(Almera POV)
Nothing warned me.
That was the cruelest part of it—the way the morning unfolded with such practiced normalcy that my guard loosened by instinct rather than choice. The Inner Palace woke the way it always did with measured footsteps, murmured greetings, and the faint perfume of oil warming under the sun.
Serah walked a half-step behind me, her presence steady, her gaze scanning without appearing to do so. Guards held their respectful distance, blades at ease but eyes alert. Attendants moved aside as we passed, heads bowed, hands folded.
Routine.
I had learned that routine was safety in the harem. Predictability kept blades sheathed and tempers contained. Even after everything—Zafira's fall from favor, the tightening of Raem's net, the quiet elevation of my own standing—routine remained the shield that made survival feel almost… peaceful.
