The soft glow of morning filtered through the high arched windows of the east wing, spilling over the polished marble floors and casting gentle patterns of light on the silk-draped furniture.
The palace stirred slowly, as it always did, with muffled footsteps echoing down corridors and the faint sounds of doors opening to let in the fresh breeze of a new day.
Servants moved quietly with basins and fresh linens, whispering greetings as they passed one another in the halls. Birds chirped lazily in the fruit trees just outside, their songs blending with the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Inside Joana's chambers, the quiet hum of daily life began to unfold.
Joana sat at her carved wooden vanity, a silver brush in her hand as she slowly worked through her hair, strand by strand. The mirror before her was speckled with the soft blush of morning light, casting a gentle warmth across her reflection.
Her silk robe hung loosely from her shoulders, the ties undone as she allowed the morning air to touch her skin. On the rug below, little Jaehaerys sat with a pile of carved wooden animals, murmuring to himself as he arranged them in a straight line. Every now and then, he held one up to the light, inspecting it with a frown of serious concentration before putting it down just so.
Marra moved quietly in the background, folding away the night linens and placing fresh ones at the foot of the bed. "Shall I bring warm milk, my lady?" she asked gently, glancing at Joana.
Joana gave a slight nod, her fingers still working through a knot in her hair. "Yes… and perhaps a little honey with it."
Marra bowed and disappeared through the side door.
The peace of the morning should have been comforting, even ordinary. But Joana's mind had not been still since yesterday.
The letter, the strange symbol, and the words scrawled within it—they clung to her thoughts like a burr. No matter how many times she tried to push them away, they returned, curling up inside her chest like a coiled serpent.
She hadn't told anyone. Not Marra. Not one of the other consorts. Not even The emperor.
She couldn't.
She didn't know what it meant—not exactly. But she remembered the words all too well.
The life liquid loses potency if not replenished regularly.
The phrase had lodged itself in her mind like a splinter. The more she tried not to think of it, the more it twisted itself deeper into her thoughts.
Marra returned with the milk, a tray balanced in her hands, and set it down beside Joana with a gentle clink of silver against porcelain.
Joana accepted the cup and took a small sip, letting the warmth slide down her throat. It didn't help much. Her stomach still felt tight and unsettled.
It was only when she heard movement outside the window that she turned her head—and froze.
Through the delicate lace curtains, she caught sight of a tall figure in a flowing blue cloak walking briskly across the courtyard beyond the garden. The woman's posture was upright, her head held high.
Joana leaned closer to the window, pushing the curtain aside with the back of her fingers.
It was her.
The Gracious Mother.
Ariyana.
Few in the palace ever spoke her name aloud anymore. She was simply the Gracious Mother—a figure of quiet power and mystique, revered by all, even among the king's women. She moved through the palace like a dream—always graceful, always composed, always veiled in some secret too delicate to name.
And yet here she was, striding across the courtyard alone, without her usual guard or even a handmaiden to trail behind her. Her cloak swayed with each step, brushing the ground lightly as she moved.
Joana narrowed her eyes, trying to catch more. Something about it felt... strange. Out of place.
"Marra," she said suddenly, her voice low but firm.
Marra turned. "Yes, my lady?"
Joana kept her eyes on the figure. "Where is the Gracious Mother going?"
"Oh," Marra said after a pause, following her gaze, "I believe she's gone to visit the Grand Healer this morning. One of the steward girls mentioned it earlier. She visits him often, doesn't she? They say he has rare elixirs, herbs that no one else can mix. Good for the joints, the skin, the hair…"
Joana said nothing in response. Her eyes followed Aralyne until she vanished behind the gates of the eastern wall, the blue of her cloak flickering like water before it was swallowed by the stone arch.
The Grand Healer's residence lay just beyond that gate—a stone house nestled in a crescent of garden paths and enclosed by high walls lined with herbs and scented trees. It wasn't far. A quiet, short walk. But still, the fact that she had gone alone—without a single soul for company—struck Joana as... strange.
"Maybe, I never saw her going anywhere alone...that's why I am feeling a little strange." She told herself.
She sat still for a long time after that, staring at the space where the figure had vanished.
The day passed in its usual rhythm. Jaehaerys took his nap in the late morning, sprawled across a cushioned mat while Joana embroidered slow, patient rows of golden thread along the hem of a silk veil.
