Serena Did Not Play the Game Correctly

The Queen received me kindly.

She gave me a heavy purse of gold, then dismissed the attendants and took my hand.

“Now that you are mistress of the Eastern Palace,” she said, “there are things you must learn.”

I sat beside her.

“Yes, Mother.”

The word still felt strange.

She smiled faintly.

“Previously, palace affairs were handled by one of my matrons. Then Leon came to me asking for authority to be transferred to that woman.”

That woman.

She meant Serena.

“I agreed,” the Queen continued, though her face showed she regretted it. “But now the authority belongs to you. I have already prepared the order. You need only complete the transfer.”

“I understand.”

At home, Mother had repeated this point until I could hear it in my dreams.

Control the household.

Control the accounts.

Control the servants.

A man’s favor could drift, but household authority was visible power.

The Queen sighed.

“Do not be too saddened by Leon’s foolishness. I entered the palace more than twenty years ago. Beauties come and go. In the end, novelty fades.”

I lowered my eyes.

“Yes.”

“You must hold yourself like a Crown Princess. Do not allow her to step over you.”

Then the Queen’s voice sharpened.

“That Serena Vale is shameless. A girl not even properly married, meeting a man in public, causing scandal after scandal. My son was once the most disciplined of princes. Since meeting her, he has neglected state papers and contradicted me openly.”

She blamed Serena for everything.

I nodded when expected.

But some small, dangerous thought rose in me.

Leon had not been kidnapped.

Leon had not been bewitched before the entire court.

Leon had chosen.

Yet in every mouth, the fault became Serena’s.

I pushed the thought away.

It was not my place to pity my rival.

After returning to the Eastern Palace, I began reviewing accounts.

To my surprise, Serena’s records were excellent.

Strange, but excellent.

She had reorganized grain purchases using methods I had never seen. She reduced waste in the kitchens, combined fabric orders, and even noted seasonal medicine usage among servants.

“She is clever,” I said before I could stop myself.

The old matron beside me gave a dry laugh.

“Clever? She was born a concubine’s daughter of an eighth-rank official. Before His Highness raised her, she likely served her legal mother and elder sisters herself.”

My gaze cooled.

“She is still a royal consort. Mind your tongue.”

The matron paled.

That was when I understood Serena’s flaw.

She could count ledgers.

She could invent systems.

She could shock nobles with poems and future-talk.

But she did not know how to rule servants.

If those beneath you did not fear consequence, they would eat your dignity one bite at a time.

I was about to send Celia to collect the remaining ledgers when Serena arrived herself.

She burst into my hall wearing a pale water-colored dress, black hair loose over her shoulders, arms full of books.

“Accounts,” she said brightly, dropping the stack on my table. “All yours now. Good luck, Crown Princess.”

Then she knelt.

Badly.

Both knees on the ground, palms awkwardly placed, forehead nearly striking the floor.

“Serena Vale greets Her Highness the Crown Princess.”

I stared.

As a royal consort, she did not need to perform such a grand salute.

She had either forgotten the rules or was mocking them.

Or mocking me.

I let her remain kneeling for a moment.

“Consort Serena,” I said, “why did no one announce you?”

A guard began to explain.

Serena lifted her head first.

“Sorry. I forgot your rules. The door was open, and you looked like you were waiting for me, so I came in.”

Her tone was frank.

Too frank.

Not coy.

Not afraid.

Not properly respectful either.

Her face was as lovely as rumor claimed. Willow brows, peach-blossom eyes, skin pale beneath the soft blue of her dress. She looked less like a seductress and more like a breeze that had wandered into the wrong palace.

I should have disliked her immediately.

Instead, I found myself unsettled.

“Rise,” I said.

She did not rise.

Her lips parted.

For a strange second, she looked as if she wanted to say something important.

Then a familiar voice rang from the doorway.

“Serena!”

Leon.

Serena’s expression changed.

Not joy.

Not relief.

Something like disgust flickered across her eyes.

Then vanished.

Leon hurried in and saw her kneeling before me.

His face hardened.

“Why is she kneeling?”

I had not yet stood when he crossed the room and reached for Serena’s shoulders.

“I told you,” he said softly to her, “you need not kneel to anyone.”

Then he looked at me.

“Evelyn, I thought you were kind.”

There it was.

The trap.

So this was her method?

Kneel before me, refuse to rise, wait for Leon to arrive, and make me look cruel.

How crude.

How effective.

Men who prided themselves on intelligence often became fools before tears.

I prepared to soften my eyes, to make my voice tremble delicately, to win by appearing wounded rather than angry.

Before I could speak, Serena shook off Leon’s hands.

“Don’t touch me.”

Leon froze.

So did I.

Serena turned to me, then deliberately bent her knees again as if to kneel.

I instinctively caught her arm.

“Consort, what are you doing?”

She looked past me at Leon.

“See? She won’t let me kneel. You misunderstood her.”

The room went silent.

Leon’s expression shifted.

Serena pulled her arm free and faced him.

“You were wrong. Why are you blaming her?”

I stared at Serena.

This was not how palace women behaved.

She had the perfect chance to make me her villain.

Instead, she had defended me.

Leon looked embarrassed.

“Evelyn,” he said, “forgive me. Serena is childish. Do not take offense.”

Serena rolled her eyes.

Then she turned back to me.

“I should kneel,” she said quietly. “Crown Princess, Leon and I wronged you. At first, I did not mean to steal your husband. I only—”

“Serena,” Leon interrupted sharply.

She glared at him.

“Don’t interrupt me.”

I looked between them.

For the first time, I wondered whether the future-born consort had entered the palace as victor.

Or prisoner.