Naya was learning: power here was like water. It slipped and pooled where it could, changing hands faster than anyone could notice.
She studied the palace's habits like a hawk, watching who sat where, who whispered to whom, and how Mira always made herself the center of attention.
She had learned Mira's control went beyond charm. It was strategy. Every word, every glance was a move, and Mira had perfected this game over years.
One evening, Naya decided to test her own influence. She dressed in a gown that contrasted with Mira's usual bold colors, choosing soft shades that drew eyes to her, but quietly.
At the evening feast, she didn't try to sit close to the king, didn't try to make herself obvious. Instead, she mingled with the other wives and servants, laughing and speaking kindly.
The trick, she'd figured, was not to fight Mira outright but to show something different, something real.
Alar noticed Naya. His eyes, roaming over the feast, paused on her when she wasn't looking. She could feel it. She let out a soft laugh, glancing up to find his gaze fixed on her. He gave her a subtle nod, as though impressed.
Mira saw it, too, and her face turned to stone. She excused herself, slipping into the shadows, but Naya saw the anger that sparked in her rival's dark eyes.
This was only the beginning, Naya knew. Mira had ruled here, unchallenged, for years. But now, she had a real competition.