(Almera POV)
Night settled over the palace like a held breath.
From my bed, I could hear it—the distant rhythm of guards changing shifts, the faint murmur of water in the inner fountains, the hush that came only when the Inner Palace believed itself safe. Moonlight slipped through the sheer curtains, silvering the edge of the room, turning gold into something softer, almost fragile.
I lay awake.
Sleep refused me, no matter how exhausted my body was. The poison had left me weak, aching in ways that were deep and lingering, as if my bones remembered what had tried to claim them. Each breath reminded me that I was still here—that survival, once again, had been wrestled from fate rather than gifted freely.
Imperial Consort.
The title still felt unreal.
I had worn many names in my life—princess, hostage, bargaining chip—but this one sat differently. Heavier. More visible. It wrapped itself around me whether I wished it or not.
