Preparations for the Banquet

The Western Courtyard buzzed with the chaotic harmony of rustling silk and clattering hairpins. Emily hovered behind Ella like an anxious sparrow, clutching a jeweled comb in one hand and a half-eaten mooncake in the other. "My lady, please reconsider the pearls," she pleaded, eyeing the understated silver pins in Ella's hair. "You look like a nun who misplaced her vows!"

Ella snorted, adjusting the lotus-blue sash at her waist. "A nun with excellent taste in fabric, then. Besides, do I need to remind you what happened last time I wore gaudy?" She spun to face her maid, the hem of her dress flaring like a water lily. "Three counts of 'accidental' wine spills on my gown, two lords mistaking me for a chandelier, and one poet writing an ode to my 'dazzling lack of subtlety.'"

"But the banquet rules clearly state ornate attire is traditional!" Emily protested, waving the invitation scroll like a battle flag. "What if they mistake you for a servant?"

"They'll mistake me for someone who knows the difference between 'ornate' and 'compensating for insecurity.'" Ella plucked the comb from Emily's grip and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "The Wen Hall isn't just a feast—it's a competition disguised as a social event. Male and female scholars competing openly in arts? For once, they're judging minds, not hemlines."

Emily sagged onto a lacquered stool. "So you're weaponizing… simplicity?"

"Precisely. While Amy parades around like a peacock with indigestion, I'll be the swan gliding past." Ella grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Besides, if I wear the ruby tiara Aunt Grace 'gifted' me, it'll probably spontaneously combust. Suspiciously convenient for her inheritance prospects, don't you think?"

The maid shuddered. "Must you always assume assassination attempts?""Experience is an excellent teacher, Em. Remember the 'mysterious' beehive in my chambers last summer?" Ella tossed her a hair ribbon. "Now, help me hide scandalously practical dagger sleeves in this dress."

As Emily grudgingly sewed hidden pockets into the gown's lining, her voice softened. "You could just enjoy yourself, my lady. Recite poetry, flirt with handsome scholars…"

"Flirt?" Ella barked a laugh. "The last time I 'flirted,' Lord Chen's nephew wrote me a sonnet comparing my smile to his favorite hunting hound. I'd rather negotiate with a pack of wolves."

"Then negotiate this." Emily held up a pair of embroidered slippers. "Madam Chloe sent these. The soles are thicker than usual—probably laced with itching powder."

"Keep them. We'll regift them to Amy tomorrow." Ella winked. "Consider it an experiment in poetic justice."

Outside, the sunset painted the courtyard in amber light. Emily paused, her fingers tracing the lotus motif on Ella's sleeve. "You do look beautiful, my lady. Even if you're dressed like a warrior nun."

Ella squeezed her hand, the jest fading from her voice. "Thank you, Em. For not asking why I need hidden blades at a poetry banquet."

"Would you tell me if I did?"

"Not a chance."

They laughed together, the sound mingling with distant cicadas. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like an ordinary evening—two young women preparing for a party, unburdened by blood feuds or rebirth.

Then Emily yelped, nearly swallowing a needle. "Oh! Lady Eleanor's maid just told me the best gossip! They're serving duck stuffed with fire peppers for the seventh course! Lord Wen's idea of 'scholarly refinement'!"

Ella smirked. "Perfect. When the arrogant debutantes start weeping from the spice, I'll be the heroine distributing milk pudding."

"Scheming via dessert?"

"Adapting via dessert. Now pass me the inkstone—I need to brush up on my calligraphy and plot Amy's imminent humiliation."

"Priorities, my lady."

"Always."

As dusk settled, their banter wove through the courtyard like drifting lantern light—a fragile, flickering warmth against the gathering dark.