Earlier that day, the palace corridors were unusually quiet, the air still with expectancy. Lola strolled toward her chambers, her mind drifting between the emperor's bold declaration the day before and the many whispers it must have stirred.
Just as she turned the corner, a young maid hurried to her with a timid bow. Her cheeks were flushed from either nerves or haste.
"Excuse me, my lady," the maid greeted.
Lola smiled gently. "Hello to you too. How may I help you?"
"The Emperor sent a dress," the girl replied, her voice soft. "He said you would know what it's for."
A smile tugged at Lola's lips. "Ah. So he was serious about this meeting."
She began walking again, the maid trailing a few respectful steps behind. After a moment, Lola glanced sideways.
"I assume you're to be my maid?" she asked.
"Yes, my lady. My name is Beatrix Cassis. His Majesty assigned me as your personal attendant," she said, her voice laced with pride and fear in equal measure.
"Very well, Beatrix," Lola nodded, her tone neutral as they approached her chambers. "Let's see what His Majesty has in store this time."
But the moment she opened the door, her breath caught.
The dress, undeniably one of exquisite design, likely tailored by the best couturier in the empire was no longer a dress at all. It lay scattered in cruel, deliberate shreds across her bed like a massacre of silk and lace.
Beatrix gasped and immediately dropped to her knees, her forehead pressed to the cold marble floor.
"My lady, you must believe me," she cried, trembling. "I swear upon my life, I know nothing of this. I've not touched the dress, I would never! Please, my lady, do not punish me."
Lola stared at the ruined gown, a slow fury bubbling beneath her composed exterior. The craftsmanship had been flawless, delicate embroidery, intricate beadwork. It had not been a gift; it had been a statement. And someone had tried to silence it.
She clenched her jaw but spoke with calm precision. "It's all right, Beatrix."
Beatrix remained frozen. "I dare not rise. Please, my lady. I beg you."
"I won't ask again," Lola said, her tone sharpening just enough to command. "Get up."
With visible hesitation, Beatrix rose slowly, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Thank you, my lady," she whispered.
Lola tilted her head. "Don't thank me just yet."
Beatrix flinched.
"I want this fixed. And fast," Lola said, stepping toward the ruined fabric, brushing her fingers over a delicate hem that had been mercilessly slashed. "Do you know anyone in the palace or beyond who can work miracles?"
Beatrix's mouth opened, then closed again.
"Well?" Lola pressed.
"I… I might," the maid murmured, voice barely audible. "But, my lady, she is not one the palace favours."
Lola turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Good. Neither am I."