Marry, Breed, Obey—Or Else...

For a moment, Jo hesitates, unsure of what to do. There is no way to grovel or beg if she is standing, but she can't disobey the Emperor's mother. Slowly, she rises to her feet, her legs shaking beneath her. She keeps her eyes downcast, afraid to meet Mother's gaze, but the woman reaches out and tilts Jo's chin up with a single, imperious finger.

Jo's breath catches as she finally looks at the Mother. She is shorter than Jo had expected, her stature slight but her presence commanding.

Her face is unveiled, revealing features that are striking, though not conventionally beautiful. Her skin is a deep, golden brown, smooth, and flawless, and her almond-shaped eyes are dark and piercing, as though they can see straight into Jo's soul. Her nose is long and aquiline, a feature that gives her face a regal, almost otherworldly quality. Without it, she might have looked ordinary, but with it, she is unforgettable.

The Mother studies Jo for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, as if satisfied with what she sees. "Yes," she murmurs, more to herself than to Jo. "You will be perfect."

Her eyes meet Jo's again, and Jo feels as though she is being weighed and measured, her worth determined in an instant. "What is your name?"

"Jo, my lady, if it please you," Jo mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Mother shakes her head, her lips twisting into a faint smile. "No, that is not proper," she says firmly. Her mouth is painted a deep, rich red, the color of blood or rubies, and it contrasts sharply with the gold of her skin. "We will call you Joana, from now on. It was the name of an old friend. But we will take an 'N' out. That is how the Northerners spell it." She pauses, her gaze narrowing slightly. "You are Northern, aren't you? You have the look."

Jo's breath hitches, and she feels a sudden, inexplicable pang of fear. She doesn't know how to answer. Her mother had never spoken of where they came from and had never given her any clues about her heritage. All Jo knows is that her mother had been a prostitute, a woman who had lived and died in shame. She had always said that Jo would hate her if she knew the truth, but Jo had never understood what she meant.

"I don't know, my lady," Jo says, her voice trembling. "My mother… she was a prostitute. She never talked about where she came from. I think she was ashamed of it." The words feel heavy on her tongue, and she swallows hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. "She used to say that I wouldn't forgive her if I knew the truth. That I'd hate her."

A pale look comes to the mother's face...

"Are you a prostitute?" the Mother asks, her voice sharp and direct, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Jo flinches at the question, her cheeks burning. "No," she answers quickly, her voice trembling. "When my mother died, they wanted me to pay for my upkeep—with it. But I refused and left." Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of her past. Her mother had paid for them both to stay in the Street of Silk, but it hadn't been enough. Not enough to keep Jo from running, not enough to keep her from stealing, not enough to keep her from ending up here.

The Mother's expression softens slightly, though her eyes remain sharp and calculating. "So you remain a maiden?" she asks, her tone probing.

Jo nods, her throat tight. "Yes, my lady."

The Mother exhales, a sound of quiet relief. "Good. That is very good."

Jo frowns, her confusion growing. "Forgive me, my lady," she begins hesitantly, "but I do not understand."

The Mother steps closer, her gaze piercing. "Do you know what I saw today, Joana?" she asks, emphasizing the name she has given her. "I saw a survivor. Someone who only needed a chance to thrive." Her eyes sweep over Jo's dirty, blood-stained clothes, taking in the evidence of her struggles. "We must give you this chance."

"A chance for what?" Jo asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mind races, trying to make sense of the Mother's words. What could a woman like her possibly want from someone like Jo?

The Mother raises an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "Do you know how the system works?" she asks. "How does an emperor have children?"

Jo shakes her head, her confusion deepening. "No, my lady."

The Mother sighs as if explaining something obvious to a child. "An emperor is apart from common men. Better. It is not proper for a lesser house to be married to him through the work of their daughters." She steps closer, her voice lowering. "For an emperor to produce children, he has a series of women to engage with him. Ladies, consorts, concubines. Trusted females of good standing and breeding, great beauty and strength." She pauses, her eyes locking onto Jo's. "And I want you to join their ranks. I want you to enter the imperial harem."

Jo's breath catches in her throat. "Me?" she stammers, her face growing hot. "B..But I'm lowborn."

The Mother dismisses her protest with a flick of her hand. "Lowborn women can be brought to the harem if they have an imperial sponsor willing to vouch for them," she says. Her gaze lingers on Jo, assessing her. "Look at you, Joana. You're beautiful, you're bold, you're strong. And I am willing to speak for you. To pay for your entrance and see you serve my son as one of his concubines."

Jo's mind races, her thoughts a tangled mess. "The Mother wouldn't sponsor me if she didn't want something from me," she murmurs, more to herself than to the woman before her. "What does she want me to do for her?"