The empress sat before her vanity, her ladies-in-waiting fussing over the folds of her ceremonial robes. Deep blue with silver phoenixes—appropriate for the eldest princess's banquet, not too grand to overshadow the hostess, not too humble to diminish her station.
Behind her, the soft rustle of silk announced another arrival.
"Your Highness." Concubine Ke bowed, her voice warm and unhurried. "I hope I am not too early."
The empress glanced at her reflection, then at the woman behind her. Concubine Ke was beautiful—still, after all these years. Her skin was smooth, her hair glossy, her robes a deep burgundy that spoke of quiet confidence. The mother of the sixth prince and Prince Ren. A rival, but a graceful one.
"You are early," the empress said. "But I suppose we all want to look our best when facing the eldest princess."
Concubine Ke smiled. "The princess's banquets are rare. And her approval is... valuable."
The empress said nothing. Her ladies continued their work.
Behind Concubine Ke, another figure appeared in the doorway—Concubine Mei, slender and quiet, her robes a soft lavender. She bowed lower than Ke had.
"Your Highness," she murmured.
"Come in," the empress said. "Both of you. We have a long night ahead."
Concubine Jing arrived last, her merchant family's wealth displayed in the fine cut of her deep green robes. She said little, as always. She knew her place—the lowest among them, mother of Prince Yu and Prince Fu, but still a mother of princes.
The empress studied their reflections in the mirror—four women, four alliances, four factions. They would sit together at the banquet, smile together, pretend to be one family.
But each of them knew the truth.
The princess's banquet was not a party. It was a battlefield. And they were all soldiers.
---
A soft knock at the side door. A whispered message.
The empress raised her hand. Her ladies stepped back.
"Leave us," she said.
The concubines exchanged glances, then bowed and withdrew, their silk robes whispering against the stone floor.
When the room was empty, the side door opened.
Left Minister Shi stepped inside.
He was older now, his beard streaked with grey, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He bowed—respectful, but not deep. He was her brother, after all.
"Your Highness."
"Brother." The empress gestured to a seat near her vanity. "You came personally. Is it urgent?"
Shi sat, his knees cracking softly. He glanced at the door, ensuring it was closed.
"The banquet," he said. "The sixth prince's people will be there. Not him—he's still under house arrest—but his agents. Concubine Ke has been unusually active."
The empress's expression didn't change. "I expected as much."
"Also," Shi continued, "the Shen boy. He's been seen asking questions about Dalishu."
The empress paused. Her hand, which had been reaching for her jade hairpin, stopped mid-air.
"Dalishu?"
"Nothing concrete. But the timing is... interesting. The envoy arrives soon."
The empress picked up the hairpin—jade, simple, the same one her husband had given her on their wedding night. He had not given her anything since.
"The Shen family has always been loyal to the throne," she said slowly. "But loyalty is not inheritance. The boy is young. He may be foolish."
"Or he may be clever," Shi said. "That is what concerns me."
The empress slid the hairpin into place. "Watch him at the banquet. Report to me after."
Shi bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness."
He rose and walked toward the side door. At the threshold, he paused.
"Sister."
The empress looked up. He rarely called her that in private.
"Be careful," he said. "The emperor's eyes are everywhere."
Then he was gone.
The empress sat alone, staring at her reflection. The jade hairpin glinted in the candlelight.
*Tomorrow,* she thought, *we will all wear our masks.*
She rose, and her ladies returned to adjust her robes.
"Let's go," she said. "The princess is waiting."