The autumn wind drifted softly outside the window, making the curtains sway.
Inside, the room was warmed by the glow of a dimly lit fireplace. Flames curled and flickered as fresh wood was added to the fire.
Iris ran a wooden comb through Zarah's long blond hair, the soft curls resting at her waist.
"I always wonder what secret oil you use that makes your hair curl like that on its own," Iris teased as she set the comb aside and began braiding it.
Zarah chuckled. "We use the same oil, Iree," she replied, gently shaking her head.
That earned her a light smack on the shoulder.
"Stop moving, or the braid will turn crooked," Iris scolded with fake irritation.
Zarah pouted. "I am not a child, Iree. We're the same age."
"I'm older by a couple of months," Iris replied smugly.
"Ah, yes. And that makes you a grandmother, I suppose?" Zarah countered with a grin.
Iris finished braiding her hair and tied the end with a ribbon before giving the braid a gentle tug. "And you're an insufferable brat, Zar," she said dryly.
Zarah yelped and turned to shoot Iris a mock glare.
Iris laughed, and after a moment, Zarah joined in. Their laughter echoed warmly through the dormitory bedroom.
After the laughter quieted down, Zarah glanced out the window before looking back at Iris.
"Tomorrow is Celine's birthday," she said thoughtfully. "One more week, and we'll be sent to the Imperial Palace."
Iris nodded. "Yes… we should start packing soon," she replied with a sigh.
Celine was the youngest in their batch. Once she turned eighteen, they would be transferred to the Imperial Palace a week later — like all Flower Maidens.
"So," Iris teased, leaning forward. "I know you plan to save the Empress so you can shut this brothel down with her influence… but you said this world was a novel you once read. You must know what Her Majesty is like."
She lowered her voice.
"Is she really as beautiful as the rumours say?"
Zarah rolled her eyes playfully.
"Oh, yes. Her Majesty is enchanting. But I don't think she would fit your aesthetic," she replied with a teasing lilt.
Iris smacked her shoulder.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded with an indignant scoff.
Zarah only shrugged.
That earned her an ear pull, and she yelped dramatically.
Truthfully, Zarah knew Ines wasn't Iris's type. But she prayed Iris would never be chosen as the flower maiden Her Majesty selected to bed.
Don't misunderstand her — Zarah would support Iris even if she fell in love with a roach.
But Iris was the Grand Duke's daughter — though only Zarah knew that. The Grand Duke was the late Emperor's brother, which made Empress Ines his niece.
And Iris…
Her cousin.
Zarah would never allow something so inappropriate to happen — no matter how medieval the times.
But she couldn't tell Iris the truth either. The mere thought that Iris might leave her one day terrified her too much.
So the worry remained hers alone.
With a heavy sigh, she left the room alongside Iris, their conversation drifting back to dresses and accessories they would need to pack for the palace.
The grand halls of the castle gleamed beneath the hazy autumn sunlight filtering through the tinted glass windows.
Regal footsteps echoed against polished marble. The skirt of a black gown trailed behind the Empress as she walked with her head held high. Her midnight hair swayed gently with each step, blue eyes lowered to the ledger in her hands as she discussed revised trade routes with the Chancellor beside her.
Servants lining the corridor moved swiftly to the sides, bowing in unison as she passed.
Ines did not spare them a glance. She merely flicked her wrist in subtle acknowledgment, signaling them to rise.
The echo of heels came to a stop before a door carved with blooming roses.
Ines handed the ledger to the Chancellor and flicked her wrist, dismissing him.
The Chancellor bowed deeply.
"Blessings and eternal glory to Her Majesty, the Empress."
With that, he took his leave.
Ines's gaze lingered on the carved roses for a moment before she stepped forward, pushing the door open and entering the Empress Dowager's chamber.
As soon as she entered, the Empress Dowager, Rosalia Del Caelthorne, rose from her seat and moved toward her.
"There you are. I told you to come early," she scolded, her voice carrying a sharp edge.
Ines sighed softly. "Mother, I was busy with—"
Before she could finish, her mother cut her off.
"Don't give me that. I once sat by your father's side and helped him rule. Surely you are not so busy that you cannot visit me sooner?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Mother, there was an attack on the southern border. I had to rearrange the military positions," Ines explained evenly.
At that, Rosalia's expression softened.
"Oh… was there any loss of life?" she asked, concern replacing irritation as she reached for Ines's hand and guided her to sit beside her.
Ines settled next to her, her expression turning solemn.
"Fortunately, no. But several soldiers were severely injured," she replied, her face unreadable.
Rosalia gently rubbed her daughter's back.
"Were they able to catch the rebels?" she asked with a soft smile.
Ines nodded. "Yes. The soldiers defeated them and imprisoned the survivors. All that remains is to bring them back. I shall question them myself."
Her expression darkened, a cruel smile slowly curving her lips.
The Empress Dowager's hazel eyes gleamed with pride.
"That is how you deal with rebels," she praised, patting her daughter's head. "You punish them until they open their mouths and speak the truth."
Ines gently pushed her mother's hand away.
"Mother, stop that. I have a council meeting after this."
Rosalia huffed. "So? Can a mother not care for her daughter?"
"She can," Ines replied flatly, "but she should not meddle with her daughter's hair — especially when that daughter is the Empress."
Sometimes, she truly wondered how her mother managed to maintain such a strict facade before the Imperial Court and the public.
"Ines Del Caelthorne," Rosalia said sternly, though she tugged her daughter's cheek all the same, "were you born from my womb, or I from yours? You will always be my child, no matter what throne you sit upon. And I will always be your mother — even if you are the Empress."
"Mother!" Ines groaned, her composure finally cracking.
Rosalia finally released her daughter's cheek, a light chuckle slipping past her lips before she gracefully concealed it behind her gloved hand.
"Now," she said, studying Ines carefully, "as for why I requested your presence — what do you think of Marquis Walson's family?"
Ines raised a brow.
"Why? Has Marquis Walson done something?"
Rosalia shook her head. "No. They have sent a marriage proposal to Marceline."
Marceline Peirce — Ines's maternal cousin. The daughter of Rosalia's brother, Duke Marvin Peirce.
"And is Marceline interested?" Ines asked.
Her mother shrugged lightly. "That, I do not know. But your uncle believes it is a suitable match."
Ines considered this for a moment before speaking plainly.
"If Marceline does not like Marquis Walson, then do not force it upon her. Let her decide what she wants."
Rosalia nodded in agreement. "I told Marvin the same."
"Then why ask me?" Ines questioned, her brows knitting together.
Rosalia's gaze sharpened slightly.
"To see how interested you would be in the subject of marriage."
She paused deliberately.
"You are twenty-eight. You have ruled for twelve years, yet you have not taken an official consort."
Ines rose from her seat.
"Mother, not this again. I perform the Flower Maiden ritual every year, even if it does not suit my preferences."
Rosalia laughed softly. "Imperial relationships are not built on liking, my dear. They are built on duty. And from that duty, it is expected that you take a consort."
Ines sighed. This conversation had replayed itself far too many times.
She did not believe in fragile sentiments such as love.
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the chamber.