The palace gardens were sprawling and fragrant, blooming with impossibly rare flowers Seraya had only seen illustrated in books. Petals spilled over stone pathways in waves of pink, gold, and white. Jasmine, moon lilies, and star orchids shimmered in the late light, fed by magic and money.
Women lounged across the lawn in silken clusters—some playing a game with etched stones and colored sand, others strumming delicate stringed instruments whose notes fluttered like butterflies through the air. Laughter rippled beneath the warm hum of enchantment that seemed to linger over every corner of the palace.
Seraya's eyes caught on one of the instruments, resting against a nearby bench. A long-necked lute carved from pale wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
She stopped walking.
Jenna followed her gaze, then smiled softly. "Do you play?"
"I used to," Seraya said. The words scraped against something raw in her chest. Used to. Before.
Before the fire. Before the screams. Before the banners of her house were torn down and burned.
Something must have shown on her face, because Jenna gently hooked her arm through Seraya's.
"Come," she said with a warm tug. "Let's walk a bit."
They wandered farther down a shaded path, winding past flowering trellises and marble fountains shaped like winged beasts. As they walked, Jenna gestured to different sections.
"There's a rose terrace over that wall," she said, "and a fish pond near the bathhouse. And then there's the eastern garden with the lilac trees with an attached library. Not many people go there."
"Why not?" Seraya asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as they passed beneath a wisteria-draped arch.
"It's farther out. You don't want to be caught too far when he appears."
Seraya glanced sideways at her. "The king?"
Jenna nodded. "You never know when he'll show up. Sometimes he walks among us without a word. Sometimes he watches from the balconies. It's better to be visible. Attentive."
Seraya took that in quietly. It made sense, in a twisted sort of way. They lived in a gilded cage, and proximity to the warden determined their rank. Their safety.
Still, something about the idea made her skin crawl.
But the library could be her perfect escape. A refuge. A place no one wanted. That made it valuable—to her anyway.
They found a quiet spot beneath the swaying arms of a willow tree, its leaves falling like curtains around them. In the distance, iridescent fish glided through a pond, their scales glinting orange and silver in the sunlight.
They sat on a bench carved from smooth white stone. For a long while, neither of them spoke. But something lingered between them, a divide—and the king is what stood between them.
Seraya hoped that she did not already lose the first kind person in his new life.
But she couldn't see how anyone could have gone through something similar and still bow before King Malek's feet.
It felt like a betrayal to her people. And she couldn't do that.
Jenna broke the thick silence.
"My sisters weren't taken with me," she said, voice soft. "I don't know what happened to them."
Seraya turned to her, surprised by the confession.
"I've tried not to think about it," she went on. "Not because I don't care. But because… what else can I do? Be bitter? Be broken? I'm alive. I eat. I laugh, sometimes. That has to be enough."
Seraya didn't answer right away. Her throat tightened.
She had Damien, but it wasn't the same. She couldn't imagine the guilt that Jenna must carry to have been the only one chosen of her sisters.
"I think surviving like that takes strength too," she said. "You still get up. You still help people like me. That matters."
Jenna blinked a few times, then offered a small, watery smile.
"But I can't pretend to feel anything for him," Seraya added after a moment, her voice low. "Not after what he's done. Not yet."
"You don't have to," Jenna said. "Not now. Maybe not ever."
They sat in silence again, the bond between them quietly reforging, until—
A deep chime echoed through the garden like the toll of fate.
Then came the whispers.
"He's here."
"The king."
To celebrate his conquest—her homeland, her people? Seraya would sooner die than play a part in such a performance.
Dread uncoiled inside her like a serpent roused from slumber, its fangs pressing against her ribs.
All around her, the mood shifted. Women straightened their spines, laughter fading like smoke. Robes were smoothed, hair tilted just so to catch the breeze. Every movement was calculated, a silent bid for attention.
Seraya's eyes followed their collective gaze to a flight of polished stone steps descending from the upper terrace.
A shadow moved at the top.
Something cold twisted in her gut.
She didn't need to see him to know—King Malek had arrived.
And if she did see him now, she wasn't sure she could stop herself. The fury was too fresh, too raw. It roared in her blood like wildfire.
"I need to leave," she whispered. The words were sharp, panicked.
Jenna, who had been craning her neck to glimpse him, glanced over. Her expression fell, but she didn't protest. Instead, she reached for Seraya's hand.
"Come on."
They slipped down a winding path that led toward the east garden, away from the swelling tide of admirers.
As they walked, Jenna leaned close. "Just follow the wall of jasmine and look for the arched door, that'll lead you to the library."
Seraya nodded, memorizing the path. Jenna gave her hand a small squeeze, then turned back without another word—drawn, like the others, to where the king had entered.
And Seraya knew she was in this alone.
Seraya cast one last look over her shoulder.
The king stood among his courtiers, the sea of silks and jewels parting around him like water. She couldn't see his face—not yet. But she didn't need to.
She could feel the weight of him, his presence like a gravity pulling everything toward him.
Let them orbit him like stars to a black hole.
She would not be one of them.
No matter what it cost her—she would avoid him at all costs.
Now, she just needed to learn how to stay away, hidden in the shadows, where he
couldn't find her–and stay there.
Besides, there was a sea of women to choose from. It wasn't as if he would even notice her.