By the time dawn broke over the palace walls, the hierarchy had already begun to form.
We were no longer just maidens. We were competitors.
The training grounds behind the Maiden Wing were vast, lined with raked gravel paths, paper screens, flowering plum trees, and stone statues of forgotten queens. But it was the centre garden, the Heart Court, where everything happened. There, we were taught how to walk like wind and speak like silk. Where posture mattered more than breath and silence could earn more than a scream.
We began at sunrise.
"Back straight! Eyes forward!" the tutor barked.
Her name was Mistress Choi, and she had the face of a poet and the voice of a general.
My shoulders ached as I held a shallow bow for the fourth time that morning. Sweat clung to my skin beneath layers of silk.
"To survive here, you must be perfect," Mistress Choi said, circling us like a hawk. "You may bleed beneath your smile. You may weep behind your eyes. But your face must remain serene."
One girl sobbed quietly. Another fainted outright. She was dragged away like a broken doll. No one dared ask where she went.
I gritted my teeth and endured. Every ache was a bruise earned, every silence a lesson swallowed.
We learned to pour tea in silence. To glide instead of walk. To recite the king's lineage without faltering. We were meant to become ornaments, poised and dangerous.
After breakfast, we were taken to the Harmony Hall, a grand space with polished wooden floors and wide mirrors lining each wall. There, Mistress Sook instructed us in the art of dance.
"Each movement must be soft but certain," she said. "Like a whisper that can still cut."
We practiced the Court Reverence, the Swan Step, and the Veil Turn until our feet throbbed. We danced with fabric draped over our arms, trying not to let it slip. Those who dropped their cloths were made to start again. No exceptions.
At midday, we were given a brief rest. Our hands blistered from writing. Our legs ached from the stances. Even sitting felt like a punishment. I ate in silence, every muscle trembling. Across from me, a girl picked at her food with shaking fingers.
"It gets worse tomorrow," she muttered, her eyes distant.
After lunch, we returned to study.
In the library chamber, we were drilled on palace history, dynasties, and the five court virtues. We were expected to memorize entire genealogies.
"Failure to recall a name during court recitation is a mark of dishonor," said Master Bo, his long beard twitching as he spoke. "And dishonor earns silence. Silence earns obscurity. Obscurity is the path to dismissal."
We also studied poems of former queens, essays of war generals, and the symbolism behind every flower in the imperial garden. A single mistake during the royal banquet could mean banishment…or worse.
When I struggled to recall the lineage of the third emperor, Master Bo snapped his fan shut.
"You look like a noble blossom," he said coldly. "Let us pray you are not hollow beneath the petals."
Shame burned my cheeks. I did not answer.
By evening, we were marched to the Calligraphy Pavilion, where we practised writing royal scripts in perfect form. Any smudge was circled. Any hesitation, scolded.
I dipped my brush in ink. My hand trembled.
"Breathe," Mira whispered beside me. "Or you'll snap the brush."
I didn't answer. My focus was on the scroll, on the way my strokes shaped the words.
Even the air felt like it carried weight.
The sun dipped low as we were herded back into the Heart Court for posture drills. Each maiden stood with a heavy book balanced on her head while reciting palace maxims.
"Discipline breeds devotion," we chanted.
"Devotion ensures survival."
One girl dropped her book. She was told to remain kneeling for an hour.
Another tried to fake a fainting spell to escape the drill. Mistress Choi didn't blink.
"You may fall," she said. "But you will rise again. Or you will leave. There are no soft endings in this court."
By the time we were dismissed, the stars were already high. My body screamed with exhaustion, but my mind refused to stop spinning.
This was not a place of luxury. It was a forge. And we were the ore.
Back in my quarters, I collapsed onto the mat. The scent of sandalwood clung to the walls. Every sound seemed louder…the rustle of silk robes, the hush of night wind.
Mira passed by my doorway and paused.
"You didn't break," she said quietly.
"Not yet," I replied.
She smirked. "That's more than most."
And then she was gone.
I lay there in the dark, too tired to dream, too determined to rest.
Tomorrow would be harder.
But I had not come this far to shatter.