(Almera's POV)
I woke to the sound of fabric rustling.
At first, I thought I was still dreaming—caught between the remnants of sleep and the weight of yesterday's events. The healing. Romulus's voice. The promise of a wedding spoken as calmly as a command.
Then I opened my eyes.
And nearly bolted upright.
Rows of women filled my chamber.
They stood in perfect lines from the doorway to the far wall, heads bowed, hands folded neatly before them. Silk robes in shades of sand, ivory, and pale gold brushed against one another as they shifted in unison. The scent of oils and fresh water—precious water—hung thick in the air.
For a heartbeat, I could only stare.
"My lady," one of them said softly, stepping forward, "please remain still."
Still?
My heart began to pound.
"What—" My voice came out hoarse. "What is happening?"
At once, several attendants moved. Curtains were drawn wider, letting the morning sun spill in. A basin of warm water was placed near the bed. Garments—so many garments—were laid out across couches and screens: silks sheer as breath, gold-threaded veils, jewelry that caught the light like fire.
A wedding trousseau.
My stomach dropped.
"The wedding preparations have begun," another attendant said, eyes lowered.
"…Wedding?" I echoed.
"Yes, my lady. The ceremony will be held this afternoon."
This afternoon.
The words rang in my head, hollow and unreal.
"That's impossible," I said, pushing myself up onto my elbows. "Royal weddings are planned months in advance. Even concubine ceremonies—"
A pause rippled through the room.
Then a woman stepped forward from the far end of the chamber.
She was older than the others, her hair streaked with silver but pulled back into a severe, elegant knot. Fine lines framed her eyes and mouth—marks of years spent watching, judging, surviving. Unlike the others, her gaze met mine directly.
Calm. Assessing. Neither hostile nor warm.
"My lady is correct," she said. "In most empires."
She inclined her head slightly. "I am Serah al-Nayim, Head Attendant of the Imperial Harem."
Something in her tone told me this was a woman who had seen countless lives rise and fall within these walls.
"I have served here for over thirty years," Serah continued. "I have dressed favored concubines, forgotten ones, and women who believed they would become empresses—until the harem taught them otherwise."
A warning.
But not an unkind one.
"And yet," I said carefully, "the wedding is today."
"Yes," Serah replied. "Because His Majesty wills it."
The attendants resumed their movements, swift and practiced, as if the matter were already settled by the heavens.
I swallowed. "Is… is it truly acceptable to spend so much for this?" I asked. "For me? I am only to be a concubine."
Serah's lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but in something closer to understanding.
"My lady," she said, "here in Alessandria, gold is plentiful."
She gestured toward the window, beyond which fountains glimmered in the sunlight, water flowing freely through carved channels.
"Water is not."
I followed her gaze.
"In this empire," Serah continued, "water is life. Power. Authority. Gold is merely a tool to move it."
She turned back to me. "The emperor's vaults are vast beyond imagining. To prepare a royal wedding in a single day is… effortless."
The implication settled heavily in my chest.
"So this is nothing to him," I murmured.
"No," Serah said. "But it is not meaningless."
I looked up at her sharply.
"This wedding is a statement," she went on. "To the harem. To the council. To foreign courts watching from afar."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And to those who believe you are only a hostage."
I thought of Romulus's words from the night before. Let them watch. Let them whisper.
"This is a show," I said quietly.
"Yes," Serah agreed. "One orchestrated by His Majesty himself."
A chill ran through me—not fear, but awareness.
Romulus was placing me in the open. Daring his enemies to strike.
Serah studied my face for a long moment, then spoke more softly.
"You will need guidance, my lady. The harem is not kind to those who shine too brightly too quickly."
"Are you offering to guide me?" I asked.
Her expression remained neutral, but something like interest flickered in her eyes.
"I do not take sides lightly," she said. "But I have learned to recognize… potential."
She inclined her head again. "If you are willing to listen, I will advise you when I can."
