The corridor was quiet as Emperor Xander approached his chambers, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the marbled walls. His hand was just about to turn the gilded handle when a faint sound stopped him. Soft whimpers and muffled sniffles drifting through the heavy door.
His heart skipped.
Only one person resided within those walls besides himself.
"Lola," he murmured, alarm creeping into his voice.
He pushed the door open, urgency in his step, only to be met with the sight of her crumpled on the floor, arms folded tightly as her head rested on them, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She looked small, shattered… and utterly alone.
Without thinking, he rushed to her side and crouched low, his voice gentle but urgent. "Lola… what's wrong? Who has done this to you?"
She didn't answer.
He reached out, wanting to offer comfort, but she flinched and pulled away.
"I'd prefer you didn't touch me, Your Majesty," she said coldly, rising to her feet with wounded grace.
He stood too, reaching for her again, but she jerked back, tearing her arm from his grasp. "Lola…"
"Spare me," she snapped, her voice sharp with unshed pain. "I do not require your sympathy. Keep your royal pity for someone who still believes in it."
Xander's shoulders slumped, guilt weighing heavily in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
She let out a bitter laugh, one that carried more heartbreak than humor. "Are you? And what exactly are you apologizing for? For ignoring me? For making me feel like a stranger in a palace I never asked to be brought to?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
"Pretend I'm invisible again," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "You were quite good at it."
Then she walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness like a quiet rebuke. Xander stood frozen for a moment, then sank onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair.
Elsewhere in the palace, the Empress Dowager moved with practiced elegance, her silk skirts sweeping the floor as her two maids followed at a respectful distance. The corridors smelled faintly of roses and old power.
She turned a corner and came face-to-face with the Duke of Strathmore.
"Your Majesty," he greeted with a polite bow.
"Come now, Marcello, must you always be so formal?" Victoria smiled, her tone playfully chiding.
He chuckled, offering his arm. "You know I must show proper respect to the emperor's mother."
"And yet, you are also the late emperor's brother and I have always considered you my own kin," she replied, her voice warm with practiced charm. "So please, if anyone may call me sister, it is you."
He bowed his head with a grin. "Very well… Victoria."
The name passed between them with the familiarity of old secrets. She laughed softly, pleased.
"I presume we are headed in the same direction?" he asked, glancing ahead.
"To the dining hall, yes," she confirmed.
"Then allow me," he said, stepping aside with a courteous gesture. "After you."
"How gallant," she replied, gliding past him as he followed, just a step behind.
But as they entered the corridor leading to the hall, a footman approached the Empress Dowager in haste, a folded parchment in his gloved hand.
"A message for you, Your Majesty," he said breathlessly.
Victoria took it, breaking the seal without slowing her pace.
She read the first line and stopped walking.
The Duke noticed. "Is everything all right?"
She said nothing for a moment, eyes scanning the rest of the letter. Then she folded it crisply and tucked it into her sleeve.
"Yes," she said, the lie honeyed and smooth. "Everything is… just beginning."