The garden held its breath.
Even the air felt still like the flowers were listening.
Elara knelt beside the stone beneath the willow, brushing her fingers over its surface. It felt warm today. Or maybe she was imagining it. That happened more often now.
She closed her eyes, just for a second.
"Still trying to talk to rocks?"
Elara's eyes snapped open.
Isla stood a few steps away, half in shadow, her voice light but laced with ice. Her gown shimmered like bruised twilight, her lips curled in that perfect palace smile pretty on the outside, sharp underneath.
"You startled me."
"You're always here," Isla said, moving closer. "The maids say you whisper to that thing."
"Let them talk."
"Oh, they will." Isla looked her over. "You know how fast stories grow around here? All they need is a quiet girl and a strange habit."
Elara stood. "Why are you really here, Isla?"
"You've been summoned twice this week. The Empress calls you in like she's feeding a pet. And you " she looked Elara up and down "you just keep going."
"I didn't ask for any of this."
"No, but you got it anyway," Isla said flatly. "Some of us were born into this. Bled for it. You? You wandered in and started waking things that should've stayed buried."
Her words hung in the air like smoke.
"You were born three months after me," Isla said. "I was marked early. Trained. Perfected. I earned the right to stand near that throne. And now? Now they watch you."
Elara didn't flinch. "Maybe they're tired of what they know."
Isla's smile cracked. "Keep dreaming, servant girl. This palace doesn't reward truth. It crowns the clever. And it buries the rest."
She turned back toward the path, pausing just long enough to toss her final stone.
"Be careful with that tree, Elara. Some roots go deeper than blood. And some memories? Don't want to be found."
Then she was gone.
The wind picked up behind her, and the willow leaves rustled not softly, but like warning.
Lady Marellia swept into Elara's chambers like a winter draft. Uninvited, but expected.
She looked around. The necklace still untouched. The comb right where it was left. The bed made too neatly like no one had slept there.
"You don't wear the gifts," she said. "That's bold."
"I never agreed to be part of this."
Marellia's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You're standing in the middle of it. Whether you like it or not."
"I didn't ask to be chosen."
"No one ever asks. But when the game starts, refusing to play is still a move."
Elara's jaw tightened.
"You think this palace works on fairness?" Marellia asked, voice low. "Girls are not picked for being good. They're picked for being useful. Beautiful. Quiet. Dangerous. Sometimes all at once."
"And what were you?"
"Once?" Marellia stepped closer. "I was the favorite. Until I wasn't."
That landed like a stone.
Elara said nothing.
Marellia gave her a long look. "You think staying quiet protects you. It doesn't. Silence is a language here. And it always speaks for you, whether you like the words or not."
She walked to the door, pausing before she left.
"Whatever you're feeling in that garden… whatever's waking up just remember. The palace always takes its toll."
In the solar, shadows clung to the corners of the room. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting long, restless shapes across the floor.
Lady Marellia stood before the Empress, hands folded, face unreadable.
"She resists the ritual," Marellia said. "But not out of pride. It's instinct. Something inside her remembers being hunted."
The Empress stirred her drink, slow and thoughtful. "Good. Let the instincts surface."
"She's drawing attention. Isla's already unraveling."
"All the better," the Empress murmured. "Let jealousy light the fuse."
Marellia hesitated. "And if she endures?"
The Empress looked up then, eyes sharp as shattered ice.
"Then the palace will kneel. She carries more than she knows. And the stone knows her name."