"I cannot breathe," I wheezed, gripping the edge of the wooden dressing screen. "Yua, if you pull that sash one inch tighter, my ribs are going to snap."

"You must look perfect, My Lady!" Yua insisted, tugging the deep purple silk cord around my waist with surprising strength for someone so small. "The Emperor’s concubines are hosting this welcome tea. It is a battlefield of silk and smiles! You must know exactly who you are facing."

Yua quickly tied off the knot and stepped around to face me, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"The woman hosting is Lady Kiku," Yua explained, her eyes wide. "She is Second Prince Jin’s mother. With Crown Prince Ryu stripped of his title, Lady Kiku acts like she owns the inner palace. Sitting next to her will be Lady Renge, Ryu’s mother. She used to be the Emperor’s favorite, but since her son was disgraced, the other women have been circling her like vultures."

"I would rather face the bone giant again," I grumbled.

I looked in the polished bronze mirror. I looked like a completely different person. The heavy, layered Kamakura silks in silver and indigo made me look regal, but they felt like a straightjacket.

I reached over to the low wooden table, grabbed my heavy black iron Tessen, and shoved it securely into the thickest part of my sash.

"You are bringing a war fan to a tea party?"

I turned around. Akira was leaning against the bedroom doorframe. He was dressed in his formal court robes, but the tension in his jaw told me he was absolutely hating the fact that he couldn’t come with me. Capital rules were strict: the inner palace tea parties were strictly for women.

"It’s an emotional support fan," I told him, patting the cold iron hidden in my silk.

Akira didn’t smile. He walked over, his large hands gently resting on my shoulders.

"If they insult you, get up and leave," Akira instructed, his amber eyes dark with worry. "You do not have to sit there and take their poison. You are the Crown Princess."

"Akira, I survived Uncle Kenji. I can survive a bunch of ladies drinking hot leaf water," I promised, reaching up to smooth a crease in his robe. "Just go to your meeting with the military ministers. Don’t set anyone on fire."

"I make no promises," he grumbled, leaning down to press a swift, hard kiss to my forehead.

Ten minutes later, I was walking down the covered wooden corridors of the inner palace. The Imperial Peony Pavilion sat in the middle of a massive, manicured garden.

As I stepped through the sliding paper doors, the scent of overwhelming, sickeningly sweet floral perfume hit me.

Sitting on plush silk cushions around a low, perfectly polished cedar table were five women. They were draped in the most expensive, ridiculous layers of silk I had ever seen. Their faces were painted stark white with thick powder, and their lips were painted into tiny red dots. They looked like very expensive, very judgmental ghosts.

The dynamic Yua had warned me about was immediately obvious.

The woman at the head of the table, wearing brilliant crimson silk, radiated smug authority. This was Lady Kiku, Jin’s mother. Sitting to her immediate right, wrapped in faded gold silk and looking pale and miserable, was Lady Renge, Ryu’s mother. The others were clearly Kiku’s lackeys, offering Renge thinly veiled looks of pity and disgust.

"Ah, the new Crown Princess," Lady Kiku chimed, her voice like grinding glass. "Please. Sit with us. We have been simply dying to meet the girl who captured the Demon Warlord’s heart."

I bowed awkwardly and took a seat on the cushion opposite her.

"Pour the tea," Lady Kiku ordered a servant.

A trembling maid poured steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups. But when she placed my cup in front of me, I noticed two things immediately. First, the rim of the cup had a noticeable, jagged chip in it. Second, the tea inside was a murky, dark brown, while the other women had clear, fragrant green tea.

The other concubines hid their smiles behind their painted paper fans. Lady Renge just kept her eyes glued to her lap, terrified of drawing Kiku’s attention.

I didn’t know the rules of capital tea parties. I didn’t know the etiquette of sharing a table with an Emperor’s concubines. But I knew exactly what bullying looked like.

Uncle Kenji used to give Rin and me the cracked bowls and the burnt rice every single night just to remind us that we were garbage. Lady Kiku probably thought she was playing some elegant, high-minded political game. But to me, she was just doing exactly what my abusive uncle did. It was the exact same cruelty, just dressed up in really expensive silk.

They expected me to blush. They expected me to be humiliated by the chipped cup and shrink away in shame.

But I wasn’t ashamed.

I picked up the chipped cup. I sniffed it. It smelled like boiled tree bark.

"Oh, thank you!" I beamed, looking directly at Lady Kiku. "I appreciate you making me feel at home. In the Divination basement, we only had one cup for me and my sister, and my uncle stepped on it once. And this tea is great! Usually we just boiled the leftover rice water."

