The door to the Imperial Study burst open like a thunderclap across a tranquil sky. Draped in imperial burgundy and steel resolve, the Empress Dowager stormed in, her every step echoing judgment and fury.
Xander stood near the tall arched window, hands clasped behind his back, the morning sun casting a long shadow beside him. He didn't turn.
"Your Majesty," Victoria began, her tone clipped and cold, "have you completely taken leave of your senses?"
He didn't flinch. "Good morning to you too, Mother."
"You dare mock me?" Her voice was a blade, slicing through the calm. "Do you know what the court is saying? What the servants whisper? What the nobles already assume?"
"I don't care what they assume," he replied, turning to meet her glare. "And neither should you."
Victoria's eyes narrowed into daggers. "You have dragged the crown through the dirt by bedding that girl. A charity case. A commoner. Have you no shame?"
"She is not a case. She is a woman. And one I care for."
The Empress Dowager scoffed. "Care for? Xander, you've destroyed years of careful planning with a single night of lust."
"That wasn't lust." His voice lowered, steady as stone. "It was something far deeper."
Her eyes briefly widened, then cooled with frightening precision. "Then you leave me no choice."
His brows knit. "What are you talking about?"
"If you will not come to your senses, then I shall bring about the correction myself," she said, gesturing sharply to her maid. "She will not step foot near you again. Not while I draw breath."
"You'll do no such thing, Mother."
She smiled, the kind of smile that chilled the bones. "We shall see. I trust you haven't forgotten who taught you how to command." With a flick of her cloak, she turned and swept out of the room.
In the garden, the air was filled with the scent of spring roses and the soft rustle of leaves. Lola walked alongside Ava, Sophia, and Emily, all of them trying to enjoy the morning's peace.
Until it shattered.
"Well, well, if it isn't the little whore parading herself as royalty," sneered Percival Thorne, the Empress Dowager's steward, as he stepped into their path.
Lola froze.
"Sir, I don't believe that's an appropriate way to speak," Emily said, her voice quivering.
Percival scoffed, ignoring her. "Do not let your delusions swell, girl. Giving your body to the emperor changes nothing. You're nothing but a passing indulgence."
"You vile man…" Sophia started, fury lacing her tone.
But a voice rang out, cool and composed. "Percival, I do believe that's enough."
Alaric Venn had arrived, his stance formal, hands clasped behind his back like a true courtier. His gaze pinned Percival with quiet disdain.
"Mr Venn," Percival stammered, bowing awkwardly. "I did not realize…"
"I'm sure you didn't. Leave us. Now."
Without another word, Percival turned and hurried off, face burning.
"Thank you, sir," Lola said softly.
Alaric gave her a long, unreadable look. "Don't thank me yet. I didn't do it for you. The Grand Empress believes in you for now. I'm merely observing whether you're worthy of her faith."
With that, he turned on his heel and departed as swiftly as he'd come.
Sophia watched him go. "Well. That was... odd."
"The people in this palace are strange," Ava murmured.
Lola said nothing. Her gaze lingered in the direction Alaric had gone, but her thoughts were elsewhere, on the Empress Dowager's threat, and the storm that had only just begun.