The day Charlotte arrived in Seaphis was a day of celebration for the Elesians.

Commoners piled into the streets, tasks and chores forgotten as they cheered for the soldiers' return. Men and women broke away from the parade to hug loved ones, something that boggled her mind as she peered out the window. From the confused whispering between her fellow prisoners, she could tell she wasn't the only one. Had they been in Valnessa, there would have been punishments waiting for all of them.

Here, those who appeared to be higher in ranking looked the other way as they continued down the streets amongst a rain of grain and flowers. Parents, partners, children scoured the remaining battalion for familiar faces. How many of them found who they were looking for?

The fear or relief in their eyes was sickeningly familiar through the window of the army's makeshift prison carriage. The expressions in their tearful faces--the disappointment--was like a vice squeezing her heart.

For the first time since leaving her home, it wasn't the burning city she thought of. It was of standing there, like them, as soldiers returned from the field. She closed her eyes and could almost feel the summer breeze as it had felt that day, the thump of her chest as each soldier had passed.

The way her feet had ached hours after the parade had finished without him.

Ian.

She could still hear the low cadence of his voice in her ears, despite years that had passed since he'd turned his back to her for the last time.

His shoulders had bowed, as if weighed down those under his care. The scratches on his armor had served as a comfort--reminding her of how skilled he was. Of how often danger came for him, but of how he avoided it each time.

He'd joked with her. 'Just focus on your bouquet, Princess, and I'll be back before you know it. I'm partial to camellias, myself. Pink, white, red, any will do.'

The flower of desire and passionate longing in the language of nobility.

She'd scoffed even as her ears burned. 'I will hardly be decorating with camellias, Sir. And a bouquet should blend with everything else.'

'Heliotrope, then.'

Devotion.

'Where would I even find that? Do you have a secret passage through the borderlands?'

A laugh. 'Tulips. Red ones.'

Irresistible love. Trust.

'You're impossible.'

The first time the carriage slowed, it was to dump all the others it carried outside a pristine, simple building with laundry hanging outside. The best guess she had was for it to be servants quarters or something similar. Unease tangled Charlotte's stomach.

Were war prisoners given such...care? She'd expected a dungeon. Or slave quarters. An auction house would have made more sense.

Was it a sorting station?

Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach like a hot iron as the door closed behind them, leaving her alone. They were her people. She should have been terrified for them. Should have wished to be at their side to help them. She didn't.

What would it accomplish? She'd be more of a hindrance than a help as a servant. If she were to help them...it would be from the station Charlotte assumed she was being guided to--and it wouldn't be with guilt or pity. It'd be with anger. Vengeance.

She sat back in her seat, drew in a deep breath, and waited.

The next time the carriage slowed to a stop was outside a large set of iron gates, jolting her out of thoughts. Beyond it, Charlotte could spy towering red walls that pulsed with the odd, spine tingling air of old magic. The elegant, unsettling architecture reflected descriptions found in a multitude of far-reaching, Seaphian rumors.

The Ruby Palace.

Charlotte's heart dropped to her stomach. Seeing it--being this close--was so much harder than she'd imagined while scheming along the path to Seaphis. The Ruby Palace served as official housing to the majority of the emperor's playthings. His war trophy concubines.

A prison cell would have been easier to swallow, but...admittedly harder to work with.

Prisoners were guarded. Concubines, however--or jewels as they had often been mockingly called in Valnessa--were pampered. Their pride constantly sacrificed for a soft bed and warm meal. Thankfully, Charlotte wasn't unfamiliar with lowering her head. And she'd had the entire cross-country trek to come to terms with the probability of this fate.

Better a jewel than dead.

Better underestimated than executed.

It would be fine.

She shoved any remaining wallowing emotion to the depths of her heart as a soldier passed the window. His tanned skin was as battle-weathered as any common soldier, but his uniform pristine and polished as a noble. At the edge of visibility, he jumped down from his horse and handed it off to a servant boy, before shedding his cape and glancing towards the carriage door. Her face flooded with color as memories of those concerned, black eyes drew to the front of her mind.

The knight with the handkerchief--Ranese's right hand man.

As he stepped forward to open her door, Charlotte forced her embarrassment down into a cage with her anger. I need him to like me. Flattering someone who held Ranese's ear could only benefit her.

"Your stop, Milady."

She gritted her teeth. Once upon a time, being called princess had grated her nerves. Now, her lack of title seemed to stroke the same fire. Still, instead of scowling as her spirit demanded, Charlotte forced herself to drop her eyes. The man in front of her was composed. Polite. A damsel, as she'd tried previously, would be the best impression.

When he reached for her arm, she purposefully stumbled, numb legs forcing him to catch her lest she tumble from the carriage. Expectedly, his gloved hand caught her shoulder, drawing an unladylike yelp from her lips.

"Shit--I mean, sorry. I didn't mean--" the knight sputtered, dropping his hand.

