Lady Naram focused on the tea, her movements steady and graceful as she filled their cups. Calmly, she let the steam rise between them before she finally lifted her own cup to catch the warmth in her palms.
She started with the usual small talk. The harvest of the leaves, the rare blue of the afternoon sky, the kind of effortless chatter she had practiced since she was a child. It seemed like it was just a polite conversation, but Naram was weighing every word she spoke.
The courtyard was peaceful and quiet that day. For a moment, Naram allowed herself to imagine that this was her permanent future: quiet afternoons, refined conversations, and a life of absolute power.
Across from her, the Khan listened in silence. Although he was there, occasionally nodding in response to whatever Naram was saying, he looked like he was miles away. Naram had noticed it the second they sat down. His attention kept slipping.
His eyes kept wandering toward the garden paths as if he was waiting for something, or someone, else to appear. She tried to tell herself it was normal. He was the Khan, after all. He had much heavier things on his mind than tea and weather.
So she shifted her strategy. She began talking about palace affairs, minor administrative matters that required attention but little passion. Basically trying to justify her future role as the Khatun, showing off her knowledge not just in culture and art, but in politics and statecraft.
It didn't work, though. The Khan was still spacing out, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the trees.
Then, the silence was shattered by laughter.
It was loud, shrill, and mean. It was the kind of noise that didn't belong in a dignified palace garden. Her teacup was halfway to her lips when Naram paused, her brow furrowing.
"Do you hear that, Your Majesty?" she asked.
The Khan's head snapped up, too fast for Naram's surprise. The bored look in his eyes suddenly vanished.
"Yes," he said. His voice was even, but his entire energy changed in a heartbeat. He went from a distracted host to a hound catching a scent. "Let's see who is having so much fun in my palace."
He stood up, and Naram followed him, feeling a sudden prickle of nervousness. The laughter grew louder as they walked toward the sound. It wasn't the sound of joy. It was the sound of people mocking someone who couldn't fight back.
When they rounded the corner of the pavilion, the scene lay itself out before them.
A group of concubines was crowded together, their faces twisted into cruel smiles. In the center of the circle stood Princess Lian Zhi, looking stiff and guarded with her chin tilted up despite the sneers directed at her. One of the women was standing far too close, her hand already raised in the air.
Before Naram could even process what was happening, the woman struck.
Slap.
The sound was sharp and echoed through the stone courtyard, and Naram could see Lian Zhi's head snap to the side. The princess stumbled back a step, her hand instinctively touching her face where a red mark was already beginning to bloom against her pale skin.
Naram gasped, frozen in shock. But before she could even draw a second breath, the Khan next to her was already moving.
Moving with a terrifying, fluid speed, he reached the group in seconds. His hand came down in a strike that was far more powerful than the one the concubine had given.
He struck her, and she fell hard. A sharp gasp escaped from the shocked concubine's lips.
Everything stopped.
The other concubines scrambled backward, their cruel smiles turning into pure terror. Lian Zhi stared at the scene with widened eyes, her fingers still trembling against her stinging cheek.
Naram felt the air leaving her lungs. What scared her most wasn't the violence. Even behind the mask, a cold, suffocating energy radiated from the Khan. He didn't shout, just standing there, tall and composed. But his eyes were filled with a dark, silent rage.
He looked down at the woman trembling on the floor. "You've forgotten your place." His voice was flat, devoid of any mercy.
The woman shook, too terrified to even look up at him.
Naram finally found her voice, though it sounded weak and breathless. "Your Majesty… this is an inner court matter. These women are the Grand Prince's wives. It might not be wise to interfere so directly—"
The Khan turned his gaze toward her. His eyes were steady and absolute.
"This is my palace," he said, his voice ringing with authority. "Everything in it is my business."
He didn't even glance at Lian Zhi, which was also confusing to Naram. But she knew better. The air in the courtyard was already thick with everything he hadn't said or done. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
The concubines scrambled to bow, their faces pale and their arrogance completely gone. In the middle of the chaos, Lian Zhi stood alone, her hand still pressed to her face, looking more confused than relieved.
Naram lingered for a second before following him, pausing for a moment to look back at Lian Zhi one last time. The princess consort was standing tall, despite the mark on her face, her expression a mix of pain and confusion.
In that moment, it became clear to Naram.
The Khan hadn't acted to keep the peace or to remind the concubines of the rules of his palace. He had acted because someone had touched Lian Zhi.
Ever since he had defended her a few days ago, Naram had suspected it. But now she confirmed it. Lian Zhi wasn't just a random woman or his brother's wife. The Khan had drawn a line, and Lian Zhi was the only person he allowed on his side of it.
So this is how it is, Naram thought.
The Khan wasn't the threat to her future. Lian Zhi was.