The event, unprecedented in court memory, occurred at the summer solstice, on the evening preceding the Council of Tributary Lords. Her age at the time was given as thirty-six. She was survived by His Majesty, her husband, and by two children: Prince Safin, aged sixteen, and Princess Zeinab, fourteen.

On the night of her vanishing, the consort was seen in her private study, reviewing dispatches from the Thamudic border. A servant, summoned by bell, found the antechamber empty, the windows barred from within, and the loggia secured according to the established procedure. There was no sign of disturbance: the consort’s customary robe remained draped over the back of her writing chair; her ink horn, half-full, stood open on the desk; an unfinished journal entry, dated but unsigned, rested beneath a crystal paperweight. In the adjoining chamber, her bed lay unslept in.

A full audit of the palace commenced at once. The King’s Guard swept all residential quarters, servant tunnels, and garden outbuildings. Scribes inventoried every key, lock, and passage. The riverbank was searched from the southern aqueduct to the refuse canal; all city gates remained sealed throughout the night.

The search was later extended, by royal proclamation, to the five surrounding prefectures: the principalities of Talos, the borderlands of Albion, the nomad steppes to the north, the Tocharian wastes, and the entire breadth of the Thamudic heartland. Heralds posted rewards in every market and at each major crossroads. Witnesses were deposed by the hundred; yet, after twenty days’ labor, not a trace of the consort was found, nor any credible explanation obtained.

The King, upon receiving the report, responded in the manner prescribed by the ancient codes. All ceremonial functions were suspended for nine days. The Sapphire Banner was dipped to half-staff, and the Court entered official mourning. His Majesty authorized unrestricted movement of search parties, personally signed writs of safe passage for volunteers, and expanded the authority of local magistrates to detain and question all persons of interest.

Privately, the King’s demeanor altered little, save for a visible loss of flesh and color. In audience, he maintained perfect composure; but within the private chambers, the king’s sleeplessness became a matter of note to the staff. The head physician observed a decline in appetite, and, by the second month, the royal drafts for pain and sleep had doubled. On two occasions, the King was observed walking the upper halls of the palace at late hours, pausing before the locked doors of his wife’s chambers, but he never entered.

An investigation by the Royal Council yielded no evidence of foul play. All members of the household were accounted for; no stranger entered or left the Palace on the night in question. The most likely explanation, concluded the Chancellor, was “voluntary departure under circumstances known only to the Lady herself.”

In the wake of the loss, state affairs proceeded without visible interruption. Prince Safin assumed a greater share of council responsibilities, especially in matters relating to the Talosian border. He was observed to conduct himself with gravity and composure, attending every session of the High Council and answering correspondence with his mother’s customary discipline. At public events, he stood always at the King’s right hand, and in all proclamations, deferred to his father’s will.

Princess Zeinab was made regent of the northern territories in her mother’s stead. Though young, she executed her duties with notable precision. She presided over council meetings, received foreign envoys, and issued edicts in her own name, always with the careful penmanship for which the Qin are famous. Observers recorded that Zeinab wept only once, on the third morning after her mother’s disappearance, and that she spent the subsequent week in her mother’s chambers, refusing all visitors and even the customary meals.

When she emerged, it was as if a new person had assumed her likeness: her voice was measured, her conduct correct, and her hours of study doubled. Those closest to her reported that she lit a lamp by her mother’s writing desk each night, letting it burn through until dawn, though no one ever saw her read or write at the desk itself.

The siblings, while outwardly unchanged, developed a subtle closeness. Their ways of grieving diverged: the prince through discipline and exertion, the princess through diligence and imitation of her mother’s routines.

Of the consort’s apartments, nothing was altered. Her study remained untouched, save for a weekly cleaning by the chief housekeeper, who replaced wilted flowers with fresh and ensured that the dust never settled for more than a day. The windows were opened each morning and closed before sunset. On the dressing table, her comb and mirror lay as she had left them. The blue silk robe hung, unmoved, over the back of the writing chair. The unlit lamp remained by the side of the bed, wick trimmed and oil replenished. The journal waited for the return of its author. The doors to the inner office were kept locked, and servants posted to intercept any who might disturb the arrangement.

In the court offices, her absence was marked by the silence of the halls. The clerks who once awaited her morning reviews now performed their duties in a hush, as if uncertain whether to grieve or prepare for her return. The consort’s official correspondence was sealed and archived.

In the months that followed, the kingdom prospered. The harvest was abundant, the Thamudic borders held firm, and the Talosian legations reported only minor unrest.

Reports from the field confirmed that Prince Safin, now wedded to Princess Agnes of Talos, had left the outpost at Holmberg and taken residence in the southern capital, where he was said to favor the company of philosophers and mathematicians. Princess Zeinab consolidated her power in Thamud, reforming the Council of Elders and codifying a new legal code, which the scribes described as “an improvement on the Qin system, with additional severity in matters of discipline.” Throughout, the King remained steadfast. His mourning never waned, but his will did not falter, and he ruled with the same patience and force of mind for which his dynasty was renowned.

Of Zhou Yu of the Qin, nothing further is recorded. Her image was painted for the Hall of Ancestors and her name added to the Scroll of Honored Consorts. Each year on the anniversary of her disappearance, the King ordered a memorial service and invited all members of the court to attend. The lanterns were lit, the riverside banners dyed blue, and for a single evening, the silence of the halls was broken by the recitation of poems in her memory.

Thus concludes the account of the disappearance of Queen Zhou Yu. The kingdom remained strong, the royal line unbroken, and the legacy of the consort endured in her children, who governed with the wisdom and resolve she had instilled in them. So recorded by the hand of the Court Historian, in the reign of King Idris II, in the first year of the blue harvest.