In the splendor of the Empress Dowager's private chambers, the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive powders. A maid moved with practiced precision, pinning a heavy, jewel encrusted headpiece into the Dowager's hair.
The silence was broken by the soft click of the door as another maid hurried in, bowing low. "Your Majesty, Lady Lethia has arrived. As per your instructions, she has been escorted to the garden to wait."
A playful smile spread across the Dowager's face as she admired her reflection. "Very well," she purred, her eyes glinting with the thrill of a matchmaker. "And what about him?"
"Lord Serik is on his way, Your Majesty," the maid replied with a knowing smile. "He should be reaching the palace gates any moment now."
The Dowager gave a satisfied nod, leaning back. This was her favorite game, moving the most important pieces on the board and watching them collide.
"I wonder, Your Majesty... will this scheme of yours actually work this time?"
The voice came from the couch at the back of the room. Delayna sat there, her ash silver hair shimmering like moonlight. She didn't look up from her tea, but a small, skeptical smile played on her lips.
The Dowager let out a grand, theatrical laugh. "My dear, is there any match I have made that didn't eventually work out? My record is spotless."
Delayna finally looked up, her gaze steady, though she carefully avoided the Dowager's eyes as she spoke. "Marquess Calvane and Lady Laine Lorvil... You were the one who brought them together, Your Majesty. And well... the rest is history."
The Dowager's playful expression flattened instantly into a look of dry, weary annoyance. The mention of Lethia's parents was a sharp needle in her side.
"My dear Delayna," the Dowager said, "sometimes I truly hate your bluntness."
But then, the fire in her eyes faded, replaced by a genuine shadow of regret. She turned back to the mirror, but she wasn't looking at her jewels anymore.
"They were a wonderful couple," the Dowager sighed, her voice soft with a lingering guilt. "Everything would have been perfect... if only my worthless niece,hadn't crawled between them."
The Dowager's affection for Lethia wasn't just about the girl's sharp mind; it was a silent apology. Somewhere deep down, she felt responsible for the tragedy that had consumed Laine Lorvil.
"Which is why," the Dowager whispered, more to herself than to Delayna, "this time, the match must be perfect."
***
Winter's approach had begun to whisper through the air. A faint chill rode upon the wind, brushing against silk and skin alike, reminding all within the empire that the year was waning.
Lethia sat in the Dowager's garden pavilion as was her custom, awaiting Her Majesty's summons. Before her stood a small wrought iron table laid with refreshments befitting noble leisure, sugared almonds in porcelain dishes, candied citrus peels, honeyed figs, spiced wine kept warm in a silver vessel.
Lethia held a small slice between her fingers, thoughtfully biting into its tart sweetness. The wind stirred again, cool against her cheek, threading through hairs.Her gaze drifted to a book resting upon the adjacent chair.
Its cover bore an austere title embossed in fading gold:
A Compendium on the Imperial History of Aterenia.
How scholarly.
Curiosity overcame her. She reached for it and opened the volume.
Her eyebrows shot up, and a sharp, knowing smirk curled her lips. The contents were far from historical discourse. Inside, the pages were filled with exquisite, albeit highly scandalous, erotic woodcuts and hand-painted arts.
It seems Her Majesty possessed hobbies more spirited than she let on.
"She is truly enjoying her life, isn't she?" Lethia murmured with a dry smile. She snapped the book shut and slid it back into its place, undisturbed.
Her expression shifted.
Why had her majesty not arrived?
Rising from her seat, Lethia began to wander the garden paths. As she neared a secluded patch of shade, she spotted a tiny white flower, glowing like a stray pearl against the dark earth.
"It's a wildflower."
The voice was right behind her. Lethia spun around, her heart jumping. Because she turned so sharply, she found herself inches away from a broad chest. She looked up, startled, nearly losing her footing on the slick grass.
Before she could fall, a strong pair of hands caught her by the waist, steadying her.
