Elara let her head lower again, hiding the small, satisfied spark in her eyes.
Surveillance, she thought. Gloms. Collars. Bloodline locks.
Different tools. Same principle.
In her first life, Richard had built a weapon and hidden it inside a company. Here, the Emperor had built a system and hidden himself inside his children's lives. Both liked to watch from a distance, pulling strings while pretending their hands were clean.
The difference was simple: Richard had never expected his weapon to look back.
This Emperor, sooner or later, would realize his quiet fourth daughter was staring straight into his cameras.
***
The glom arrived in silence.
A robed official carried it in with both hands, the clear sphere hovering just above his palms like something alive. Up close, it wasn't just some drifting ornament anymore—thin lines of light moved beneath its surface like veins, pulsing steadily. He knelt just inside the doorway, head bowed, arms extended. Behind him, the physician waited with his medicine case, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor and away from the two princesses or the man who ruled them.
The Emperor didn't move at first. His aura still pressed down on the room like a weight. Only when the official's arms started trembling did he speak.
"Show it."
The man pressed his thumb to the base of the sphere. Light seeped out slowly, then brighter, until a thin sheet of image unrolled in the air between the pillars like a curtain of glass. The glom's view was from high up, just under the ceiling, looking down into the same room they stood in now. Everything was there: the tall doors, the white floor, the huge bed, the thin girl in red silk.
The recording started with the doors slamming inward. The servant jerked back. The Beast Knight filled the frame. Behind him, Eleana stepped through, her pale hair catching the light, her gown cutting a straight line across the scene. Two neat rows of knights dropped to their knees the second her foot crossed the threshold. She didn't look at any of them. Didn't knock. Didn't pause. She moved like every stone in this place belonged to her.
The image showed her stopping just inside, looking around with her fan at her side. The angle was high enough that no one could argue about who'd entered whose space. Elara was visible on the bed, small and upright, watching. There was no sound—the glom only captured what you could see—but no one needed it. Eleana's chin lifted, her steps carried her closer, and even without hearing a word, the coldness in her expression was obvious. This wasn't a sister visiting family. This was something else entirely.
The glom flickered as time compressed. Eleana stood at the foot of the bed. Her fan opened and closed. The two women faced each other, mouths moving in a conversation the sphere would never record. It showed Elara's shoulders staying still, her hands folded in her lap. It showed Eleana's fan snapping shut, her stance shifting, her free hand starting to rise as power built around her wrist—nothing you could see exactly, but the way her fingers spread suggested something gathering beneath the surface.
Then came the part that mattered.
The glom caught Eleana's right hand halfway up, fingers spread, the gesture somewhere between giving an order and preparing to strike. In front of her, Elara's body tipped sideways. There was no push you could see, no actual blow, just the sight of the unfavored princess sliding off the bed and hitting the floor. Her hair spilled across the stone; her limbs bent at awkward angles.
The orb held on this moment. Eleana stood over her sister, hand still raised. The knights in the background stayed exactly where they were, kneeling, not moving. No one went to help the girl on the ground. No one reached for the princess with her hand up. No one dared step between whatever was happening. It painted an ugly picture: power standing, weakness fallen, a line of silent witnesses who'd picked their side by doing nothing.
The light faded. The image rolled back into the sphere, which went dull and glassy in the official's hands. The room was left with just the real scene now—same people, same positions, except now the Emperor stood between them.
Eleana's face had gone white. Her fingers dug into her skirts hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. "The glom records only what it sees," she said quietly. "It does not show what she said to—"
"Enough."
The Emperor's voice wasn't loud, but the official flinched and nearly dropped the orb. He caught it and pressed his forehead to the floor. The physician swallowed and stayed frozen.
Slowly, the Emperor turned his head. His gaze moved from where the image of Eleana's raised hand had just been hanging in the air, down to Elara still propped up on one elbow, then back. He'd asked for the recording. It had given him one clear story: someone walking in without permission, a cold exchange, a hand going up, someone collapsing, and a room full of people who did nothing to stop it.
Whatever Eleana had planned to say—about disobedient beasts, about strange changes in her sister, about loyalty—died before she could speak. Looking at that sequence, anything she said now would just sound like excuses.