The concubines froze. Their painted fans drooped.

They had tried to insult my poverty, and I had just enthusiastically agreed with them. They had absolutely no idea how to respond to someone who wasn’t ashamed of surviving.

Lady Kiku’s eye twitched. "Yes. Well. The capital must be quite a shock for you. It is like a delicate orchid garden here. If a rough weed from the dark tries to grow beside an orchid, the weed must be plucked."

I took a loud sip of my bitter tea. "Actually, weeds usually choke out the orchids because their roots are way stronger. You have to burn them down to the soil to get rid of them. Did you guys need gardening advice? My sister Rin is really good at digging up roots."

One of the younger concubines let out a choked gasp, quickly covering her mouth.

I wasn’t trying to be clever. I literally didn’t understand their weird flower metaphors, so I was just answering practically.

Lady Kiku’s fake smile completely vanished. She snapped her delicate paper fan shut with an irritated thwack. She realized the subtle political mind games weren’t working on me, because I didn’t even know the rules of the game.

And looking at me, sitting in the seat her son Jin so desperately wanted, finally made her lose her temper.

"You think you are so clever, little floor-scrubber," Lady Kiku sneered, leaning across the cedar table. The other women fell dead silent. "You think wearing Imperial silk changes what you are? Your husband stole a title that belonged to true imperial blood. You are dirt. The Emperor only brought you here to keep the Warlord on a leash. And once the Warlord grows tired of a plain, magic-less peasant, he will discard you just like everyone else."

My heart gave a hard, painful thud against my ribs.

That wasn’t a metaphor. That was a direct, vicious strike at my deepest insecurity.

For a split second, the instinct to shrink away flared up. My shoulders started to drop.

But then, the faint, warm blue glow of the Consort Mark pulsed against my chest under my heavy silk layers.

If they insult you, I will cut out their tongues. Akira’s blood vow echoed in my mind, loud and absolute.

I didn’t shrink. I didn’t cry.

Instead, a freezing, calm clarity washed over me. I wasn’t going to play their game of whispers and fans. I was going to play my game.

I slowly set my chipped teacup down on the table.

I reached into my heavy purple sash.

My calloused hand gripped the cold metal of the Tessen. I pulled the heavy, black iron war fan out and set it flat on the table.

"What is that?" Lady Kiku demanded, her heavily powdered brow furrowing in confusion. "Is that a fan? How utterly barbaric. It’s made of iron."

"It was a gift from my husband," I said, my voice completely flat and devoid of any polite warmth.

I picked it up. I didn’t flick my wrist gently. I snapped it open with the exact violent force Akira had taught me in the dojo.

SNIKT.

The deafening, metallic sound of the razor-sharp iron ribs snapping into place echoed like a sword being drawn in the small pavilion.

The concubines physically jumped, pressing back into their silk cushions in sheer terror. Lady Renge let out a quiet squeak.

I casually rested the heavy, open iron fan directly onto the delicate, expensive cedar table. I let the full weight of the black iron press down.

With a loud, agonizing CRACK, the center of the polished table splintered right down the middle under the heavy iron edge. Teacups rattled. Hot water spilled over the wood.

"Oh, my apologies," I said, my voice dripping with cold, unbothered sarcasm. "I don’t know my own strength. You see, I spent nine years scrubbing floors. It really builds the arm muscles."

Lady Kiku stared at the shattered table, her face completely drained of color beneath her white powder. She looked at the razor-sharp iron fan, and then she looked at me.

She finally realized I wasn’t a delicate capital flower she could bully. I was the wife of the Demon Prince, and I was armed.

"You..." Lady Kiku stammered, completely losing her regal composure. "You are insane."

"I am practical," I corrected, slowly standing up. My heavy silk robes rustled perfectly around me. I didn’t even bother bowing.

I picked up my iron fan, snapping it shut with a terrifying metallic clack.

"Thank you for the tea, Lady Kiku," I smiled, looking down at the five terrified women. "The bark flavor was very nostalgic. But if you ever speak about my husband like that again, I won’t accidentally drop my fan on the table. I’ll drop it on your toes. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

I turned around and walked out of the Peony Pavilion.

I didn’t rush. I kept my back straight and my head high.

As I stepped out into the fresh air of the courtyard, I let out a massive, shaky breath. My hands were trembling, but not from fear. From pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

I had done it. I had survived my first capital society event. I didn’t use poetry or politics. I just used a very heavy piece of iron and basic basement-rat audacity.

I walked back toward the East Palace, a genuine smile breaking across my face. Akira was going to be so proud of the table.