The moment the heavy cedar doors of the East Palace slid shut behind us, the terrifying, unyielding Warlord mask completely melted off Akira’s face.

He slumped back against the door, letting out a long, ragged exhale that sounded like he had been holding it in for the last hour.

I didn’t blame him. We had just walked away from an assassination attempt, a framed prince, and a hijacked magic ritual, all before dessert was even served.

"I am going to throw up."

I looked down. Yuki was no longer a fluffy white cat. The twelve-year-old boy was lying flat on his back on the tatami mats, clutching his stomach and groaning miserably. His white cat ears were pinned flat against his head.

"Are you hurt?" I knelt down next to him, panic spiking in my chest. "Did the Emperor’s magic hit you?"

"No," Yuki gagged, rolling onto his side. "I hit him. But do you have any idea how much raw earth energy flows through the capital’s leylines? I had to swallow the current to flip it! It’s like eating a ten-course banquet of pure, unrefined spicy rocks in three seconds! I have massive spiritual indigestion."

To prove his point, Yuki let out a loud burp. A tiny, glowing pebble of pure yellow light shot out of his mouth, clattering harmlessly against the floorboards before turning to dust.

"You flipped a localized leyline array by yourself," Akira said, pushing off the door and walking over. His amber eyes were filled with genuine, grudging respect. "Most Grand Mages would have been incinerated. You saved my life, Yuki."

Yuki cracked one glowing turquoise eye open.

"I accept praise, premium tuna, and formal apologies for calling me a feral furball," the ancient spirit grumbled. "But mostly, I just want a nap. My spiritual vessel feels like a bloated balloon."

"Go sleep," I laughed softly, patting his white hair. "You earned it."

Yuki didn’t even bother floating. He just dramatically army-crawled across the floorboards toward a pile of silk cushions in the corner, muttering about how ungrateful humans never understand the burdens of divinity.

I stood up, wincing as the heavy iron mesh vest dug sharply into my ribs. The adrenaline of the Golden Hall was finally wearing off, leaving me feeling bruised and completely exhausted.

"Yua?" I called out softly, looking toward the servant’s quarters. "Are you awake? I need to get out of this armor before my spine snaps."

There was no answer. The East Palace was dead silent. The servants were probably terrified of the chaos happening in the main keep and were hiding in their rooms.

"Turn around," Akira murmured, stepping up close behind me.

I didn’t argue. I turned my back to him.

His large, calloused hands gently brushed my hair over my shoulder. His fingers were incredibly warm against the nape of my neck as he found the thick silk knots of my sash. He untied the deep indigo obi with practiced ease, letting the heavy silk pool onto the floor.

He peeled away the outer layers of the formal Kamakura gown, tossing them aside until I was left in just my white under-robe and the heavy, dark iron mesh vest tightly laced over my chest.

"Take a deep breath," Akira instructed softly.

I inhaled, and he quickly unlaced the leather ties at the side of the armor. The moment the heavy iron slipped off my shoulders, I let out a massive sigh of relief. My lungs could finally expand properly.

Akira tossed the chainmail onto a wooden chest. It landed with a heavy, metallic thud.

He didn’t step back. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling my back flush against his broad chest. He rested his chin on top of my head, holding me so tightly I felt entirely anchored to the floor.

"You did not flinch," Akira whispered, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that sent a warm shiver down my spine. "When the assassins dropped from the ceiling, and the room descended into pure panic... you just drew your fan and guarded my back."

"I told you," I smiled, leaning my weight completely against him. "We don’t crack. And besides, I knew you had the front covered. You threw three grown men through a wall without even drawing your sword."

Akira chuckled, though the sound was dark and strained.

He turned me around in his arms, his expression growing serious.

"The Emperor’s plan failed tonight," Akira said, his amber eyes searching mine. "But it did more than just ruin his ritual. Yuki, how bad is the damage to his core?"

