Chapter 15: The Crown Princess Ascends

The sky above the inner palace shifted from muted blue to a pale gold, as if the heavens themselves whispered approval for the day's proceedings. Courtiers filled the eastern pavilion like petals scattered by wind—subdued, graceful, and silent. Word had spread that Lady Yu Anhai would formally be presented to the court as Crown Princess, and though the Empress herself remained absent—retired, as they all quietly repeated—the ritual continued under imperial will.

Anhai sat still under layers of satin, ivory and moon-pale gold, each fold chosen by the inner bureau to reflect humility and dignity. Her hair was wound in the shape of twin wings, adorned with pearl combs and a single phoenix pin gifted by the Emperor himself. Despite the elegance, her palms remained slightly damp within her sleeves.

Across the hall, the Emperor watched her from the Dragon Dais. His expression unreadable, as always. The Crown Prince stood beside him in his formal robes, his bearing proud, face devoid of any warmth. He hadn't said more than three words to her since the selection ceremony.

"Does he resent this union?" Anhai wondered silently. "Or is this simply how noblemen treat their matches—like strategy, not sentiment?"

Her eyes dropped respectfully as the ceremonial official began reciting her lineage. "Yu Anhai, daughter of the House of Yu, known for their loyalty and discipline—her mother deceased, her father a servant to the throne..."

A surge of memory rose—her father's firm hand on her shoulder, his quiet reminder that she bore the pride of their entire household into the palace. She had not seen him since. She likely would not again, unless permitted by imperial favor.

"…and by decree of the Son of Heaven, she is now granted the seal and station of Crown Princess."

There was silence. And then, the soft thud of the ceremonial scroll placed into her hands. She lifted it carefully, bowing low. Her forehead brushed the floor.

A murmur of approval moved through the hall like wind across silk. But as she rose, she caught something peculiar—an absence. At the far left dais, where the Empress's formal seat sat behind a gauze curtain, there was only emptiness.

"They say Her Majesty has withdrawn due to long illness," whispered Lady Han, a mid-ranked consort, behind her fan. "But some think she simply cannot abide the court anymore. The Emperor permits her seclusion, perhaps out of long-standing affection. Or guilt."

Anhai didn't respond. But she kept the comment.

So the Empress lived—retired, perhaps forgotten. Or perhaps only waiting.

Her new quarters were lavish, but too vast. Anhai wandered them alone that evening, save for two new attendants who bowed when she passed but never spoke unless addressed.

On the balcony, she stared at the garden pond where lanterns floated in soft reds and greens. The Crown Prince hadn't visited. Nor had he sent word.

But the Emperor had. A scroll, signed in his hand, delivered directly to her quarters.

"A strong nation begins with a steady house. Be patient, Crown Princess. The court is more mirror than home."

She folded the scroll and pressed it to her chest.

She would be patient.

But she would also watch—and learn.