Joana never sees Myranda or Mya again. By the time the first rays of morning stretch over the Red Keep and she is led to her new private chambers, the two girls have already vanished. No farewells, no parting words. Just absence.
But there is no time for regret. No room for sorrow. The world she lives in does not allow for sentimentality—not if she means to survive. She must think only of herself now.
Her new chambers are spacious, a clear mark of her changed status. She stood in the center of the room, sweeping her gaze around the room.
Were these once Mya's? Or Myranda's? She thinks they belonged to Mya. Myranda had a taste for opulence—golden chandeliers, rich velvets, anything that dazzled. These rooms, however, are understated elegance. The walls are painted a soft blue, cool and serene. A large bed, grand enough for both her and the Emperor, stands as the centerpiece, draped in fine silks. Myrish rugs cushion the floor, their intricate designs a mark of wealth.
Chests line the walls, filled with shifts, stockings, and gowns finer than any she has ever owned. There is a vanity of polished oak with a large-looking glass and a cushioned divan, its embroidery depicting roses in bloom. A broad table sits near the hearth, ready for her meals and letters. The hearth itself, currently unlit, is adorned with a silver poker. Every item in the room whispers luxury, but it also speaks of something else—preparation. Someone had ensured this space was ready for her.
She moves around the room, exploring each corner, running her fingers along the carved wood, the cool metal of the mirror's frame, and the silk of the curtains. Everything here is hers now, a privilege that comes with a price. But if she must pay it, she will do so in comfort.
And it's not as if she chose not to pay the price; technically, she was already paying the price without receiving this many benefits. Now, she is just receiving those benefits.
And what was the price?
She has to talk carefully, always trying not to offend anybody.
Trade the waves of worldly affairs...
Got fucked daily like an animal, although she liked getting fucked.
But too much fucking made her asshole and vagina swell, she can't even sit properly.
And most importantly, Her freedom...
She actually lost it.
This was the cost.
Her allowance has been raised to a hundred silver stags a day—enough to mold this space into something even more suited to her tastes.
She eyes the room and A hidden door catches her attention, seamlessly blending into the wall. When she presses against it, it gives way to a small private chamber. A privy seat, a copper tub—luxuries she never thought she would have for herself. The walls are adorned with deep blue tiles traced with gold leaf, their patterns catching the dim light. She smiles, a rare expression of satisfaction. The life of a consort is not that of a concubine. She will not have to bathe in the company of others.
Another concealed door reveals yet another room. It is smaller and cozier, its air slightly stale as if long untouched. But it is not empty. Against the walls rest two lambswool cradles, their frames delicately carved. Small beds, fit for children.
A nursery.
Her breath stills, her stomach tightening. Of course, there would be one. A consort's duty is not merely to warm the Emperor's bed—it is to bear his heirs. The room is pristine and recently cleaned, yet there are no signs that Mya has used it. Had she ever stepped inside? Had she ever imagined herself as a mother?
Joana lingers at the threshold, fingers grazing the frame of the door. The future is here, waiting for her. It is grand and gilded, but it is also heavy. A cage of silk and silver.
She steps inside anyway.
---
When Joana returns to the main chamber, she halts at the sight of three young women standing near the door, their gazes lowered. They are about her age, clad in simple grey dresses with their hair neatly tucked under white caps. Uninvited guests in a consort's chamber are rare, given the reverence accorded to her status. If they are here, there must be a reason.
Her frown deepens as she moves toward the divan, sitting with deliberate ease. "Who are you?"
The three exchange glances before the girl in the center steps forward, dipping into a shallow curtsy. "We are your maids, Consort Joana," she answers. "The Gracious Mother has assigned us to care for you and attend to your needs."
My maids. The words settle over her, the realization following swiftly. Of course. She is a consort now. She is entitled to three personal attendants.
"Very well," she says, adjusting to this new reality. "Tell me your names."
The leader straightens. "I am Jeyne, madam," she says, curtsying again. She is small, with nimble fingers and brown hair.
Joana turns her gaze to the one at Jeyne's right.
"Dalla, Consort," the girl introduces herself. She has a round, sturdy frame and hair the color of old straw. Her face is unremarkable, but there is strength in her build.
Joana shifts her attention to the last girl, another dark-haired one like Jeyne. For a brief moment, she wonders if they are sisters. This girl is holding something—a polished lacquered box.
"And you?"
"Marra, madam," she murmurs, eyes cast downward as she curtsies.
Joana leans forward slightly, noticing the way Marra clutches the box. "What is that in your hands, Marra?"
"Presents from the Emperor, Consort," Marra answers, lifting the lid. "With his regards."
Inside, nestled on rich velvet, lies a handsome set of diamond jewelry—a pair of glittering earrings, a necklace, and a matching ring. Joana exhales slowly, taking in the sight. Gifts from the Emperor. She should have expected this.
"If you are able, tell the Emperor that I am grateful for his generosity," she says, allowing a smile to play on her lips. "Place them in one of my jewelry boxes."
Marra nods and carries out the task swiftly, returning to her place beside Jeyne once she is done.