Vera sat before her towering mirror, regal even in a silk dressing robe, her pale blond hair spilling like molten silver down her back. Seraya moved silently behind her, fingers combing through the strands with practiced care.
But Vera barely registered the gentle tugs through her hair. Her mind circled like a hunting hawk.
The rose.
The one sitting so innocently by Seraya's bed—the same rare variety King Malek had in his hand that day. The one she couldn't find anywhere else.
Her eyes flicked to the reflection of Seraya behind her. Pretty. From some insignificant kingdom that barely held together before Malek conquered it. Soft, delicate features. A beauty, certainly—but unimportant. Powerless. Beneath her.
And yet…
A whisper of doubt gnawed at her edges. What if the king had noticed?
Vera replayed their earlier encounter. The way she'd seized Seraya by the throat, the flash of panic in those defiant eyes. But Seraya had denied it, the rose, the king. Vera had grown up breathing lies and half-truths. She could read a person like scripture—and Seraya had believed what she said.
Still… she had given away something. The location.
The library garden.
So that's where King Malek had been disappearing to. The smallest thread of tension in Vera's shoulders loosened as she tucked the information away. She'd find her answers there soon enough.
But tonight… tonight was about more pressing matters.
The ball. A stage for power plays wrapped in silk and song. She mentally sorted through the expected attendees—the king's inner circle, nobles scheming in corners, fawning courtiers drunk on influence. And her.
His favorite. His first dance. His reassertion of her place at his side.
Vera's jaw tightened at the memory of Lady Tabitha's antics from the last gathering—the dramatic fainting spell, the false intoxication, the coy suggestion to "rest" that led to her slipping into the king's chambers. Foolish. And yet… she had conceived not long after.
The thought stung.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind: "If Tyrion hasn't gotten the god-mark by now, he never will. You need to try again."
Her son, Tyrion—thirteen years old, already growing into sharp cheekbones and ambition—but without the divine shimmer of silver birthmarks that marked Malek and his brother Kaelen as god-touched.
"With the unrest in the capital and the border tensions, our bloodline's future must be secure," her father had pressed. "You are not secure yet."
None of the other concubines had borne a child with the mark either—thank the stars. But Vera would not let her position slip, not now, not ever. If she couldn't bear another child with the mark, she'd ensure no one else did. Tyrion would be crown prince, and by extension, she would wield the true power of the throne as queen dowager.
Her reflection sharpened, resolve hardening her delicate features.
A sudden, sharp tug at her scalp pulled her from her thoughts. The comb snagged along the back of her neck, scraping skin.
Vera hissed, jerking away. "Idiot!"
The comb clattered to the floor. Seraya's eyes widened in alarm, hands trembling.
A crack filled the room as Vera's palm connected with her cheek, the red mark blooming hot and immediate.
"I was going to wear my hair up," Vera snapped, rising to her feet. "It has to look perfect, and you've ruined it!"
Seraya's jaw flexed, but she lowered her gaze, voice calm but careful. "You still can, my lady. We'll just have to… cover it."
Vera stalked to the mirror, inspecting the thin red scratch along the nape of her neck. The blemish ignited a fresh wave of anger—but appearances had to be flawless tonight.
"We'll do it half-up," she muttered, calculating. "We'll hide the mark." She eyed Seraya's reflection again, searching for signs of defiance beneath the compliant mask.
Seraya stooped to retrieve the comb, steady now, her expression unreadable.
Smart girl, Vera thought darkly. But not smart enough to stay invisible. There was something about her that gnawed at Vera's edges. She would keep Seraya underfoot, within reach—just in case.
"What if…" Seraya offered, voice quiet, measured, "we added a choker necklace? That way it hides the mark, and you can still wear your hair up."
Vera paused, considering the suggestion. A velvet choker would draw attention to her neckline, accentuate her stature… and erase the blemish.
She nodded sharply. "Yes. That'll work."
As Seraya fastened the choker around her neck, Vera watched her through the mirror—soft features, downcast eyes, the lingering blush of the slap still fresh.
For a fleeting moment, Vera almost smiled.
"I'd say it's even an improvement," Vera said coolly.
Seraya's shoulders eased ever so slightly at the words.
Vera's lips curled with quiet satisfaction. She knew exactly how to tighten the reins, to press just enough, reward just enough, manipulate just enough. It was what she did best.
And tonight—tonight, she would remind everyone why she was queen of this gilded cage.