I am trying, Mother. I am trying to see and not look away. Even if I cannot step into court and argue like Eleana, even if my hands shake when I sign my own name in front of strangers, I can still do small things in the spaces they do not care about. I can loosen a collar here, strengthen a ward there, hide a frightened maid in a storeroom when a prince has had too much wine.
But today I learned something I do not know what to do with.
One of Eleana's knights laughed in the corridor when he thought I had gone. He said it is a pity the Emperor wastes gloms on "this wing," that no one watches them anyway, that if the Fourth Princess died tomorrow in her sleep, the only ones who would notice are the maids who change the sheets. The others agreed. They spoke of succession as if I were already a name on a stone.
I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of disappearing so quietly that no one ever asks why.
If someone finds this book after I am gone, I hope they will at least know that I saw what was wrong, even if I was too cowardly to tear it down. That I loved a mother who tried to mend the world in small, stubborn ways. That I did not hate my sisters, even when they terrified me. That I looked at the beasts and saw people first.
The resonance stone on my desk is still cold. The collars still hum. The gloms still drift overhead, blinking their little blind eyes. I do not know who, if anyone, is truly watching.
But I am here. I am writing. And for tonight, that will have to be enough.
Elara read the last cramped line on the page and let her eyes pause on the date at the top.
So the old Yue Lian had seen more than anyone gave her credit for. Beasts, gloms, Eleana, Father. Fragile on the outside, not blind at all.
A soft scuff broke the quiet.
Footsteps. Light, hurried, trying to be careful and failing a little.
Elara's head snapped up. For a heartbeat she stayed frozen, the open diary in her hands, the wooden box still resting empty on the table. Then training—old habits from server rooms and boardrooms—kicked in. Hide the sensitive data first.
She closed the book in one swift motion. The sound was small, but in this silence it felt loud. Her fingers slid it back into the box, lowered the lid, and dropped the false base into place. The cloth went on top in one smooth sweep, the harmless handkerchiefs and embroidery scattered back over it in roughly the same pattern as before.
By the time the footsteps reached her door, the drawer was shut.
Elara crossed the room as quickly as her weak legs allowed, every step a little shaky. She reached the bed, let her knees give out the last half‑second, and fell back onto the pillows with a soft exhale, arranging herself on her side. One arm lay limp along the mattress, fingers relaxed; her eyes slipped almost closed, leaving only a thin slit to see through.
The door opened with a cautious creak.
"Y‑Your Highness?" a familiar voice whispered.
The little servant from before edged in, both hands wrapped around a covered tray. Steam curled from under the lid, carrying the smell of rice and light broth. Her eyes went straight to the bed, wide and anxious.
Seeing Elara "asleep," she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and tiptoed closer, trying not to make the spoons rattle.
Good, Elara thought, keeping her breathing slow and uneven.
Exactly the person I wanted it to be.
The servant moved carefully across the room, each step measured to avoid the creaking floorboards. She set the tray down on the side table with barely a clink, then straightened and looked back at the bed.
Elara could feel the weight of that stare—worried, hesitant, probably wondering if she should wake the princess or let her rest.
After a long pause, the girl whispered again, more to herself than anyone. "Poor thing… after everything today…"
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
Elara's voice came out rough, exactly like someone just waking. She let her eyes open slowly, blinking as if adjusting to the light, and pushed herself up on one elbow with visible effort.
The servant jumped, one hand flying to her chest. "Your Highness! I—I didn't mean to disturb you, I just brought your evening meal, the physician said you needed to eat something light, I can leave it here and—"
"Stay," Elara said quietly. She sat up the rest of the way, letting the silk robe slip off one shoulder before pulling it back into place. "What's your name?"
The girl froze, eyes wide. "M-my name, Your Highness?"
"Yes." Elara's gaze stayed steady, patient. "You've been in and out of my rooms all day. I should know what to call you."
A flush crept up the servant's neck. "Lara, Your Highness. My name is lara."
Elara nodded once, filing it away. "Lara. Thank you for the food." She paused, then added, softer, "And for staying quiet earlier. When everyone else was here."
Lara's eyes glistened. She dropped into a clumsy curtsey. "I would never—Your Highness shouldn't have to thank me for—"
"Lara," Elara interrupted gently. "Sit with me while I eat. Tell me what's being said in the servants' quarters."
The girl's mouth opened, then closed. Sitting with a princess was not something servants did. But the way Elara looked at her—calm, direct, without the usual coldness of command—made refusal feel impossible.
Slowly, lara sank onto the very edge of a stool near the bed, hands knotted in her lap.
"Everything, Your Highness," she whispered. "Everyone is talking about everything."
Elara reached for the bowl of broth and took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Lian want to fill it.
"Start with what they're saying about the Emperor's order," Elara said. "And don't leave anything out."