She took lunch in the gallery with two other consorts and made polite conversation about the weather, the state of the stables, and a shipment of perfumes that had just arrived from the eastern ports. None of it stayed in her head.
She returned to her chamber sometime in the late afternoon, her thoughts distant, her heart still oddly restless. She sat with a book open in her lap but didn't read. She held a fruit in her hand but never took a bite.
She kept glancing toward the window.
And then—just as the sun dipped slightly behind the roofline—Joana saw her again.
The Gracious Mother.
She was returning alone, just as she had left.
But this time, Joana stood up from her chair and moved closer to the window without even realizing it. Her breath caught in her throat.
There was something unmistakable in the way The gracious mother moved.
She walked with a lightness to her step, a sway in her hips, a flush in her cheeks that hadn't been there before. Her lips were curved ever so slightly—not a full smile, but the trace of one, the kind that lingered after being kissed too long, too hard.
Joana blinked. Her fingers clenched around the windowsill.
That look.
That walk.
She had worn it before. On nights when Aegon came to her bed after a long absence, when he had taken her with unrelenting force, leaving her aching and breathless and sore. She had walked like that the next morning, trying to hide the way her legs wobbled and her steps slowed. And she had smiled like that too—half-glowing, half-ashamed fir full of satisfaction.
There was no mistaking it.
She stared until the mother disappeared beneath the colonnade's shadow, her figure swallowed up by the palace once more.
Joana didn't move for a long time.
When she finally stepped away from the window, she felt cold all over.
Without a word, she turned and made her way slowly to her bed. Her limbs felt heavy, her breath shallow, and a strange pressure began to build behind her ribs—a mix of disbelief, confusion, and something she didn't quite have a name for yet.
She undressed in silence, letting her robe fall to the floor before crawling into the bed and pulling the covers over herself. Marra entered a little while later, quietly placing a jug of fresh water on the table, but Joana only turned her face toward the wall.
"Shall I bring anything else, my lady?" Marra asked gently.
Joana shook her head, her voice barely audible. "No... leave me be."
When the door closed behind her, Joana lay still in the silence.
Her mind was a storm of unfinished thoughts, but none of them found words. Not yet.
"Did nobody notice it yet?" Joana wondered, her brows drawing together slightly as she sat in the dim candlelight of her chamber.
"Surely someone must have. Any woman with half a mind could recognize that look… and the way she walked." She leaned back, resting her head against the carved wood of her headboard, her eyes staring up at the ceiling as her thoughts continued to swirl.
"There's a certain glow... a softness in the cheeks, a kind of relaxed daze in the eyes. And the way she moved her legs, slow, as if they still remembered what had happened..." She paused, thinking deeply, trying to put it all together.
"I wonder why no one got suspicious? How could they not see it? She is definitely got fucked." Her voice was a whisper now, meant only for herself.
Then, the memory clicked into place, clear and vivid in her mind.
"Ah… yes. That's why."
She sat up a little straighter, her eyes narrowing.
"I remember now—right before she reached the palace gates, she corrected it. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and started walking like she always does… calm, proud, graceful. She even pulled her cloak in tighter, just enough to hide the little sway in her hips."
Joana let out a slow breath, her expression hardening.
"She's no amateur. She's done this before—maybe many times. And the glow on her face? If anyone asked, she could easily say it was from the Grand Healer's treatments… some herbal tonic for the skin or a rejuvenating salve. Who would question her?"
The Gracious Mother knew how to cover her tracks.
Joana rubbed her fingers together, still restless, still unsettled. She felt a strange satisfaction stir inside her chest—as if she had uncovered a secret no one else had dared to look for.
"I've figured it out," she murmured under her breath. "Or at least, I've seen enough to know I'm not wrong."
But even with that small victory, a new question formed in her mind.
"I need to be sure."
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she thought it through.
"I should find a way to verify it... maybe follow her next time, or speak to someone who knows the healer's habits."
She sat quietly for a while, watching the flickering flame of the candle on her table.
"FUUHHHHH...."
With a tired breath, Joana blew out the candle beside her and sank deeper into the warmth of her bedding, pulling the covers close around her.
"I wonder why she is doing something like that..." She thought.
Her eyes stayed open for a while longer, staring into the darkness, but her mind—finally—began to quiet. Just a little.