"Ah--No, my apologies, I shouldn't have reacted so..." Charlotte dropped into a shallow, fumbled curtsey. "Thank you, S-Sir, for your assistance."

The knight cleared his throat. As she glanced upwards through her lashes, she noted the faintest softening of his expression. Then, he slowly extended his hand to grasp her forearm. It was notable how he seemed to avoid the bandages at her wrists. Did they bother him?

Good.

"It might go smoother if I help you."

When she didn't protest and instead merely dipped her head again, he used his grip to help her from the cart. Keeping her eyes down, she murmured a thanks. The knight didn't remove his hand. Instead, he called out for his now visible men to follow them as he escorted her through the dreaded gates.

The stone path was lined with servants. Beyond them, laid an unremarkable and frankly odd garden. From little was visible, the majority seemed to consist of candytuft--a common white flower that rarely found itself on the tables of nobility due to its rude meaning. Stranger still was how a large clump of it had been removed in favor of--even ruder--bright orange lilies. The freshly turned earth led her to believe it to be a recent renovation.

"Do you like gardening, Milady?" the knight asked, seeming to notice her interest.

She nodded, chewing on her lip as she weighed how much information to share. So much of it felt too private to offer--Ian's laugh tied into each blade of grass she'd managed in that place.

"I had a tea garden under my care." Technically, it'd been Violetta's. Her sister had never been one for such ladylike responsibilities, however. And Charlotte had never been gifted anything a princess should have owned. So...it'd become theirs. "I...believe it was burning when we left."

The man cleared his throat. As she'd hoped, the way she'd let her voice quiver seemed to unsettle him, forcing his eyes away from hers. "I see...well, care for this particular garden falls to the staff, of course, but the contents are chosen by the ladies of the Ruby Palace. If there is something you miss from your homeland, you're welcome to voice it to the gardener. He is excellent at procuring flowers of all kinds and has been granted permission to do so by His Imperial Majesty."

She almost laughed. "How kind of him."

After destroying everything his concubines loved, he gave them the ability to recreate the smallest, most insignificant pieces of it in captivity. He truly was magnificent.

It was only the man's discomfort, keeping his eyes from hers, that saved Charlotte in the moments that followed. She took far too long to strangle her rage to a manageable degree--only able to do so as a singular thought surged above the flames of anger. Followed by another, and another still.

Would the average soldier be aware of imperial garden care? Or feel comfortable touching a soon to be concubine's arm? Or walk at the emperor's side during war? She'd labeled him Ranese's right-hand-man in her head, but...

"Are you the captain of the imperial guard?"

The knight's eyes shifted back with a raised brow and Charlotte hastily forced softer, shyer words through her lips. "I only ask because you seem so kind. I...I've always heard scary things about...being a prisoner of war. If someone like you is watching over me, I think it will be easier to breathe here."

Impressing this man with intelligent deductions would get her nowhere. Smart princesses planned rebellion. She needed to be scared. Harmless.

He studied her silently as they neared the palace entrance, stopping before two servants who had stepped away from the rest. Rather than immediately acknowledging them, he offered her a warm smile.

"You flatter me, Milady."

That isn't an answer, she thought. But, had no time to find a way to press the issue as he directed attention to the servants. The first was a woman with a worn apron, but clothing of much finer make than the rest of the staff. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, and even as Charlotte studied her, her low curtsy didn't shake.

"Lane and Margaret Smith, the butler and head maid," the knight introduced. "They'll be taking you from here."

Charlotte gave an appropriately shallow, greeting dip of her head, before offering them a quiet instruction to rise. The butler studied her with curious, silver eyes. They matched his salt-pepper hair. There was plenty of time for learning the duo later, Charlotte reminded herself abruptly as the man's words sunk in. More important was the meaning behind his introduction.

She lifted her fist to her lips, purposely furrowing her brow. A careful tremor fell into her voice. "You won't be coming, Sir?"

He hesitated.

"I will be back later. I must check on preparations for the evening. Margaret has told me there is much preparation for you to do before the ceremony tonight."

Charlotte's stomach dropped. She didn't have to fake the sudden faintness that forced her to grip his arm tighter.

Making obvious conclusions based on information and hearing it casually dropped in conversation were entirely separate matters. One was easy to tuck into her mind without weight. The other felt as if might suffocate her. No matter how much she'd attempted to brace herself for it, reality was sickening.

"He means to induct me into the harem."

Unlike the mistress of the stereotypical noblemen, becoming the concubine of an emperor was more official. Papers were signed--legalities bound into place. For all intents and purposes, during the duration of their contract, the concubine and emperor were no different than a husband and wife.

Except a husband didn't own his wife. A husband couldn't behead his wife should she step out of place. He couldn't order her locked in a tower, or gifted to a stranger. A wife had rights.

A war-trophy turned concubine had none.

"Yes, Milady."