Morning came late to the palace.
After the storm of the previous night, the sun itself seemed reluctant to rise, spilling light carefully through the lattice windows, soft and golden, as if afraid to wake anyone too quickly.
The Empress's chamber was alive with quiet motion. Boxes lined the room — all lacquered and gilded, some wrapped in brocade, others tied with red silk ribbons. Every box carried the seal of a minister or noble house. The floor looked like a miniature treasury.
The apology gifts had arrived.
Lian An sat gracefully on a low couch, her robe of pale cream spilling around her like light poured over still water. Her two kittens darted among the mountain of boxes, chasing each other, pouncing on the ribbons, occasionally squeezing inside open lids only to emerge again, covered in gold dust and satisfaction.
One kitten pushed over a small chest of jewels; pearls rolled across the carpet like drops of laughter.
