The Inner Palace was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind.
It was the kind of silence that followed bloodshed—the kind that pressed against the ears, heavy and watchful, as if the palace itself were holding its breath. From the highest balcony of the Sun Throne Wing, I looked down upon the courtyards and corridors below. Guards stood at twice their usual number, armor gleaming beneath the rising sun. Patrol routes overlapped deliberately now. Nothing was left to chance.
The harem gates remained sealed.
Fear had settled in its place.
That was good.
Fear made people cautious. Caution kept knives sheathed.
Behind me, beyond thick doors reinforced overnight, Almera lay unconscious. Alive—but only just. The physician had stabilized her condition, slowing the poison's advance enough to buy time. Nothing more. Every hour that passed without the antidote was a wager against death.
And someone had dared to make that wager inside my palace.
