Chapter 4
Where Swans Glide, Vipers Stir
In the carriage
The velvet curtains trembled slightly with each turn of the wheel, golden tassels brushing her gloved fingers. Ophelia stared out at the dying light of the Solciel sky—calm, detached, regal.
Lady Ophelia (soliloquizing): I almost got caught.
Her voice was low, only for herself.
Lady Ophelia: Chaeri's smarter than I thought. But still…
She brushed imaginary dust off her lap, eyes narrowing.
Lady Ophelia: I've been too generous. Too trusting. That won't happen again.
The reflection in the window stared back at her, lips curved ever so slightly.
Lady Ophelia: Next time, I won't leave room for doubt. I'll secure favor—visiting the emperor shall remind the court who I am.
I am the Crown Princess. It's time they remember why.
At the Imperial Palace
Within the hushed, sun-dappled solar of the Imperial Palace, Lady Ophelia moved with practiced grace, her silks whispering across marble floors gilded by morning light. Seated beside the Emperor's chaise, she offered not only polite pleasantries but sharp, insightful conversation—on the state of the northern borders, Solciel's foreign treaties, and the Crown Prince's pending return.
But she was not there merely to speak. With the softest hands and steady resolve, she adjusted his pillows, offered him medicine with gentle insistence, and wiped the fevered sweat from his brow with a cloth embroidered with the imperial sigil. Her voice never rose above a soothing murmur, her movements calm and deliberate. There was no trace of fear or revulsion in her care—only the quiet devotion of a woman who understood duty and legacy.
Despite the Emperor's frailty, his eyes glinted with quiet approval as he listened. Ophelia tended to his needs gently, yet without simpering; she was no mere decoration, but a force veiled in silk and soft-spoken strength. When he rested, she adjusted his blankets herself, straightened the drapes to block the glare, and spoke of the empire's future with calm certainty, reminding him—without ever stating it—that she was already stepping into power.
As she rose to leave, the Emperor reached out, clasped her hand, and murmured with faint pride, "You wear the Sky Throne well."
In the hallways of the Imperial Palace
Empress Dowager's Maid: The Empress Dowager has summoned your Highness to her chambers.
Lady Ophelia: Lead the way.
Empress Dowager's Maid: Certainly.
In the Empress Dowager's chambers
The air within the Empress Dowager's chambers was thick with the scent of aged parchment, incense, and power. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting jeweled patterns upon the marble floors. Heavy velvet drapes muted the world beyond, muffling all but the heartbeat of the Empire itself.
Lady Ophelia Skye Celestine Seraphina stood in silence before the throne-like chaise, her posture immaculate, her eyes calm and bright as tempered steel.
Empress Dowager: Come forth, Ophelia
Empress Dowager's voice—cool and imperial, lined with velvet and iron.
Ophelia obeyed, crossing the room with the grace of a born sovereign. She sank into a deep curtsy, her gown sweeping the floor like a tide of silk.
Lady Ophelia: Your Majesty.
Empress Dowager: Enough with the courtesies, Ophelia. Sit. You are not a petitioner.
Lady Ophelia: I am whatever the Empire requires me to be.
She took the seat across from the Empress Dowager, folding her hands in her lap, the embodiment of composed resolve.
The Empress Dowager regarded her for a moment, as if measuring the weight of her soul.
Empress Dowager: I hear you visited His Majesty.
Lady Ophelia: I did. He asked about the court, economy and borders. His mind remains sharp, though his body…
Her voice faltered, just slightly.
Lady Ophelia: He is fading.
Empress Dowager: As all Emperors must. Power does not pass gently.
There was a long pause. Then, the Dowager's tone shifted—sharper, laced with something colder.
Empress Dowager: And I hear you attended Lady Chaeri Rudolf's so-called tea gathering.
Ophelia's composure held, though her spine stiffened like a blade drawn half from its sheath.
Lady Ophelia: I did. Though it was no gathering. It was an ambush.
Empress Dowager: Speak.
Lady Ophelia: I was misled, I was told it would be an intimate gathering of noble daughters. Instead, I was met only by Lady Chaeri—dressed in modest silks, playing the demure hostwhile I arrived in formal court regalia. She framed my appearance as vain. Called me presumptuous, unhumble. And though she never spoke the words directly… she questioned my right to the title of Crown Princess.
A silence fell between them, heavy and deliberate.
Empress Dowager: And what did you do?
Ophelia's eyes burned with quiet fury.
Lady Ophelia: I endured. I smiled—for now. But I will not forget it.
Her voice was calm, but there was a glint of approval in her gaze.
Empress Dowager: Remember the insult. Let it sharpen you.
Lady Ophelia: I have no desire to be liked. Only to be obeyed.
A rare smile touched the Empress Dowager's lips—one of pride, not affection.
Empress Dowager: Spoken like a Seraphim.
Lady Ophelia: She sought to humiliate me, Grandmother. But she only reminded me of what I must become. I will not be underestimated again.
Empress Dowager: Don't worry about her, I'll handle it. I'll give her a taste of her own medicine.
Empress Dowager: The Annual Imperial Hunt approaches. With the Empress gone, the burden falls to you. You will draft the invitations, arrange the logistics, review the guest list, and oversee every detail from the stables to the stars.
Ophelia bowed her head once, solemnly.
Lady Ophelia: It will be done.
Empress Dowager: Flawlessly. Not a single scandal. Not a whisper of disorder. And if there is one…
Lady Ophelia: I will bury it. Beneath silk and smiles.
