The bells chimed for morning greetings, just as they always did—soft and sweet and just a little too early for anyone with a soul.
I was already waiting in the outer courtyard, seated beneath the pavilion with a steaming cup of jasmine tea resting beside me. The sky was painted in pale golds and oranges, and the air smelled like dew and honeysuckle. It would have been peaceful, even lovely, if not for the approaching herd of silk and resentment.
The concubines arrived two by two, like women heading toward an execution—except they'd dressed for a coronation.
Layers of gauzy fabric in spring pastels, jade combs nestled in perfectly coiffed buns, jewelry clinking with every calculated step. Rouge brightened their cheeks and widened their eyes, but it couldn't disguise the tension in their shoulders.
I smiled.
