The bell rang again.
Thrice now.
The coronation bell.
It echoed through the palace grounds like a sound that didn't belong in the morning air. Loud and heavy. And a little too slow. As if even the bell didn't want to ring for what was about to happen.
All over the imperial palace, people moved in a blur. Eunuchs and court ladies ran back and forth with scrolls, fabric, trays of incense, baskets of ceremonial food. No one dared walk. Everyone moved like something was chasing them. Because something was—fear.
And the entire palace was drenched in purple.
Purple banners. Purple drapes. Purple robes.
It should've looked noble. Royal. A celebration. But instead it looked like a funeral hiding under a mask.
It was too quiet for a coronation.
Too cold.
Even the wind didn't want to be here.
