[Silthara Palace—The Following Morning—Consort's Changing Chamber]
Morning light filtered through carved lattice screens, falling in geometric gold across polished stone. The Consort's changing chamber hummed softly with movement—silk whispering, metal chiming, and sandals brushing marble.
Levin stood upon the low circular platform while attendants moved around him like careful orbiting moons.
Iru adjusted the fall of pale ceremonial robes across Levin's shoulders, fingers precise and respectful. Levin's reflection stared back at him from the tall bronze mirror—crowned lightly, veiled faintly, and adorned in the colors of Zahryssar.
"Do they…" he began quietly, "…ask questions?"
The chamber stilled almost imperceptibly.
Iru's hands paused only for a breath before continuing their work. He lowered his gaze as etiquette required.
"No one questions the Malik's Malika," he replied evenly. "And no one interrogates the Mother of the Empire."
Levin frowned faintly.
