Outside Fengyi Palace, chaos had erupted. The clash of weapons and desperate shouts filled the air. Inside, Eleanor Bennett calmly sat before a bronze mirror, running a jade comb through her hair like nothing was happening. Her maids watched in silent dread, all pale as sheets, their usually composed Empress now a mystery they couldn’t fathom.

“My Lady, outside…” Rose Allen spoke softly from behind her.

Eleanor just waved her hand gently, then slowly stood up. She was dressed in the same ornate gown she’d worn on her wedding day. Despite the passing years, the embroidery of phoenixes still gleamed as brilliantly as ever. The heavy phoenix crown on her head weighed down just like it had that day. Her graceful fingers let go of the comb, and a faint, familiar smile appeared on her lips — calm, almost serene.

“I know… it was him…” Her words came light and quiet, but everyone felt like ice water had been poured over their hearts.

“My Lady, His Majesty… if he shows up, it'll be to accuse you of treason. That army out there — they’ll say you're involved, and if they decide that’s the truth, then…” Rose’s voice trembled.

“Treason means the death of the entire family.” Eleanor’s voice cut cold and sharp, every word striking like a blade. Her eyes, once gentle, now held a chilling edge. Her brows arched with a dark intensity.

Rose had followed her since the days in the Chancellor's manor, over a decade now, but never had she seen Eleanor like this — dangerous and resolute. Ever since the incident, Fengyi Palace had become more like exile. The once-favored Empress had been left to fade into the background.

And yet, Eleanor never seemed to care. Glory and titles, the privileges of the high palace — to her, they were no more than piles of sand through her fingers, water slipping away.

She once dreamed of growing old with him. That simple wish had brought her into the palace — but in the end, this was all she got. Her family’s power crumbled, one relative after another killed. The grief had long since dulled, leaving behind only emptiness. Now, all that filled her was hatred.

She knew this was a suicide mission. She knew this would end in flames. And still, for him, she jumped without hesitation.

But in the end, he let her down.

"Rose, get the brocade box from under the cabinet," Eleanor said from her phoenix couch, her voice steady, draped in wedding splendor.“Miss!” Rose dropped to her knees in front of Eleanor Bennett with a loud thud. Ever since they'd entered the palace, Rose had never called her that again—always "Your Majesty." But now, hearing Eleanor tell her to bring the brocade box, Rose knew this was it. The end.

“What are you crying for? After everything, my heart's already gone cold. There's no point in tears now.” Even as she said that, Eleanor’s eyes shimmered slightly—some tiny sparkle deep in them refusing to fade, full of unwillingness. “After I’m gone, if you can't stay in the palace, have Eunuch Wang take you out. Find a good home… live out your days in peace. You're the only one I can’t stop worrying about.”

“No! Miss, I’ll go with you. In this life—”

Before Rose could finish, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the air. He’d finally arrived.

Eleanor stood quietly, her face calm. When she saw the man in the dragon robe enter, she offered a faint smile.

“Greetings to Your Majesty.”

“Greetings? Now you remember you're the Empress? Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m just an ordinary woman. All I ever wanted was a simple life with someone who’d stay by my side. This palace never suited me. If Your Majesty hadn’t insisted back then, none of this bloodshed would've happened today.”

...

An hour later, everything outside had settled. The rebels were crushed, but wails drifted out from within Fengyi Palace. Rose clung to Eleanor’s still body, her cries tearing through the silence.

Eleanor looked peaceful, like she'd let everything go. There was even the hint of a smile on her lips. The Emperor's final mercy had been a poison prepared ahead of time—swift and painless. She left this world in the Empress's robes, as if that were his last gesture of kindness.

“Miss! Miss… take me with you…”

In the very end, the only one who stayed and wept for her was Rose. The person she’d once believed would love her till death—he was the one who pushed her into the grave. All that love and devotion? Turned out to be a bitter joke.

Eleanor’s mind drifted. Rose’s sobs faded as if from a great distance. Her body no longer felt like her own. Slowly, the world around her went silent, and her awareness faded too…

...

Dying felt strangely unreal, like something slipping quietly through her fingers. The poison, just as the apothecary promised—colorless, tasteless, painless—took her like a breeze in sleep.

But…

That little ache in her chest—what was that lingering sorrow still holding on?