That morning dawned bright and early, and after the daily greeting to the Gracious Mother, Roslin, and Joana found themselves gathered in a sunlit corner of the harem. There, a well-worn loom sat waiting, its wooden frame etched with the memories of countless hours of work.
Roslin, ever the patient teacher, was in the middle of showing Joana how to weave a neat square of fabric.
All around them, the other concubines bustled with activity—some embroidering delicate patterns, others twisting threads into strong, colorful cloths—all while family members lent a helping hand and the low hum of conversation filled the air.
Even though the women enjoyed food, safety, and a modest monthly allowance, it was the extra money from selling their handiwork that truly kept them afloat. Without those earnings, many would struggle to maintain their clothing for the harem, and luxuries like a well-loved book or a pretty piece of jewelry were rare treats that the Emperor never bothered with.
Roslin was determined to give Joana every bit of guidance she could, hoping that by honing her craft, Joana might carve out a little extra space for herself in this tricky world.
Roslin leaned close, her voice light and friendly, almost as if chatting with an old friend over morning coffee.
"Okay, Joana, watch carefully. You tug it right here—nice and tight. If you let it get too loose, the whole fabric could come undone, and we can't have that, can we?"
Her fingers moved with confident precision over the loom's threads, as if dancing a familiar tune.
Joana's eyes widened, and disbelief on her face. "Really? How do you know all this?" she asked, her tone both intrigued and a little wistful.
"Did your mother teach you?" Joana's mind flickered back to a childhood filled with bittersweet memories: buying ready-made fabrics, watching as the little she had was snatched away, leaving her with nothing but a yearning to learn.
Roslin smiled warmly and shook her head. "Not exactly my mother," she replied. "Every noble girl gets a septa—a sort of mentor—to teach her the finer, womanly arts. It's not just about sewing, you know. It's about learning grace, poetry, and even a bit of dancing. It all comes together to help us navigate our world."
Joana arched an eyebrow. "But I never see Princess Elaena with a septa," she observed, a slight note of skepticism in her voice. The little princess was always with her mother and a swarm of attendants, never in one-on-one lessons.
Roslin laughed softly, the sound gentle enough to warm even the coldest of mornings. "She'll have one soon enough. The Princess is still very young. In a few years, when she's reached the age of reason, she'll be paired with a septa just like I was."
With that, Joana's eyes drifted back to the loom. She mused aloud, almost to herself, "I always thought being noble meant lounging around all day while servants did everything for you—eating on your behalf, cleaning your chin, and whatnot. Turns out, it's a lot more work than I ever imagined!"
Before they could share any more thoughts, the heavy wooden door creaked open behind them. In strode Meria Sand, her presence as imposing as a thundercloud on a summer day.
The room fell silent in an instant—every conversation paused, every hand frozen mid-stitch. Meria's dark eyes scanned the room, and it wasn't long before they locked onto Joana.
Meria advanced with deliberate, measured steps, each footfall echoing in the hush. Joana's heart pounded in her chest as she sat frozen, wondering if she had done something wrong.
When Meria stopped right in front of her, the tension was almost unbearable.
In a calm, unwavering tone that brooked no argument, Meria said, "The Emperor wishes to see you tonight." A charged silence followed before she added, "He will be expecting you at sundown." Though Meria's words were few, the meaning was loud and clear to everyone in the room: the Emperor was choosing Joana for a night of intimacy—a rare honor.
Joana's cheeks flushed as she lowered her eyes, her fingers nervously fidgeting with a stray thread. "I'm honored for the opportunity to serve the Empire," she said softly, her voice betraying both excitement and uncertainty. Meria merely hummed in acknowledgment and turned away, the door closing behind her with a definitive thud.
In an instant, the quiet room erupted into a flurry of whispered questions and excited murmurs. One moment, Joana was alone with her thoughts, and the next, every concubine crowded around her, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mix of curiosity and advice.
This was the first time the Emperor had ever descended to such an intimate level with a concubine, a move that was both unprecedented and, frankly, the talk of the harem.
"How did you manage to catch his eye?" Roslin whispered urgently, her eyes wide with a mix of wonder and an undercurrent of fear—as if she secretly hoped that such a fate would never befall her.
Joana hesitated, choosing her words with care. "I met him once while wandering the corridors," she began, deliberately omitting any mention of the messy bathhouse incident.
"The Gracious Mother called my name, and I suppose he must have seen something in me." The simplicity of her explanation belied the turmoil inside her, and she hoped it sounded as confident as it did.
A concerned voice piped up from the group. "There aren't enough hours in the day until sundown—how are you going to prepare yourself?" Concubine Gella fretted, wringing her hands like she was picturing a worst-case scenario.
Before Joana could form a response, another voice burst forth with a bright idea. "Let's take her to the bathhouse right away! We can wash away the worries, brush her hair until it shines, and braid it to perfection!"
But then, as if from another corner of the room, a different suggestion came out, equally fervent but with a twist. "Nah, let it fall naturally, like a curtain of ink on her shoulders. It's her natural beauty that should shine through!"
Amid all the chatter, Joana sat quietly, listening to every word while her mind raced with both anticipation and nerves.