(Anhai)
Anhai stood still in the Hall of First Virtues, the scent of ink and incense clinging to the air like secrets.
It was a silent chamber meant for observation—not ceremony. She had been summoned here without explanation, surrounded by aged ministers and three palace elders who studied her as if she were a rare animal brought in from the provinces.
She kept her spine straight. Her hands folded.
The exam was unspoken but merciless.
A question on etiquette. A correction in posture. A page of ancient poetry to read aloud—then interpret.
She answered softly but firmly, never hesitating.
They nodded. But not warmly.
Finally, the Crown Prince arrived.
He did not look directly at her. His presence was measured, his gaze lingering only long enough to acknowledge, not indulge. She lowered her head in the appropriate bow, but her eyes flicked up once.
He was composed. Handsome in a restrained way. Not distant—but unreadable. His robes were dark blue, plain for royalty, but cut with perfect lines.
She expected a question.
None came.
Only a silence that weighed more than speech.
Then the prince turned to the elders. "She listens more than she speaks. That is rare." He spoke in a tone made for courts—not affection, not coldness. Just... judgment.
Then to Anhai: "Tell me what you've observed of the Inner Court, Lady Yu."
She paused. The answer would define her.
At last: "It is a place where silence is louder than footsteps. And glances speak longer than words."
A single breath passed.
The Crown Prince gave a faint nod. "Good. You may leave."
And so she did—her heart calm, though her thoughts raced.
He had not looked at her as a girl. Not as a pawn. He had looked at her the way a player considers a piece he might move… or might guard.
(Sera)
Sera hadn't meant to end up in the archery courtyard. She'd simply taken a wrong turn while fleeing another etiquette lesson she had definitely not agreed to attend.
The guards were too polite to stop her—and she flashed smiles like weapons anyway.
She was just admiring the craftsmanship of a longbow when someone spoke behind her:
"You shouldn't be here."
She turned. And paused.
The man was tall, dressed simply in riding silks, but wore a narrow golden ring on his right thumb. His voice was deep, calm, but not unkind.
"And you are?" she asked, arms folded, grin tugging at her mouth.
A guard nearby paled. "Your Highness—this is the Lady Whitmore, the foreign—"
"I'm aware," the man interrupted, eyes never leaving Sera.
Oh, she thought. The Crown Prince.
He stepped forward, studying her like she was an unusual book. "Why are you here?"
"Wrong corridor," she said cheerfully. "I followed a butterfly. Metaphorically."
"You're not afraid?"
"I thought you might arrest me for admiring arrows," she replied. "But I assume the empire has better uses for its dungeons."
He raised a brow. "You're mocking me."
"No," she said lightly. "Just warming up."
A pause. The guards held their breath.
Then—unexpectedly—the prince let out a quiet huff of amusement.
"You're the first person in this court who doesn't flinch when I speak."
"I'm foreign," she said. "Flinching takes time to translate."
He smiled—barely. It didn't reach his eyes. "Be careful, Lady Whitmore. This palace trims wild things."
"Then I'll grow roots," she said. "Just to be inconvenient."
He nodded, almost thoughtfully. "We'll see."
And then he left, his footsteps as silent as falling ash.
Sera stood alone a moment longer, the bow still in her hand.
Not arrested. Not dismissed.
Noticed.