Chapter 4

Shadows in the Court

The weeks after the Festival of Stars were restless ones.

What had once been laughter echoing through polished marble now turned to whispers carried by corridors. The palace — vast, glittering, and full of watchful eyes — began to feel less like a home and more like a stage, its actors bound to their roles by invisible strings.

Elisana soon learned that in the imperial court, smiles were weapons, and silence was a kind of armor.

Everywhere she went, she could feel the change — faint but certain, like the first cool breath of autumn before a storm. Servants hushed their voices when she passed. Nobles curtsied too quickly, bowed too low, or looked away too soon. Even the Empress, once warm and gracious, now watched her with the measured gaze of a chess master reading the board.

—

The Whispering Halls

“Lady Alessandra Torresano, daughter of Viscount Leonard Torresano,” a noblewoman murmured one afternoon as Elisana entered the east corridor.

“They say the Crown Prince personally invited her to the palace gardens yesterday…”

“I heard she’s helping His Highness with the charity ball next month,” another whispered, pretending to study a vase.

“A Viscount’s daughter! The stars must favor her indeed.”

Their laughter was soft — not loud enough to draw reprimand, but sharp enough to wound.

Elisana walked past them without pause, her steps light, her expression serene. She had learned long ago that dignity was her best defense. But once she turned the corner, her composure cracked — if only slightly. Her breath came out slow and heavy, as if she’d been holding it for days.

—

A Mirror of Quiet

That evening, her chambers were lit only by candlelight. Mariette brushed her hair in slow, steady motions, the sound of the bristles whispering against strands of silver-blonde.

“Is it true?” Elisana asked suddenly, her voice quiet but steady. “That His Highness has been meeting Lady Alessandra privately?”

Mariette froze for just a moment — long enough for the silence to answer first. “Milady… I cannot lie to you. Yes. But I believe it’s for official matters only. Lady Alessandra has been assisting with southern relief projects. The Emperor himself commended her for her charity.”

“I see,” Elisana murmured, though her reflection in the mirror did not look convinced. Her face was calm, perfectly still — but her eyes, once bright as jade, seemed to dim like light beneath frost.

“Official matters,” she repeated softly, and smiled — a faint, unconvincing curve of the lips. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

But when Mariette turned away, Elisana’s smile fell as easily as a veil slipping from its pins.

—

The Visit

The next day, Marcus came to her study without warning — just as he had when they were young.

“Elisana,” he greeted, stepping inside with a familiar ease. “You’re reading again. You never change.”

She closed her book slowly. “And you’ve started entering without an announcement again. You never change either.”

He grinned, pulling up a chair beside her. “I wanted to tell you about the charity project for the southern provinces. Alessandra suggested—”

There. The name.

For a moment, her heartbeat faltered, though her face betrayed nothing.

“Ah,” she interrupted gently. “Lady Alessandra seems to be helping you quite a lot these days.”

Marcus blinked, surprised. “She has insight about the south. She’s… different from the others. Kind, passionate. She reminds me of—”

He stopped himself. But the unfinished thought lingered like perfume in the air.

Different.

That word stung more than any insult could. It meant new. Unfamiliar. Not her.

Elisana smiled faintly. “I see. Then I hope she continues to be of great help to you, Your Highness.”

“Elisana…” His tone softened. “You’re not upset, are you?”

“Upset?” she echoed, her smile unwavering. “No. Why would I be upset? You are the future Emperor. You may seek counsel from anyone you wish.”

He frowned slightly, sensing her distance but mistaking it for fatigue. “Still, I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand. You’re… important to me.”

Important.

The word landed like a dull blade against her heart.

Not beloved. Not cherished. Just important.

“Of course,” she replied softly. “I understand.”

And that was that.

He smiled in relief — never noticing the quiet tremor in her hands as she turned another page of her book.

—

The Slow Drift

The months that followed grew colder — not in season, but in sentiment.

Marcus’s visits became fewer, shorter, filled with polite words and hurried farewells. His letters, once filled with teasing remarks and small sketches in the margins, became formal to the point of stiffness.

And Lady Alessandra Torresano — once merely a name whispered in corners — became a constant presence.

She attended every event, every council meeting, every charity gathering. The nobles adored her for her wit, the servants for her kindness, the Emperor for her usefulness, and the people for her beauty. They called her the Jewel of Compassion.

And slowly, the Jewel began to outshine the Moon.

—

The Brother’s Warning

One winter morning, her brother, Larson Elliot De Claire, came to visit. The air outside was pale and crisp, carrying the scent of frost and roses.

“You look pale, Eli,” he said gently, taking her hands. “Are you sleeping at all?”

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, her voice soft. “The palace keeps me busy. There’s much to learn.”

Larson frowned. “You always say that. But I see the way you look when his name is mentioned.”

Elisana turned toward the window. From her chamber, she could see the imperial gardens — the marble paths winding beneath the leafless trees. There, two figures stood talking quietly: Marcus and Alessandra.

“I still believe in him,” she said, her voice fragile but firm. “We’ve known each other since we were children. Perhaps I’m just… impatient.”

Her brother sighed. “Even a kind heart can break, Eli. Don’t let yours be the only one bleeding in silence.”

She smiled faintly, still looking at the window. “It’s alright, brother. I was born to endure.”

But when he left, she stayed at the window long after the garden emptied, her reflection pale against the glass — a ghost of the girl she once was.

—

The Banquet

That night, the palace held a royal banquet. The chandeliers burned with golden fire, and the music filled the air with laughter and lies.

Elisana sat at the long table, her golden gown gleaming beneath the candlelight. Her posture was perfect — serene, unbending — though her heart felt like glass beneath a storm.

Marcus arrived late.

He entered the hall accompanied by Lady Alessandra, who glided beside him like a shadow of grace. The sight drew whispers — admiration disguised as gossip, envy masked as politeness.

Marcus smiled at Elisana across the table, but when he sat down, it was not beside her.

He took the seat two chairs away — beside her.

Every shared glance, every whispered word between Marcus and Alessandra was a knife wrapped in silk.

And Elisana, the future Empress, smiled as the blade turned.

When Marcus rose to make his speech about unity and peace, the hall erupted in applause. His voice was strong, his charm irresistible. He thanked his advisors, his family, his beloved people — and Lady Alessandra for her “invaluable contributions to the empire’s welfare.”

Not once did he mention her.

Elisana clapped with everyone else, her face calm and radiant. No one could see that her hands were trembling beneath the tablecloth.

—

The Moon Alone

When the feast ended and the guests departed, the palace fell into silence.

Elisana lingered in the great hall, now empty except for the echo of footsteps fading into corridors.

Moonlight streamed through the high windows, turning the marble floor silver. Her reflection shimmered faintly in its polished surface — one figure among many shadows.

“Your Highness,” she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling like glass, “when did your eyes stop looking at me?”

The question hung in the air unanswered.

She pressed a hand to her chest where the engagement ring rested — cool, unfeeling metal against a burning heart. “I’ll wait,” she whispered. “Just a little longer.”

But the night did not answer.

Only the wind did — cold, distant, carrying with it the scent of roses from the garden below.

And faintly, beneath that wind, the sound of laughter — his laughter — drifted upward.

It wasn’t hers.

—