Jovine stomped through the gardens, blindly making her way to the Western Pavilion. She hated that she could still feel the imprint of his hand against her bodice. She despised that she still saw the storm that had raged in his eyes.

Jovine stopped short, looking down at the dark cloth wrapped around her hand. Abruptly, she tore it away, clutching the fabric in her fist when the embroidery caught her attention. Smoothing it in her palm, her eyes traveled through the golden threads elegantly stitched into a pattern of yellow roses in the corners of the deep blue fabric. She furrowed her brows, her lips parting and a sharp throb echoing through her chest.

Only a handful of years had passed, but it felt like a lifetime ago. It was on the night of their wedding that she had gifted the handkerchief to him. She had spent endless nights perfecting the design, working until her fingers cramped so she could offer him a piece of their most cherished memory together — the day he proposed to her. The day she fell in love. It had the yellow roses from the hill and the deep blue of his eyes she had fallen for. It wasn’t much, but she recalled the smile in his eyes and the kisses he rained down on her when she presented him with the humble gift.

He still carried it with him.

A part of her resolve threatened to shatter as the longing for her husband crushed her. She had to remind herself how much she hated him. She hated how he hurt her, the way he took another woman into his bed and stood aside as she died. She hated his callous heart and the cruelty etched into his face. But if she was honest with herself, the only thing she hated the most was how much she had loved him. Even now, in the midst of her overwhelming hatred, she still felt the echos of her devotion. It was nothing short of pure torture.

Biting her trembling lips, Jovine looked once more at the yellow threaded roses, the image of the field of flowers on the Summer Palace hills calling out to her.

He’s gone, she told herself again and again. That man…that memory…is no longer real.

Richard wouldn’t remember the significance of this meager piece of cloth. She was sure of it…

The frantic clicks of running heels took her attention away from her thoughts. Looking up, Jovine saw Emilia Syrene running through the stone path cut through the wall of green leaves and carefully tended beds of budding flowers. Dressed heavily in a deep red, bedazzled gown with her hair held back by a glittering headpiece, her agitated face matched the frantic pace of her tread. Her maids followed promptly behind, their eyes widening when they saw the Empress.

Jovine slowly clenched her fist. She held back an unconscious flinch as the memory of her death tore through her. It was their first collision since her awakening in the past, but Jovine was surprised to find herself tranquil and still as her wrath veiled itself beneath her calm exterior. Whereas her unfulfilled resentment for her husband felt like being burned by the red-hot mark of rage, seeing Emilia felt like cold fury steadily icing its way up her spine and into her bloodstream. She wouldn’t lash out and strike her as her instincts urged her to. She would play it smarter if she wished to come out of this alive.

When Emilia finally came across her cold gaze, she slowed her hurried steps and narrowed her eyes. Quickly flicking her sights around, it looked as if she was looking for someone else — or as if she expected for someone to be with her.

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“Where is he?” Emilia snapped, stopping before Jovine with a distasteful look on her face. She continued spinning her head around wildly.

She was looking for Richard. Jovine’s lips twitched in response to the evident displeasure Emilia displayed at the idea of her in any close proximity to her own husband.

When it was clear that the Emperor was no where near, Emilia sneered at her with a scoff. “You’re embarrassing yourself trying to get him back. That outburst last night? I would laugh, but I find it too pitiful to even do that. Don’t delude yourself, Jovine. He’s mine.”

Emilia walked past her, harshly brushing by with her nose pointed up in the air. Jovine had always been a cowering fool in their encounters before — always fearful of being on the end of Richard’s ire if she hurt a speck of his mistress’s bursting pride. But now, she couldn’t care less. She had her own temper to unleash.

“Emilia,” she coolly called, smoothly turning to watch her and her maids stop in their tracks. Emilia flipped around with a glare in her flared, black eyes.

Jovine calmly walked forward, even going so far to tuck an errant strand of red hair behind the woman’s ear. It was condescending and something she wouldn’t have ever done, but the spark of furious surprise in Emilia’s eyes brought satisfaction. She was tired of being trampled.

No more.

“You will address me as Your Majesty from now on,” she coldly started. “You will treat me with respect, and you will adhere to the Imperial Regulations and properly announce yourself.”

Emilia released another hateful scoff. “What did you say?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Emilia snickered. “Is this a new persona you’ve adopted for Richard?”

Jovine abhorred the way she called her husband so familiarly. It shouldn’t have bothered her at this point, but bitterness overcame her. “It doesn’t matter where you stand with the Emperor. I am the Empress of this nation, and you will recognize me as such. You will give me the same respect I offered you when I recognized you as his Concubine.”

Emilia crossed her arms, tilting her head in contemplation as her maids exchanged tense looks. “Your title means nothing, Jovine.” She stepped closer and leaned in. “I have the Emperor in my grasp. One he won’t escape. That alone gives me a capacity even you can’t reach. Am I understood, Jovine?”

Her words caught her attention, subduing the initial anger that tried to devour her. “In your grasp,” Jovine repeated Emilia’s words. “One he won’t…escape. You have a strange way of portraying your relationship with His Majesty.”

Emilia’s brow twitched as she leaned away. Her expression settled into one of pure loathing. “I have his heart. He loves me. That means he won’t ever easily escape our devotion to one another. You are the one who needs to be careful around me. Richard will never stand for it if you treat me so carelessly.”

“Your naivety is showing, Emilia. The very fact that you rely on his heart for advantage is the very thing that will have you cast aside just as quickly. Your dependence on his favor makes you nothing but a woman balancing on the fickle nature of a man. There is no capacity in that. There is only inevitable ruin.”

Emilia smirked. “Would you care to bet on that? Where I’m concerned, Richard’s favor will never run out. That much I guarantee.”

A familiar face in the distance caught Jovine’s eye as Emilia spoke. Brushing through the garden path, Erin was finally back. When their gazes met, Erin gave a firm nod. The letter was delivered.

“Your confidence intrigues me,” she blankly muttered, looking back with sharp eyes. “I see no reason to go to the lengths of gambling, but you can count on my interest in your unwavering faith.”

Lifting Emilia’s hands, she dropped Richard’s embroidered handkerchief into her grasp. “I’ll assume you’re on your way to His Majesty and trust that you’ll return this for me. It belongs to him.”

Without waiting for a response, Jovine was the one who walked away this time. As she headed towards Erin, unsettling thoughts and doubts poked the back of her mind. She didn’t have the means to find answers before or take action against her unjust, coming death, but her plans would soon begin now.

I will live, she vowed. And they will suffer.