The Reborn Empress

The carriage rattled toward Yanbei Hall, its velvet cushions as forgiving as Chloe's smile. Ella sat primly opposite her aunt, a lacquered box of pastries balanced on her lap like a sleeping cat.

Every bump in the road made the box click, a metronome to Chloe's thinly veiled disdain.

"Such a pity you couldn't join Cindy's carriage," Chloe sighed, adjusting a ruby hairpin that winked like a smug eye. "But I suppose rustic transport suits your… unconventional tastes." She gestured to the platter between them—glazed tarts oozing cherry syrup, their flaky crusts begging to crumble onto silk. "Do try the pastries, dear. Cook slaved over them."

Slaved to lace them with enough sugar to glue a gullible girl's sleeves to her face, Ella thought. She'd seen this trick before: the "accidental" spill, the humiliation, the whispered clumsy fool trailing her through banquet halls. Fourth time, actually.

"How thoughtful!" Ella clasped her hands, wide-eyed. "But I've sworn off sweets until Father's safe return. The physician fears for my… delicate constitution." She patted her middle, then flipped open her own box. "Would you care for a Guangfu Zhai osmanthus cake? They're quite light."

Chloe's smile faltered. Guangfu Zhai's gold-stamped wrappers were the aristocratic equivalent of a poisoned compliment—offering one meant either alliance or mockery.

Ella watched her aunt's mind race: Accept, and admit my kitchen's inferiority. Refuse, and look petty.

"You shouldn't spoil servants with such luxuries," Chloe sniffed instead, eyeing Emily, who was nibbling a cake with theatrical glee.

"Oh, Emily's no servant!" Ella beamed. "She's my taste tester. After that unfortunate incident with Lady Wen's fig pudding…" She let the sentence hang, sweet and lethal.

Ah, yes. The memory unfurled like smoke: Lily, age six, giggling as Chloe presented "Auntie's special honey twists." Later, the vomiting, the accusations of a "sensitive stomach." Later still, the discovery of ground nightshade seeds in the kitchen.

Chloe paled. "One can't be too cautious," she said thinly.

"Precisely why I brought these." Ella plucked a lavender macaron from her box, its color matching the storm brewing outside. "Guangfu Zhai uses only spring rainwater and utterly boring ingredients. No drama, no surprises." She took a dainty bite. "Like my life now. So… tediously safe."

The carriage hit a rut. Cherry syrup slithered toward Chloe's skirt like a vengeful serpent. Ella "stumbled," elbow nudging the platter—splat.

"Auntie!" Ella gasped as ruby-red glaze bloomed across Chloe's lap. "Your immaculate gown!"

Emily whipped out a handkerchief, dabbed too vigorously, and "accidentally" smeared syrup onto Chloe's sleeve. "Oh dear! It's everywhere! Almost like someone planned this!"

Chloe's shriek could've shattered crystal. Ella bit her lip, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but the Herculean effort not to laugh. Justice for Lily, she thought, watching her aunt blot frantically. Petty? Perhaps. Satisfying? Immensely.

As Yanbei Hall's gates rose ahead, Chloe hissed, "You'll regret this."

"Regret what?" Ella blinked. "The messy carriage? The ruined desserts? Or the fact that Guangfu Zhai's owner adores gossip?" She leaned close, whispering, "I hear he's baking a new tart called… Scarlet Ambition. Should I send you a box?"

Chloe recoiled as if struck.

Stepping into the hall, Emily murmured, "That macaron line was vicious, my lady."

"Vicious?" Ella adjusted her mother's pendant, now sticky with syrup she'd palmed during the chaos. "I prefer poetically just." She licked her fingers, grinning. "Now, let's find whoever's serving wine. I've earned a little drama."