From the pile of cushions in the corner, Yuki groaned loudly.

"I blasted him with a concentrated wave of raw earth magic," the cat-boy yelled without opening his eyes. "The guy is suffering from Spiritual Rot. His core is like a cracked glass cup. I just poured boiling water into it. He isn’t going to die tonight, but his timeline just vanished. He is running on fumes."

"Which means," I reasoned, a cold knot tightening in my stomach, "he can’t afford to be patient anymore."

"Exactly," Akira nodded, his jaw locking. "He planned to drain me publicly, disguised as a blessing ceremony to keep his hands clean. Now, he doesn’t have the luxury of time, and he doesn’t have the luxury of an audience. A desperate, dying animal is the most dangerous kind."

"He’s going to strike in the dark," I realized. "He’s going to send his own men, or the Imperial Mages, directly to the East Palace."

"He will try," the Demon Prince corrected, his eyes flashing with a sudden, terrifying blue light. "But he will find the East Palace is not an easy cage to crack."

I stepped back, pacing a short line across the tatami mats. My mind was racing, falling right back into the familiar, comforting rhythm of basement-rat survival planning.

"Okay, let’s look at the board," I said, ticking points off on my fingers. "Jin and Lady Kiku are in the dungeon. They are out of the game. Lady Renge played the hero, but she doesn’t know about the Emperor’s sickness. She thinks this is just politics. The Emperor is sick, desperate, and running out of time."

I stopped pacing and looked at my husband.

"We are totally blind," I stated flatly. "Yuki ate all the listening wards, which is great for our privacy, but it means we have zero idea what the Emperor is planning in his private chambers. If he sends an elite mage squad to extract you, we won’t know until they kick the doors down."

"I can set up perimeter wards around the courtyard," Akira offered. "I can sense anyone with a magical core who steps within a hundred yards of this pavilion."

"That stops them from sneaking up on us," I agreed. "But it doesn’t give us his playbook. We need eyes inside his central keep. We need to know exactly how sick he is, and exactly who he is giving orders to."

"Kitsune, the central keep is heavily guarded by the Imperial Onmyodo Division," Akira warned. "You cannot sneak in there like you did the Archives. The Emperor’s personal guards are trained to sense physical intruders, not just magical ones."

"I’m not going to sneak in," I smiled, a brilliant, entirely reckless idea forming in my brain.

Akira narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel terrified when you smile like that?"

"Because I am a genius," I said, walking over to him and grabbing the lapels of his white sleep tunic. "Akira, who cleans the Emperor’s floors? Who changes his bedsheets? Who pours his bitter tea?"

Akira blinked. "The palace servants."

"Exactly," I grinned. "And what am I?"

"You are the Crown Princess."

"Before that," I corrected. "I am a basement rat. I spent nine years carrying laundry and scrubbing ash. I know how servants talk. I know how they think. The nobles treat them like they are completely invisible."

"They do," Yuki chimed in from the cushions. "It is a severe character flaw of the human aristocracy. They ignore the people who handle their food. It’s wildly stupid."

"I am going to build a spy network," I declared, the adrenaline rushing back into my blood. "The Emperor thinks he has the high ground because he controls the mages and the nobles. But I’m going to take the low ground. I’m going to recruit the maids, the cooks, and the stable hands. They see everything."

Akira stared at me. The sheer, overwhelming devotion in his eyes made my breath catch.

"You are going to overthrow the Emperor using the laundry maids," Akira said slowly, as if tasting the words.

"I’m going to try," I shrugged.

A massive, proud smirk broke across his face. He wrapped his hands around my waist and easily lifted me off the floor, spinning me around once before setting me back down.

"Do it," the Warlord grinned. "Build your army of rats, my beautiful wife. And if anyone tries to stop you, I will burn them to ash."

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had since we arrived in this cursed city.

The Emperor was dying. The nobles were backstabbing each other. And the basement rat was about to steal the entire palace right out from under their noses.