Chapter 95: Chapter-95

Nobles gathered in clusters, dressed in their finest afternoon wear—the ladies in flowing gowns of pastel silks, the occasional lord invited to add gravitas to the gathering. Voices mingled with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant trill of songbirds. Servants moved between the tables with practiced silence, refilling cups and replacing empty plates.

It was a traditional garden tea party—one of the regular social events hosted by the Empress to maintain court relationships and allow noble families to network in a less formal setting than the throne room.

Heena sat at the head of the main table, dressed in a flowing gown of pale gold and cream that made her look like captured sunlight. Her injured wrist was now wrapped in elegant ivory silk that matched her outfit perfectly, the wrapping so artfully done it looked almost like an intentional fashion statement rather than medical necessity. She looked serene, composed, every inch the gracious hostess.

Beside her, occupying the seat usually reserved for the highest-ranking guest, sat Prince Larus.

He’d been invited as a courtesy—a gesture of hospitality toward a visiting dignitary. But the fact that he was seated ’there’, in that specific chair, at what was traditionally a ’ladies’’ social gathering, was causing quite the stir among the attendees.

“Your Majesty,” one of the older duchesses said, smiling warmly over her teacup, “it’s so gracious of you to include Prince Larus in our little gathering. I’m sure he must find our customs quite different from his own.”

Larus grinned, clearly at ease despite being the only man at a table full of women who were studying him like a particularly interesting specimen. “Different, yes, Duchess, but absolutely delightful. In my kingdom, tea is a much simpler affair—usually just a pot and whatever’s at hand. This—” he gestured at the elaborate spread with genuine appreciation, “—is a work of art.”

Several of the ladies tittered, clearly charmed by his easy manner and exotic appearance. The gold jewelry at his throat and ears caught the light as he moved, and more than one noblewoman had been caught staring.

Heena smiled faintly, lifting her own cup. “The Prince has been an excellent guest. It seemed only proper to include him in more of our traditions. After all, cultural exchange is the foundation of good diplomatic relations.”

“Indeed,” another noblewoman said, leaning forward with poorly concealed curiosity. “And I hear Your Majesty has been personally showing him the palace? How… dedicated of you.”

The tone suggested the woman thought it was more than just dedication.

“I have,” Heena confirmed smoothly, taking a delicate sip of tea. “Our foreign guests should feel welcomed and valued. It’s the least we can do to honor their willingness to travel such distances.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman said quickly, though her eyes gleamed with the promise of future gossip. “It’s just so rare to see Your Majesty take such a… personal interest.”

Before Heena could respond, there was a commotion near the garden gates.

A servant approached quickly and bowed low beside Heena’s chair. “Your Majesty,” he murmured quietly, “Lady Seraphina has arrived.”

The cheerful chatter around the table died instantly.

Heena set down her teacup with deliberate care, the soft ’clink’ of porcelain against porcelain somehow louder than it should have been.

“Lady Seraphina,” she repeated, voice perfectly pleasant. “How interesting. I don’t recall sending her an invitation.”

The servant looked deeply uncomfortable. “She… she claims she was invited by Duchess Halverton, Your Majesty.”

Every eye at the table swiveled to the duchess in question, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a penchant for meddling. She flushed deep red and nodded quickly.

“I—I thought it would be appropriate, Your Majesty,” she stammered. “Lady Seraphina is, after all, a lady of proper rank, and she’s been… unwell recently. I thought the fresh air and friendly company might aid in her recovery. I meant no disrespect—”

“How thoughtful of you,” Heena said. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And how presumptuous.”

The duchess went pale.

Before anyone could say more, Seraphina appeared.

She walked through the garden with carefully measured steps, as if each movement had been choreographed. She was dressed in soft pastels—pale pink and cream, colors meant to evoke innocence and fragility. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her face, which was still slightly swollen on one side where Heena’s hand had left its mark, though she’d clearly tried to conceal it with powder and careful positioning.

She looked like a wounded bird. Delicate. Suffering. In need of protection.

The perfect picture of victimhood.

Several of the softhearted ladies murmured sympathetically as she approached, and a few shot disapproving glances at Heena, as if the Empress were being unreasonably cruel to this poor, gentle creature.

Seraphina stopped a respectful distance from Heena’s chair and curtsied deeply, eyes downcast.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, voice trembling just slightly. “Thank you for allowing me to attend. I know I am… perhaps not as welcome as I once was.”

Heena didn’t stand. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even blink. She just looked at Seraphina with the same expression she might use to examine a mildly interesting insect that had landed on her teacup.

“Lady Seraphina,” she said. “What a surprise.”

Seraphina lifted her eyes—those soft, doe-like eyes that had won over countless hearts. That wounded, fragile expression that said ’I’ve been hurt, please pity me, please protect me’.

“I know I have not been… welcome at the palace recently,” Seraphina continued, voice barely above a whisper. “But I hoped that perhaps, in a more informal setting, we might… speak. As women. As people who both care deeply for this empire and its people.”

The words were perfectly chosen. Humble. Conciliatory. Designed to make Heena look like a cruel tyrant if she refused, designed to win sympathy from everyone watching.

Several of the ladies nodded approvingly. One even reached out to pat Seraphina’s hand encouragingly.

Heena leaned back in her chair, one finger tapping thoughtfully against her teacup, studying Seraphina for a long, quiet moment that stretched uncomfortably.

Then she smiled.

“Of course,” she said pleasantly. “Please, do join us.”

She gestured to an empty chair—not beside her, not near Prince Larus, but at the very far end of the table, as distant from the seats of honor as it was possible to be while still technically being at the same table.

Seraphina hesitated, clearly hoping for something closer, but she couldn’t refuse without looking petty. She curtsied again and moved to the indicated seat, settling carefully and arranging her skirts with practiced grace.

The conversation resumed, though the atmosphere had shifted—tighter now, more watchful, like everyone was waiting for something to break.

Seraphina sipped her tea delicately, nibbled at a pastry she never actually ate, and waited.

Finally, one of the younger noblewomen—clearly oblivious to the undercurrents—turned to her with genuine concern. “Lady Seraphina, we heard you’ve been unwell. Are you feeling better now?”

Seraphina smiled softly, sadly. “I am, thank you. It’s been… a very difficult few weeks. But I’m grateful for the continued support of my friends.”

Her eyes flicked briefly, almost imperceptibly, toward the direction of the temple wing—where Priest Raphael resided.

The implication was subtle but unmistakable to anyone paying attention.

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