The ceremony unfolded with rigid grandeur. Every noble family attended; attendance was not optional. Silks in muted tones, bowed heads, controlled grief—an empire performing mourning.
And yet, beneath that discipline, Elara allowed herself something small. Petty. Almost childish.
Tradition demanded white chrysanthemums, symbols of solemn farewell. Instead, the palace gardens were stripped of them entirely. In their place bloomed waves of red and yellow lilies—vivid, almost intrusive against the somber drapery.
She announced, in a voice calm and unshaken, that the emperor had always favored lilies.
It was a flawless lie.In truth, he despised yellow lilies. The mere scent of them triggered violent reactions; physicians had once warned that prolonged exposure could send his heart into spasms. The memory of his fury at the sight of a single misplaced arrangement had lingered with her.
Now the entire mourning hall was drenched in their fragrance.
