The courtyard baked under the midday sun. Marble gleamed hot enough to blind. Guests huddled at the edges, fanning themselves, whispering. Gossip moved faster than the wind.
At the center rose a platform draped in banners. Symbols of every family that had ruled since the great disaster lined its edges. All eyes followed the steps of the Dragon Heart princess, Xue.
She took each step carefully. Controlled. Perfect. Her hair, black as night, flowed to her waist. It moved like silk caught in unseen currents. Her dress shimmered, green silk alive with shifting shades, pale, deep, gemstone. Courtiers blinked, diplomats forgot their words. Folding fans fluttered, painted with dragons in flight and cities devoured by flame.
High above, veiled in the balcony's shadow, Mira watched. Although no one invited her, her presence pressed down on the crowd like a gathering storm. Her face was all edges, high cheekbones, pale lips, a jaw set in iron. One hand toyed idly with her hair, the other hovered close to a hidden jade pin, its point hungry in the dark.
The ceremony began. Golden ceramics from the West. Furs from the far plains. Glass swans said to be made from the tears of conquered foes. Xue accepted each gift with calm grace, her face serene. Only once did her mask slip. The Lord of the Inner Provinces offered a tattered book.
Her hand lingered on it, tense, before she tucked it under her arm. Heat shimmered. Old fears whispered. Some guests studied her hands, searching for claws.
Others murmured about her hunger. Teeth glinted gold when she smiled. Children stepped back when her gaze brushed them. Rumors thickened the air.
At last, the Master of Protocol stepped forward. By fire, by blood, by will, the empire endures. He handed her a rod crowned with a blue crystal. Would you speak to your people, he asked, his voice shaking.
Xue studied the rod. Then shook her head. Calm. Steady. No. I will hear them. Whispers erupted like sparks. The air pressed heavily.
Did she survive fire as a baby.
Green eyes… no heir has had green eyes since the First Dynasty.
She drinks marrow.
She hears everything.
Xue let them speak. Then silence fell, sharp as a blade. Her gaze lifted. She found Mira. Eyes locked. A spark passed. Cold. Unforgiving.
Mira's hand hovered near her waist. Jade pin beneath her robe. Was it envy or hate. Years of being overlooked had fermented into poison.
Does she know, a voice murmured behind Mira.
Know what, she asked gently, eyes never leaving the platform.
That her predecessor walks among us. And she is nothing more than the newest vessel of the same ancient monster.
Mira's lips curved, thin and cold. Let her keep her day. The city will learn the truth soon enough.
On the platform, Xue's gaze swept across children, diplomats, and scholars. Eyes held a beat too long, as if she could see marrow and secrets. Some recoiled. Others could not look away.
The Master of Protocol led her down the steps. A sudden wind burst from the north. Petals tore free from the garden wall. Xue raised her hand. The petals spun, rising into a spiral storm. For a breath, they shimmered like fire-lit snow. Then stillness. The circle broke. The petals fell at her feet. Perfect.
The balustrade above was empty. Mira had vanished. Only faint sandal-steps echoed on marble.
Xue bent and picked up a single white petal. She turned it over. A faint red stain marked its base.
She smiled to herself.
High in the dark halls, Mira watched from a narrow window. The jade pin glimmered in her hand, its tip coated with poison. Fingers tightened. Her whisper carried like a curse.
She will die.
The words lingered, sharp as steel. The ceremony ended. Silent as a storm waiting to strike.