As the Emperor turned to receive a whispered message from a breathless courtier, Lola gave him a reassuring smile and a slight nod.
"Attend to him," she whispered. "I shall see to the disturbance myself. The royal guards are with me, fear not."
Though reluctant, Xander acquiesced, his gaze lingering upon her as she departed. Lola gathered her skirts and strode down the corridor, heart pounding with unease. She had scarcely reached the next gallery when a scene most disgraceful met her eyes.
Lady Alethea, the kind soul who had once approached her with gratitude, was being dragged mercilessly across the courtyard, her sobs echoing against the marbled walls. Her husband, Lord Agrival Fothergill, gripped her arm cruelly, heedless of the assembled crowd's horrified stares.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lola's voice rang out, sharp and commanding as she placed herself firmly between the pair.
"Move out of my way, woman," Agrival growled, attempting to shove past her.
A hush fell over the spectators. Lola's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Move out of your way?" she repeated, voice deadly calm. "You insult the very court you tread upon, and you dare disrespect the ladies under my protection? Unhand her. Now."
With a scornful sneer, Agrival released Lady Alethea, who fled into the arms of the watching women, her painted face smeared with tears.
"So," Agrival spat, stepping closer, "you're the harlot who advises wives to abandon their duties and lounge about like useless cattle?"
Gasps rippled through the gathering.
Lola's jaw tightened, though her smile remained coldly polite. "I shall pretend I did not hear that insult," she said, sparing a brief glance at the weeping Alethea before fixing Agrival with a steely gaze. "Tell me, Lord Agrival, how is it wrong for women, who are often imprisoned within gilded cages, to find peace, companionship, and purpose?"
Agrival scoffed, unimpressed. "Because women are meant to serve their husbands, not frolic about like brainless girls!"
"You would not understand," Lola said quietly. "For it is clear you are a man ruled not by reason, but by narcissism."
A dangerous silence fell.
"You listen here, woman…"
"You will address me as your Queen," Lola snapped, her voice cutting through the courtyard like a blade.
Agrival laughed harshly. "You? A queen?" he sneered, spitting the word like venom. "You are no more than a whore who's filled the Emperor's bed and been promised a crown in reward. Mark me, once he tires of you, he shall discard you into the streets and when I have my way, I shall pass you among the Lords as our personal plaything!"
Horrified gasps tore through the onlookers. Several ladies clutched their pearls, men drew back as though from a sudden storm. Lola stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides. Rage burned beneath her skin, but before she could summon a single word…
A voice thundered behind them, dark and terrible.
"What did you just say?"
All heads snapped toward the sound. Fear swept over the gathering like a cold wind. Even Lola felt the blood drain from her face as she turned.
The Emperor stood there, eyes burning an unnatural shade of crimson, his entire frame taut with murderous intent.
"GUARDS!" he bellowed, the sound shaking the very stones beneath their feet.
And in that moment, every soul present realized: Lord Agrival Fothergill had signed his death warrant.