Some types of power come crowned in gold, bestowed before cheering crowds with trumpets blaring.
Mine came with a teacup.
The lotus milk shimmered, perfectly chilled, its surface catching the lantern light like liquid silver. I lifted it to my lips and then paused. The scent was flawless: jasmine and honey with just the faintest metallic tang beneath.
Nightshade. Fast. Painless. Professional.
I set the cup down untouched, looking at my fingertips now coated in a nearly invisible sheen.
Across the room, River leaned against the window, still as stone, the golden light of sunset outlining his silhouette. He twirled a dagger between his fingers without looking up.
"Not to your taste today?"
I held up the cup. "The vintage is off. Tastes like betrayal."
River straightened. The dagger vanished into his sleeve.
Astoria appeared from the shadows, dropping to her knees so fast the sound cracked through the stillness. "Young master, this lowly one…."
"Enough." I set the cup aside. "Everyone who touched the tea. Report to the Hall of Punishments. One hour."
She froze.
"That's mercy, Astoria. Don't squander it."
She bowed low enough her forehead met the floor, then vanished.
River whistled low. "They got close."
"Too close."
"Someone knew your routine. Knew your blend. That wasn't an attempt. That was a message."
I turned toward the window, staring out at the horizon as dusk rolled across Aether Reach.
"They sent a message," I said. "Let's send an answer."
The poison changed nothing.
And everything.
That afternoon, I demonstrated celestial threading before a thousand disciples under the Pavilion of Falling Stars. My fingers moved with calm precision, weaving raw aether into patterns so intricate they shimmered with resonance. Not a tremor betrayed me.
But inside, I was counting.
Counting enemies. Counting favors owed. Counting the seconds before I retaliated.
When I stepped from the platform, Lior was waiting beneath the Moon Garden's obsidian arches. He tossed a scroll at my feet.
"Guess who's been making friends in all the wrong places?"
The scroll turned to ash before it landed.
Lior grinned. "Word is spreading. The Liarans fell hard. Root and branch."
Their estate still smoldered on the western ridge.
Good. Let the court see. Let them understand. House Vorian does not negotiate with cowards.
At twilight, Sen arrived with new robes. A masterpiece of protection woven into fashion silvery-black, laced with shadow threads and celestial glyphs. She adjusted the collar with care, fingers brushing my skin.
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous pastime." She tapped the embroidery just above my heart. "And so is underestimating you."
Her smile in the mirror was faint. "Are you afraid?"
"No." I met my reflection's gaze. "They should be."
Alone, I sat in the heart of the sanctum, aether flaring at my call. It scoured my meridians, devoured the residue of the poison, and sang in my bones like thunder in deep space.
The pain was sharp, exquisite.
Let it be. Pain teaches.
The stars above the dome pulsed with pale, silvery light. I stared up, breath slow, steady.
This was the cost of power.
And I was more than willing to pay it.
Let them whisper. Let them strike. Let them fall.
I did not need mercy.
Only space to rise.