Lola's entrance into the salon drew stunned silence. Light from the tall windows spilled over her like a benediction, catching on the garnet sheen of her gown. It was not simply that she looked beautiful, it was the steel in her spine, the calm fire in her eyes. Her friends stared, momentarily speechless.
"Lola," Sophia breathed, rising to her feet. "You look... different."
"In the best possible way," Ava added, eyes sweeping over the transformation. "Like a duchess returning from exile to reclaim her throne."
"One might think you're heading to war," Liam said with a half-smile, lifting his teacup in mock salute.
"As she should be," Ava said firmly, crossing her arms. She turned to Lola. "If you need an army, we are yours."
Lola offered a soft nod. "Thank you. But this battle, I intend to fight on my own terms."
"You look breathtaking," Ethan said gently, and Lola gave him a grateful smile as she took her seat.
Emily leaned forward, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Has the Emperor seen you like this yet?"
"No," Lola replied, taking a sip from her cup. "And I didn't dress for him."
Her voice was calm, but laced with a quiet, resolute pride.
"I've stopped waiting for him to look my way. I came here to leave a mark on this palace and I will. Whether he sees it or not."
Sophia clapped softly. "That's the Lola I've always believed in."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, though? Because I distinctly recall you were…"
A pillow hit him squarely in the face before he could finish. "Ouch!"
"Read the room, you moron," Ava snapped, glaring.
Lola laughed, a sound lighter than it had been in days. "Don't worry about me. I've got it handled. Two more weeks and then we return to our lives. But I promise, they won't forget me."
Her words hung in the air like prophecy, and none dared to argue.
Across the palace, Emperor Xander stepped quietly into his grandmother's chamber, concern etched on his brow. The heavy drapes had been drawn partially open, letting in just enough morning light to bathe the Empress Dowager's silhouette in a soft glow. She remained in bed, her silver hair loose against the pillows.
"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply without turning to look at him. "Alaric, send him away. Tell him I'm not receiving visitors."
Alaric offered a courteous nod. "Your Majesty," he said before slipping out, wisely leaving them alone.
Xander approached slowly. "Grandmama."
She huffed and turned her back. "Don't 'Grandmama' me. I don't think I know you. Have we met?"
He gasped, hand to his chest in theatrical horror. "Is the illness so grave that you've forgotten your favorite grandchild?"
She finally turned to glare at him. "Useless boy."
Xander chuckled and threw himself onto the chaise beside her bed, then shifted to rest his head on her lap.
"You should see your face."
"Do you need a beating?"
"I might deserve one," he said with a tired sigh.
Augusta's hand moved gently to his hair, fingers combing through dark curls. "You're exhausted."
"I am."
"It's your mother," she muttered. "That woman could tire out a dragon."
"How did Father ever manage her?"
"He was in love. And she, believe it or not, was once a force to be reckoned with. Now? She's just bitter."
There was a pause as Augusta studied his face. "How are you holding up, truly?"
He hesitated. "There's tension brewing. Whispers. And if we're not careful, we'll find ourselves at war."
Her eyes narrowed. "War?"
Before he could explain further, the chamber doors creaked open and Alaric stepped back in.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing, "Lady Cavendish has arrived. She's asked to see you."
Xander straightened, meeting his grandmother's curious gaze. The air shifted.
"Shall I send her in?" Alaric asked.
Augusta looked at her grandson, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Let's see what she has to say."
And as Xander rose from his grandmother's lap, smoothing his coat, his heart ticked just a bit faster.