Syphora

The colorful pane glass allowed the sun to shine through, brightening the whole room.

The gray, colorless paintings on the walls were filled with hues refracted from the glass, casting a spectrum of colors across their dull surfaces perfectly.

Lady Rhyla poured herself a cup of tea from an egg-shaped teapot, decorated with what looked like separate, broken pieces of glass. As she adjusted her dress, she sat at the small round table. She picked up the teacup, holding it with the practiced grace of the other Ladies of the Major Houses.

But her pinky finger shuddered.

"Tsk..." She gritted her teeth and placed the teacup back onto its small plate.

She lifted her trembling pinky, staring at it.

'Behave.'

With precise force, she slammed her pinky against the sharp edge of the table.

"Ah..." The burning sensation built slowly, spreading through her finger. She exhaled softly and blew cold breath onto the whitening skin, watching it turn red.

She picked up the teacup again.

Her gaze remained fixed on her reddened finger.

As the cup reached her lips, the tremor returned.

Once more, she set it down.

Lifting her finger, she slammed it against the table again. Harder.

Without hesitating, she grabbed the teacup's handle and lifted it once more.

She stared at her numbed finger.

This time, as she raised the cup to her lips, her pinky—bruised, swollen—remained steady.

A smile curved her lips as she sipped the tea.

A soft knock on the painted wall.

"My Lady, Lady Zalora Xin Qorhai is here," Asterix announced.

Rhyla smiled and withdrew a makeup compact from her purse.

"Good. Send her in."

She quickly dusted powder over her bruised finger, masking the evidence of her discipline.

Asterix sighed. "Why do you hurt yourself?"

She had always done this—whether small or severe, she always punished herself.

There was no one else to discipline her.

So she was her own punisher.

She kept herself in check.

"The other ladies don't even pay attention to etiquette as much as you do," the knight muttered.

"Your lack of standards blinds you."

Her gaze flicked to the note on her table. Reminders. What to say. What to do.

Asterix rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "I will bring Lady Zalora."

Rhyla glanced at her reflection in the tea, the light from the stained glass painting her features in vivid colors.

'I have to be perfect today. A deal must be made. For Valen…'

A bright voice broke the silence.

"Rhyla!"

Rhyla's tense expression remained for a brief moment. She took a slow, subtle breath, exhaling quietly.

She stood, turned, and smiled warmly. "Zalora… Please, sit. I've prepared tea and cookies."

Lady Zalora Xin Qorhai was one of the most powerful women in the Empire who was not the wife of a House Leader. Unlike many of her peers, she carried herself with an ease that bordered on casual.

Rhyla noted the way Zalora ignored traditional etiquette. There was a custom—a formality—that dictated how a Lady should be greeted by another of the Major Houses. Yet, Zalora did not care for such things.

As she settled into the chair across from Rhyla, she picked up her teacup and drank from it—casually, carelessly, without a thought for the intricacies of posture or form.

Rhyla smiled and massaged her bruised finger under the table.

"I appreciate your invitation. It really means a lot to me," Zalora said, munching on a butter cookie.

Rhyla's smile remained.

She knew that despite her seemingly laid-back demeanor, Lady Zalora was the real deal.

Her notes on Zalora were thorough.

Born into House Veracruz, she had studied politics and negotiation, skills that had allowed her to gain control over multiple organizations. More importantly, she held a personal share in the Mercantile Authority—0.51 percent.

Rhyla knew that, once, Zalora had been careful. Precise. Calculated.

"I would like for both of our Houses to come together," Rhyla began smoothly. "It has been far too long since we have engaged in micro-wars with little to no success."

Zalora took another sip of tea.

"I agree… A formal cooperation between Qorhai and Maddach would be good for both of our Houses."

Rhyla waited for more. A solution. A counteroffer. A discussion.

But Zalora simply gave a comment. An opinion.

Deliberate.

Rhyla knew this tactic.

"We have the most reliable army at your disposal," she continued, adjusting her approach. "We've heard that pirates have been disrupting your trade routes. We can help."

Zalora nodded. "Yes."

That was it.

Rhyla sighed inwardly.

It was a response that committed to nothing.

'I need to find a way to pull her in…'

But before she could form a new strategy, Zalora chuckled.

"I know what you want, Rhyla."

Rhyla exhaled slowly.

'Finally.'

Zalora placed her cup down and smiled. "Syphora will be at the annual ball."

Rhyla's lips curled upward. 'There it is…'

She nodded. "I assure you, Valen will not disappoint."

Zalora's eyes glinted. "Oh, I sure hope not."

Lady Syphora Qorhai-Veracruz.

The most important girl in the Empire.

Born of House Qorhai and House Veracruz. A descendant of two Major Houses—an anomaly.

Major Houses never intermarried. The risk of producing an heir with too much power was far too great.

But Syphora was an exception.

Her existence was the result of business of the Mercantile Authority, the Imperial Transit, and the immense financial and logistical power of House Qorhai.

'Valen must marry Syphora.'

If Valen married Syphora, he would have ties to three Major Houses.

Maddach. Qorhai. Veracruz.

He would become the undisputed heir to the throne—at least in the eyes of the noble Houses.

All that would remain was the Emperor's acknowledgment.

And that was all they could hope for.

For now.

Zalora stood, rummaging through her handbag before pulling out a small item.

Rhyla's eyes locked onto it.

She had an idea of what it was.

When Zalora placed it on the table, Rhyla nodded. "Thank you."

Zalora inclined her head slightly before exiting the room.

The item was a silver coin—Syphora's oval face etched onto its surface.

Her eyes embedded with tiny mana ores.

Rhyla picked it up, rolling it between her fingers.

"One step closer…"

A sudden voice at the doorway.

"My Lady..."

Rhyla turned.

Asterix was standing there.

His face was tense.

She studied him carefully.

"Why do you look so worried?"