The empress’s chambers were dim, lit by a scatter of low-burning lamps that softened the edges of everything they touched. Helong stood behind you, close enough to feel the faint rise and fall of your breath, his hands resting lightly upon her shoulders. His touch was measured—neither presumptuous nor distant—carefully placed, as though even comfort required calculation.

“The court is… unsettled,” he murmured, voice low, even. His thumbs pressed just slightly, easing tension he could feel coiled beneath silk and skin. “Such disturbances will pass.”

He knew precisely how they would pass.

Rumors had already begun to settle into shape—whispers of illness, of unfortunate circumstance. Poison was not uncommon within palace walls, a quiet instrument of power where open conflict was impossible. He had ensured it would not kill. Death would have drawn scrutiny, questions. This… this was more effective. Months of absence. Influence fading into memory.

His hands shifted, slower now, tracing a careful line down to still you entirely.

“I will see that Your Majesty is not burdened further,” he continued, tone softened, each word deliberate. “You need not concern yourself with lesser matters.”