The first thing I realized when I finally stepped beyond the silk-draped doors of the wedding chambers was this—
The harem had been holding its breath.
For three days and three nights, I had not walked these halls. I had not shown my face. And Romulus had allowed the sounds of our union to echo freely through marble corridors meant for silence. It had not been an accident. It had been a message.
Now, as I crossed the inner gardens for the first time, I felt the weight of every gaze upon me.
Silk brushed against my ankles, pale gold and embroidered with water-thread motifs—Alexandrian symbolism for abundance. My hair was half-bound, pearls woven through dark strands. Not a maiden's styling. Not a concubine's attempt to entice.
This was how a woman favored by the emperor was meant to walk.
At my side was Serah al-Nayim, Head Attendant of the Imperial Harem. Her posture was immaculate, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