She looked up at Serik. He wasn't in his usual casual attire today, he wore the formal elegance of a noble.
As she looked into his amber eyes, her mind betrayed her. For a split second, she wasn't in the garden. She was back in the shadows of that night, feeling the heat of his skin, the pressure of his lips against hers... the memory of their kiss flashed through her mind, making her heart feel warm. A momentary panic rising inside.
Serik lifted her gently back to her feet, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"My apologies for startling you, My Lady," he said, his voice low, still holding her upright for a second too long.
Lethia's heart skipped a beat. She quickly came to her senses and stepped back, smoothing her skirts to regain her icy composure.
"What brings you here,My Lord?" she asked, a perfectly measured smile upon her lips, one that did not reach her eyes.
Serik felt the shift, the way she instantly rebuilt the wall between them.
"Her Majesty requested my presence. She claimed there was something of importance to discuss."
This old hag and her little schemes, Lethia thought.
"She is a Sidereon, after all,"she murmured faintly.
She began to walk ahead without looking back.
Serik followed, his boots rhythmic on the gravel. "Don't worry about it, My Lady. I won't pressure you regarding... the matter between us. I'll soon be leaving the capital, so you may enjoy your peace here until then."
She stopped slightly.
"To where?" The question escaped her before she could restrain it.
Serik looked faintly surprised by her curiosity.
They resumed walking, slower now, their footsteps unconsciously falling into rhythm.
"I depart for Imerthia. A matter concerning Count Vale's family."
"Ah. That matter."
Then she added, "Is it not suspected to be linked to the tragedy within the Marquessate of the late Marquess Morcant?"
"You believe so, my lady?"
It's an assumption," Serik added. "The Count's family were the only ones killed. In the Morcant Marquessate, even the servants weren't spared. The methods don't entirely match."
Lethia gave a small, chilling laugh. "The whole Marquess family slaughtered... except for the youngest daughter. What do you think, My Lord?"
She stopped and turned to him, a meticulous, sharp smile on her face. "Do coincidences of such nature truly occur?"
Serik's gaze darkened as if he were weighing a heavy thought. "No one really doubted her. She stayed in the Solmere Duchy after the massacre and was supported by the Duke himself. Her protection is absolute."
Lethia looked away, her mind clicking through possibilities. She began walking back toward the pavilion and sat down in her high backed chair. Serik followed, taking the seat opposite her.
"Do you have doubts regarding Lady Morcant, My Lady?" he asked.
Lethia looked up, her smile completely unreadable. "Nothing. I just feel like I've seen her somewhere."
The smile she wore was anything but sincere.
Serik seemed to understand she would reveal no more.
His hand reached out and picked up the very book Lethia had picked earlier.
Lethia felt a surge of wicked amusement. She didn't say a word. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes.
Serik opened the book. His eyes widened, his entire face freezing in a mask of pure, aristocratic shock.
Lethia pressed her lips together, barely containing her laughter.
Serik cleared his throat and very slowly, very carefully, closed the book. He tried to keep his face deadpan, as if he hadn't just seen a graphic illustration of the Imperial Court's most "creative" positions.
He set the book down gently, pretending he had seen nothing but dry dates and maps.
Lethia couldn't hold it anymore and burst into laughter.
Serik looked at her and to his own surprise, found himself smiling as well.
He found he didn't mind the embracement if it meant hearing her laugh like that.
"Why didn't you stop me, My Lady?" he asked, his voice humored.
"I wanted to see how you would react!" Lethia gasped between laughs. "I presume you do not share Her Majesty's… refined interests. Oh, the look on your face!"
She continued to laugh, the sound light and free in the cold air.
Serik simply leaned back, his gaze fixed on her, his smile growing as he watched the ice around her heart melt, even if only for a moment.
And there, beneath the pale sky of approaching winter, the garden felt momentarily warmer than before.
As the laughter fades, the Empress Dowager is seen watching them from her balcony high above, a satisfied grin on her face.