I didn't realize how long I'd been standing until my knees stiffened.
The last of the warlords had left. The tea had gone cold. And the scent of pine resin from the scrolls had faded into the ash of candle smoke. I rolled the last map tight and slid it into its case, then turned toward the corridor.
The hall outside was dim, the tapestries still shifting faintly in the winter breeze that snuck through the roof beams. I should've gone to my quarters to prepare for the feast. I should've called for the tailor. Should've eaten something.
Instead, I turned left.
Toward the garden.
It wasn't the one near the banquet courtyard—the one with pavilions and stone lanterns for the nobility to pose beside. This garden was older, tucked behind the northern wall of the Empress's private quarters. There were no formal paths here. No trimmed hedges or koi ponds. Just snow-dusted winter grass and bare plum trees curling toward the sky.
