Seradole, ever the nurturing presence, watched Sigel with admiration and pride, her lips curving in a warm, maternal smile. "You are wise beyond your years, my dear child," she said, stepping closer and gently brushing her hand over Sigel’s hair with the tenderness only a mother could bestow. She then turned to Simore, her gaze soft yet firm. "While this was indeed an accident, I trust that you all will be mindful of one another's well-being. These halls are for family and unity, not burdens to be carried alone."

Addressing the household, her voice carried gentle authority. "Come, let us retire for now," she continued, her tone calming the room. "The night is long yet, and rest will do us all good." Taking Sigel’s hands in hers, she guided the young woman toward her chambers, a quiet strength leading both her family and the palace to a night’s rest.

EPISODE 8
PROCESSION

The room was a tempest of fury, a storm brewing solely from Sigel’s wrath.

“Aaargggh!” Sigel screamed, her voice echoing off the luxurious walls of her chamber. She stormed around, her delicate hands wreaking havoc as she overturned everything within reach. Her once-immaculate vanity was now a war zone; cosmetics, jewelry, and perfume bottles lay shattered on the marble floor, a chaotic mess reflecting her internal turmoil.

“Sterlla! I'll kill you! How dare you!” she bellowed, her chest heaving with rage. There was no audience to her outburst, only the mocking silence of her empty room. Her trembling fingers clutched the edge of the dressing table, her nails digging into the polished wood. She glared at her own reflection in the mirror, her eyes wild with fury.

“Sterlla, you snake!” she spat, her voice a venomous whisper as she leaned closer to the mirror, her breath fogging the glass. “I knew it. I knew you would show your true colors one day. But mark my words, dear sister,” she sneered, her lips curling into a vengeful grin, “I will not forget this day. You will suffer—tenfold, no, a hundredfold more than I ever did. Just you wait.”

Her reflection seemed to mock her resolve, but she turned away, her mind racing with schemes of retribution. The night stretched on, but Sigel's rage did not abate.

Morning arrived with a quiet grace, the first rays of sunlight illuminating the grandeur of the imperial palace. The halls bustled with the daily rhythms of attendants attending to their duties, advisors preparing for meetings, and the muted sounds of preparation echoing through the vast corridors.

In her chambers, Sterlla stirred awake, a soft yawn escaping her lips. She stretched languidly, her movements reminiscent of a feline's grace. The heaviness of yesterday’s events lingered faintly in her mind, but her morning rituals beckoned. Her attendants appeared promptly, bowing respectfully before ushering her to the bath.

The warm water soothed her as she let the cares of the previous day dissolve. By the time she emerged, her attendants were ready with a resplendent gown. The silk fabric shimmered with golden threads, the intricate embroidery resembling blooming vines, each detail carefully chosen to emphasize her regal bearing.

Sterlla seated herself before the mirror as Adena, her trusted friend, began working on her hair. Adena’s skilled hands wove her hair into an elegant style, a testament to both her craft and her loyalty. As Adena fastened a jeweled hairpin in place, Sterlla tilted her head slightly, studying her reflection.

“To what do I owe this beautiful makeover?” she asked, her tone light, though her sharp eyes searched Adena's reflection for answers.

“The imperial ceremony is today, my lady,” Adena replied, meeting Sterlla’s gaze in the mirror.

Sterlla arched a brow. “You mean the announcement of who will be the official prince of the country?”

“Hardly, my lady,” Adena said, her tone carefully measured. “It is merely an announcement to signal that the push and pull for the throne has begun.”

“I see,” Sterlla murmured, her fingers lightly brushing the hem of her gown. A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

The weight of expectation hung heavily on her. The anticipated candidates for the throne were clear: her elder brother Simore, her ambitious younger sister Sigel, and now even herself. Sterlla had always assumed Simore would take the throne, for he was steadfast, wise, and the natural choice. Yet her father, Emperor Serox, believed in fairness and the principle of equality. The competition for the throne, he believed, was necessary to ensure the strongest and most just ruler emerged.

But the burden was more than Sterlla had ever imagined. To navigate the treacherous waters of palace politics while deciphering who among her peers sought her blood was a challenge that demanded more than just grace and intelligence. It demanded strength, strategy, and unyielding vigilance.

As Adena placed the final touch on her ensemble, Sterlla glanced at her reflection one last time. She straightened her shoulders and exhaled slowly, steeling herself for the trials that lay ahead. Today, the empire would cast its gaze upon her once again, and she needed to be ready—for the crown, for her family, and for herself.

The corridors of the imperial palace gleamed in the morning light, their grandeur amplified by the high arches and intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. Sterlla walked gracefully, her dozen maids trailing behind her in practiced formation, each step echoing softly against the polished marble floors. Adena walked by her side, her presence a steadying anchor amid the constant bustle of palace life.

As they neared the grand staircase, Sterlla caught sight of Linone standing patiently at the top of the stairs. He was dressed impeccably, his posture immaculate, exuding the quiet elegance befitting his station. His hands rested lightly at his sides, though one was slightly extended, ready for the task ahead.

"It seems you are ready, my lady," Linone said smoothly, bowing his head slightly as she approached.

Sterlla inclined her head in acknowledgment, her expression calm and poised. Without hesitation, she extended her hand, placing her palm lightly against his. His grip was firm yet gentle, a reassuring steadiness that matched his unflappable demeanor. With her free hand, Sterlla lifted the hem of her gown slightly, careful not to let the delicate fabric graze the ground.

Linone guided her to the top of the staircase with practiced ease, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. Together, they descended the grand staircase, the sound of their footsteps measured and deliberate. The staff lining the corridor bowed deeply as they passed, their respect palpable.

At the base of the staircase, the gilded double doors were opened by attendants, revealing the sprawling courtyard outside. The morning sun cast a warm glow over the meticulously maintained gardens, and the scent of blooming flowers lingered in the crisp air. A grand carriage awaited Sterlla at the end of the pathway, its design befitting her station—adorned with gold embellishments and the royal crest engraved on the door.

Linone walked her to the carriage, his hand still gently supporting hers. At the carriage, he released her hand to open the door, bowing slightly as he gestured for her to step inside. Sterlla entered the carriage with effortless grace, her gown sweeping behind her. Adena followed close behind, settling herself in the seat beside her lady. Linone joined them, his presence unobtrusive yet attentive.

From the window, Sterlla turned to wave at the maids who had accompanied her thus far. They curtsied in unison, their faces a mixture of pride and fondness. The horses, adorned in regal harnesses, stamped their hooves lightly as the coachman signaled their departure.

The carriage began to move smoothly down the cobblestone path, its wheels clicking rhythmically. As they headed toward the main palace, Sterlla leaned back in her seat, her gaze steady as she looked out the window. The journey ahead was one of both distance and significance, and she was determined to meet it with the composure and strength that the day demanded.