"It seems," the Empress began, "that the gardens have become far more entertaining than the tea. Duchess Alvarez, come forward. Since you have seen fit to turn my Midsummer Tea into a theater of... great performance, I believe you owe me an explanation for this lack of decorum."

The court held its collective breath. To be called to the dais under the Empress’s scrutiny was a precarious tightrope walk; one wrong word could lead to social exile or even worse; DEATH.

Near the entrance, Evelina spotted Ace from the corner of her eyes. But what took her aback for a moment was that the man took a reflexive step forward. His hand twitched toward his sword hilt which appeared to be a muscle-memory reaction to a threat he couldn’t quite identify.

He looked caught between wanting to intervene and wanting to have nothing to do with the situation as well as her, his eyes were burning with a mixture of confusion and a strange, new protectiveness.

Evelina only spared him one glance before she ignored him.

She ignored everyone else as well.

She walked toward the dais. Each click of her heel against the marble was calm and composed.

As she reached the steps of the throne, she performed a curtsy. It was deep enough to be respectful, yet executed with a spine so straight it screamed that she considered herself an equal to the Empress.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Evelina said, her voice steady and clear, "I don’t have much to say but I will provide a simple explanation since you want it. Since a guest of yours wanted to perform a show, it would have been rude of me, as the Duchess, to stand in the way of their... enthusiasm."

The Empress’s lips twitched. It wasn’t a smile, but it was the closest thing to one the court had seen in months, "Wit is a dangerous weapon, Duchess. But I seek for more than just a sharp tongue. I find myself attracted to minds that can offer something... substantial. Unfortunately, all I get is the flattery of my court. It is dreadfully repetitive since they speak of the weather all the time."

The Empress leaned back, her boredom returning like a creeping shadow. "Tell me, Duchess Alvarez, what do you bring to my table that isn’t the same old recycled flattery?"

Evelina paused for a brief moment. Although this appeared to be a small conversation but she knew that this was the crossroads.

She needed a key to unlock the Empress’s genuine interest, something the sycophants surrounding her had probably never been able to touch.

System, Evelina thought, can you run a deep scan? I need a conversational leverage point.

[SYSTEM COMMAND: HISTORY RECORDS; SCAN TARGET: EMPRESS REGENT]

[Scanning Private Archives... Accessing Forbidden Imperial Logs...]

[Data Retrieved: The Empress possesses a secret, hand-written collection of ’Vaelian Nocturnes’]

[Subject: The Lost Poet of the Southern Isles; Valerius the Elder.]

[Note: The court considers Valerius crude and archaic. The Empress considers him the only soul who understood true solitude and connects to his works on a personal level.]

Evelina’s eyes flickered with a subtle light.

"If Your Majesty finds the present dull," Evelina began softly, "perhaps we should look to the past. Specifically, to the Southern Isles, before the Great Burn. To the poets who wrote not to flatter the court but rather to embrace the wildness of winds, oceans and life in its true form."

The Empress’s posture changed instantly.The languid slouch vanished, replaced by a sharp focus, "Go on," she whispered, her gaze intensifying.

Evelina smiled, her beautiful face lighting up by that small flicker of warmth.

In fact, it came from her heart. An Empress who is bound by the rigid laws of throne actually admires the work of poets who sought freedom all their lives. It was almost contradictory...

But Evelina related to it. Sometimes, one had to sacrifice what they were in order to become what they needed to be.

And that path was always full of thorns and sacrifices, something she had personally experienced.

"One of those great poets was Valerius the Elder. He once wrote that ’the throne is the highest mountain, and the air there is too thin for those who love the valley,’" Evelina quoted.

Using her [Master Polyglot] skill, she recited the archaic Vaelian verse with the exact cadence it required, a sound like dry leaves skittering over stone. "Most believe he was a madman who died in exile. But I believe he was simply the only man who realized early on that power is not a crown, but a gilded cage of one’s own making. And the true achievement of a person’s life laid in their heart desires that they protected from the world."

The noblewomen looked at each other in confusion: who was Valerius? Most of them didn’t understand it.

Why was the Empress looking at Evelina as if she had just found a long-lost sister?

The Empress descended a single step from her dais. This was a breach of protocol so massive it was practically a scandal but she didn’t seem to care. She reached out, her fingers; slim and adorned with rubies, hovering near Evelina’s arm.

"The people who are familiar with his works often say... he was crude," the Empress murmured, loud enough only for Evelina to hear, "And that his verses lack refinement. But you... you speak his words as if you’ve lived them."

"I have spent much of my life in a cage, Your Majesty," Evelina replied, her gaze meeting the Empress’s with a level of honesty that made the court’s usual games feel like child’s play, "I have lived it enough to decide that I will melt those bars and turn it into my jewelry." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

The Empress let out a gentle laugh, a sound of genuine delight that made the Marchioness de la Croix and a few more noblewomen nearly faint from sheer jealousy.

The Empress turned toward the palace herald, her voice ringing out with a power that brooked no argument.

"Musicians! Resume the music, but play the ’Nocturne of the Isles.’ And someone, get Lady Irene a heavy cloak and lead her out; she is dampening the carpet and my mood."

The Empress then turned back to Evelina, extending her hand.