A genuine adviser.
Not bought. Not assigned.
I bowed my head in return. "I would appreciate that greatly."
"Good," Serah said. "Then we will begin."
At her signal, the attendants moved in earnest.
They bathed me in water scented with desert flowers. They combed my hair until it spilled like dark silk down my back. They dressed me in layers of fabric so fine I barely felt them—colors chosen to complement, not overwhelm.
As they worked, my mind raced.
By afternoon, I would be married.
Not as a concubine hidden behind screens.
But as a woman deliberately elevated.
Whatever Romulus intended—whether test, trap, or declaration—this wedding was only the opening move.
And I would need every ounce of strength I possessed to survive what followed.
The chamber transformed around me.
What had once been a place of quiet waiting became a hive of controlled urgency. Attendants moved with purpose, never colliding, never speaking above a murmur. Every motion was practiced, honed by years of serving women whose fates were decided by how well they were presented.
I stood at the center of it all, feeling strangely detached—as if this body being dressed and adorned was not entirely mine.
"My lady, please lift your arms."
I obeyed.
Silk slid over my skin, cool and light, the fabric clinging and falling in a way that felt far too intimate for ceremonial wear. It was nothing like the heavy gowns of Constantine. Alessandrian bridal attire was designed to reveal rather than conceal—strength in form, confidence in flesh.
I caught my reflection briefly in a polished bronze mirror.
For a moment, I didn't recognize myself.
Gold traced my collarbones. Fine chains draped along my arms, catching the light with every movement. My hair was half-bound with delicate clasps shaped like desert blooms, the rest flowing freely down my back.
I looked… dangerous.
Serah stood behind me, observing silently.
"This style suits you," she said after a moment. "You wear presence naturally. Many women drown beneath the weight of imperial adornment."
"I don't feel natural," I admitted.
"That is because you are aware," she replied. "Awareness keeps you alive."
An attendant approached with a small lacquered box and opened it carefully. Inside lay a circlet—simple in design, yet unmistakably imperial. Not a crown. Not yet.
"This is not the empress's diadem," Serah said, anticipating my thoughts. "But it is not a concubine's ornament either."
My fingers curled slightly.
"A middle ground," I murmured.
"For now," she agreed.
The circlet was placed upon my head, cool against my skin. Its weight settled—not heavy, but present. A reminder.
The attendants stepped back one by one, leaving Serah and me alone in the chamber.
The silence pressed in.
"Tell me," I said quietly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "How many weddings like this have you seen?"
Serah's reflection did not soften. "Few."
"And how many ended well?"
She did not answer immediately.
"That," she said at last, "depends on the woman."
I turned to face her fully. "You said you saw potential in me."
"Yes."
"Then tell me the truth," I said. "What happens after today?"
Serah studied me—really studied me—then inclined her head slightly.
"After today, you will become a target," she said plainly. "You will be resented by those who have waited years for a fraction of this attention. You will be watched by those who serve foreign interests. You will be tested by women who believe suffering is a rite of passage."
I expected fear to rise.
Instead, I felt calm.
"And Romulus?" I asked.
A faint smile touched her lips. "The emperor is many things. But he does not elevate what he intends to discard quickly."
That knowledge settled deep in my chest.
An attendant knocked softly and entered. "My lady. The procession will begin shortly."
Serah straightened. "It is time."
My heart began to race—not from nerves, but from the weight of inevitability.
As they guided me toward the doors, I caught one last glimpse of the chamber where I had awakened in shock only hours ago. By sunset, nothing would be the same.
At the threshold, Serah leaned closer, her voice low.
"Remember this," she said. "Today is not about love. It is about survival. Let them see dignity. Let them see favor. Never let them see fear."
I nodded once.
The doors opened.
Sunlight flooded in—brilliant, unforgiving, gilding everything it touched.
Somewhere beyond these halls, an emperor waited.
And the game he had set into motion was about to begin.