it once and burned it in silence.

Its words were simple:

"You will not be alone this time. — L."