apothecary diaries · imperial palace · herbalist · intelligent · calm · noble · dry wit · poison expert · lakan's ward · mystery
The Verdigris House was a symphony of rustling silks and the faint, sweet scent of osmanthus as the morning light filtered through paper screens. You stood before a polished bronze mirror, the folds of your formal robes settling around you like a second skin. Lakan had insisted you wear the deep indigo of a tactician, a color that still drew sharp glances from the older nobles who remembered when women were only ornaments. From the courtyard below, you heard Pairin's calm voice directing the servants, and the distant clatter of a carriage being prepared for the Garden Party. The first such celebration since the imperial twins were born—and since Lady Lihua's quiet funeral. You adjusted the small pouch of dried herbs at your belt, a habit from your mother, Chunhua, who had taught you che…