Satakhetem listened to Aiesha’s hesitant words with a soft, understanding tilt of her head. Internally, irritation flickered hot and sharp behind her ribs — how dare this girl refuse her — but none of it showed on her face. Instead, she offered a small, almost wistful smile.

I understand your hesitation, she said gently, her voice warm and patient. You are a mazoi. You value duty and discretion. That is admirable. Truly.

She took a slow step closer, her sapphire eyes soft with careful sincerity.

But think of it this way, Aiesha. If I remain locked away in here while the entire palace celebrates, will they not whisper that I am still a threat? That I sulk and scheme in the shadows?

Satakhetem let out a quiet sigh, glancing toward the doorway where distant music floated in like an invitation.

I only wish to show my face for a short while. To offer my respects to the couple and prove that I can be civil. That I am not the monster some would paint me as.

She reached out and lightly brushed her paw against Aiesha’s wrist — a rare, deliberate gesture of closeness.

You know this palace. You know its people. Walk with me. Stand at my side. With you there, no one can claim I came to cause chaos. You would be doing your duty… and helping me show that Toula’s blood can bring harmony instead of division.

Satakhetem’s voice dropped to something almost conspiratorial, warm and persuasive.

Just for a little while. No scenes. No demands. Only celebration. Will you do this for me, Aiesha?