Elara let her head lower again, hiding the small, satisfied spark in her eyes.
Surveillance, she thought. Gloms. Collars. Bloodline locks.
Different tools. Same principle.
In her first life, Richard had built a weapon and hidden it inside a company. Here, the Emperor had built a system and hidden himself inside his children's lives. Both liked to watch from a distance.
The difference was simple: Richard had never expected his weapon to look back.
This Emperor, sooner or later, would realize his quiet fourth daughter was staring straight into his cameras.
.
.
.
The glom arrived in silence.
A robed official carried it in with both hands, the clear sphere hovering a finger's width above his palms. Up close, it was no longer just a drifting ornament; thin lines of light moved beneath its surface like veins, pulsing in time with some unseen heart. He knelt just inside the doorway, head bowed, arms extended. Behind him, the physician waited with his medicine case, wisely keeping his eyes on the floor and not on the two princesses or the man who ruled them.
The Emperor did not move at first. The weight of his aura still pinned the room down. Only when the official's arms began to tremble did he speak.
"Show it."
The man pressed his thumb to the base of the sphere. Light seeped out, slow at first, then brighter, until a thin sheet of image unrolled in the air between the pillars like a curtain of glass. The glom's sight was high, just under the ceiling, looking down into the same room they stood in now. Everything was there, reduced and distant: the tall doors, the white floor, the huge bed, the thin girl in red silk.
The recording began with the doors slamming inward. The servant jerked back. The Beast Knight filled the frame. Behind him, Eleana stepped through, her pale hair catching the light, her gown cutting a straight line across the scene. Two tidy ranks of knights dropped to their knees the instant her foot crossed the threshold. She did not look at any of them. She did not knock. She moved as if every stone belonged to her.
The image showed her pausing, surveying the room, fan at her side. The angle was high enough that no one on the floor could argue about who had entered whose space. Elara was visible on the bed, small and upright, watching. There was no sound, but no one needed it; Eleana's chin lifted, her steps carried her closer, and even muted, the distance in her expression was clear.
The glom flickered as time passed. Eleana stood at the foot of the bed. Her fan opened and closed. The two women faced each other, mouths moving, but the orb cared only for shapes and positions. It showed Elara's shoulders still, her hands folded in her lap. It showed Eleana's fan snapping shut, her stance sharpening, her free hand rising as power gathered invisibly around her wrist.
Then, in one clean sequence, came the part that mattered.
The glom caught Eleana's right hand halfway up, fingers spread, the gesture halfway between a command and a strike. In front of her, Elara's body tipped sideways. There was no push captured, no visible blow, only the sight of the unfavored princess sliding bonelessly from the bed and striking the floor. Her hair spilled across the stone; her limbs twisted at awkward angles.
The orb lingered. Eleana stood over her sister, hand still raised. The knights in the background remained exactly where they were, kneeling, motionless. No one moved to help the girl on the ground. No one reached for the princess whose hand was up. It was an ugly picture: power above, weakness below, a line of silent witnesses around them.
The light faded. The image rolled itself back into the sphere, which dimmed to a dull, glassy shine in the official's hands. The room was left with only the real scene—the same people, the same positions, only now with the Emperor standing between them.
Eleana's face had gone bloodless. Her fingers, empty now, dug into her skirts hard enough to wrinkle the perfect fabric. "The glom records only what it sees," she said, very quietly. "It does not show what she said to—"
"Enough."
The Emperor's voice was not loud, but the official flinched and almost dropped the orb. He tightened his grip again and pressed his forehead to the floor. The physician swallowed and stayed frozen where he stood.
Slowly, the Emperor turned his head. His gaze moved from the spot where the pale image of Eleana's raised hand had just hung, down to Elara still half‑propped on one elbow, then back up. He had asked for the record; it had given him only one story to read: a grand entrance without permission, a cold exchange, a lifted hand, a collapse, and a room that did nothing to stop it.
Whatever words Eleana had planned—about disobedient beasts, about strange changes in her sister, about loyalty—died on her tongue. In the face of that clear, clean sequence, they would sound like excuses.
The glom arrived in silence.
A robed official carried it in with both hands, the clear sphere floating a finger's width above his palms. Up close it no longer looked decorative; pale lines of light moved under the surface like veins, pulsing to a slow, steady rhythm. He knelt just inside the doorway, head bowed, arms extended. Behind him, the physician waited with his case, eyes fixed on the floor, careful not to look at either of the princesses or the man at the center of the room.
The Emperor didn't move at first. His aura still held the chamber pinned. Only when the official's arms began to shake did he speak.
"Show it."
A thumb pressed to the base of the sphere. Light bled out, thin at first, then brighter, until an image unfurled in the air between the pillars like a sheet of glass. The glom's view was high, just under the ceiling, looking down into this same room—tall doors, white floor, wide bed, a slight figure in red silk.