Empress Dowager: Very good.
Lady Ophelia: I will not be a shadow of my mother-in-law. I will be her legacy, and more. They may question my coronation—but they will not question my dominion.
The Dowager sat back, studying her granddaughter-in-law as if seeing her for the first time.
Empress Dowager: You were born under a sovereign star, Ophelia. Let the court mock your titles now. In time, they shall kneel to your reign.
The Duchy of Seraphim was the family which had fostered a generation of empresses. The Empress Dowager and the deceased empress were both from the duchy. So the Empress Dowager was fond of Ophelia and favored her.
The next day
At the Rudolf Manor
In the Duke's study
The door slammed behind her like a gavel. The crimson-paneled study of Duke Damian Rudolf was thick with the scent of cigars and silent fury.
Lady Chaeri stood still beneath her father's gaze, her hands demurely folded before her, the very picture of composed obedience—save for the gleam in her violet eyes.
The Duke rose slowly from behind his desk, each movement deliberate.
Duke Rudolf: What, in the name of the Sovereigns, were you thinking?
She did not speak.
Duke Rudolf: You dare to antagonize the Crown Princess?
His voice was quiet, but each word struck like a blade.
Duke Rudolf: In public. In your own manor. With the Empress Dowager's eyes upon you?
Lady Chaeri: She is not crowned yet.
Her voice like silk hiding steel.
Duke Rudolf: Yet!
He snapped.
Duke Rudolf: Yet! And until then, we bow, we smile, we survive. Do you think you're untouchable? The Empress Dowager sent a hawk with a sealed letter this morning. Do you know what that means? She's watching. She's angry. And if she wished, she could dismantle everything I've built—everything you want to inherit.
Chaeri's expression did not change, but the gleam in her eyes turned calculating.
Lady Chaeri: Then we must not let her.
Her father stared, baffled by her calm.
Duke Rudolf: You speak as if this is a game.
Lady Chaeri: Oh, but it is.
Chaeri replied, moving closer to the fire, her silhouette framed like a shadowed statue.
Lady Chaeri: And Ophelia is playing it brilliantly. You didn't see her, Father. Drenched in gold like the sun itself, wielding forged documents like scripture, smiling like she already wears the crown. She has power now… but it's too perfect.
Her tone dipped lower, venomous and sharp.
Lady Chaeri: The evidence she brought? Too clean. Too fast. Too damning. No noble girl gathers proof like that in less than a week—unless she has help.
Duke Rudolf narrowed his eyes.
Lady Chaeri: She has a hand behind her, and I will find it. Whether it's Marchioness Devon or someone higher… no one is that clever alone. And if she is… then we're already too late.
He studied her carefully.
Duke Rudolf: You have a plan?
Chaeri smiled then—a slow, dangerous thing.
Lady Chaeri: Let them believe I've retreated. Let them believe she won. I'll play the humble duchess-in-waiting, the sorrowful friend misunderstood.
Her eyes gleamed.
Lady Chaeri: And when I strike again, she won't see it coming. The Empire loves a tragedy—but it worships revenge.
The Duke watched her for a long moment, then returned to his seat, exhausted and uncertain.
Duke Rudolf: Just don't forget yourself.
Chaeri curtsied with a serene smile.
Lady Chaeri: I never do.
In Chaeri's room
Oris, Chaeri's Lady-in-Waiting: My lady, I've learned that the invitations for the annual hunt will be sent out shortly. Duke Rudolf has mentioned that this year's event will be more splendid than ever before. He's urged us to conduct ourselves with the utmost decorum, as foreign envoys are expected to attend.
Lady Chaeri: Is that so? Then I must prepare a rather delightful surprise for my dear Ophelia.
She reclined gracefully, her eyes gleaming with mischief and purpose.
Lady Chaeri: Oris, fetch the eucalyptus oil. We'll be needing it.
A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corners of her lips.
Oris: At once, my lady.
A few days later
Oris: My lady, a letter addressed to you has just arrived.
As attendants on either side fasten her gown and adorn her with jewels, the red, pink and purple rays of the evening sun caresses her timeless beauty.
Lady Chaeri: Hm. Read it aloud.
Oris: At once, my lady.
To Lady Chaeri Rose Rudolf of the Rudolf Duchy
Lady Chaeri,
Greetings to the Black Rose of Rudolf. I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. The recent tea party was, without a doubt, a memorable occasion—one that left quite the impression, as I am sure it did on all who attended. Such moments often reveal much about one's true nature, do they not?
It is with this in mind that I extend to you an invitation to the upcoming annual hunt. A tradition that demands both grace and restraint, and of course, the utmost respect for all participants and the sanctity of the event. I am quite eager to see it unfold flawlessly this year—an event unmarred by… unforeseen disruptions or surprises.
Let us ensure the hunt is an impeccable success, Lady Chaeri, so that all may admire the spirit of the sport and the honor that accompanies it.
With anticipation,
Lady Ophelia Skye Celestine Seraphina
Crown Princess of the Solciel Empire
The daughter of the Duke of Seraphim
Stamped using the Crown Princess's seal
Chaeri: What a wretchedly cunning woman... But it matters little. Creatures like her always snarl and posture—yet they never dare to bite.
Oris, the task I entrusted to you—has it been carried out?
Oris: Flawlessly, my lady. I have not failed you. Everything is in place; even His Majesty himself will suspect nothing.
Chaeri: Splendid. Your loyalty shall not go unrewarded.
Oris bows her head, storing the letter in a secure box