The scent of sandalwood drifted first, delicate and sweet. Then came the iron—hot, metallic, and unmistakably blood.
I sat at my vanity, the ceremonial gold phoenix crown pressing into my scalp. Outside, the Lunar Festival fireworks shook the palace walls like the heartbeat of a dying giant. Inside, the silence suffocated me.
"Your Highness… the prince is here," Xiaohua whispered. My handmaid looked as though she were dissolving into the shadows.
Zhenkai. My betrothed.
The man I was meant to marry to unite the North and South. I had studied his face in ink-wash scrolls—sharp-eyed, distant, a young wolf destined to conquer empires. I had wondered what it would take to make him look at me at all.
The doors didn't open. They exploded.
A nightmare in black silk and silver plating stepped into the room. His armor was streaked with steaming blood. Behind him, screams shredded the halls as my father's Royal Guard fell like wheat under a scythe.
"You—" I rose, my chair toppling. "What have you done? Where is my father?"
He didn't answer. In three predatory strides, he was in front of me. His hand gripped my throat—not to crush, but to command. His thumb grazed my jaw, a touch terrifyingly intimate amidst the carnage.
"I am trying to save you," he hissed, his voice a low vibration against my skin. "Choose—fast."
Through the shattered window, the Great Hall burned. My father's banners were being torn down, replaced by the black-crested sun of the North.
An arrow shattered the vanity mirror. Zhenkai shoved me down, shielding me with his body. I was pinned beneath the weight of iron and the scent of smoke. He pressed a jagged dagger into my palm.
"Run. Disappear. If I ever see you again, Meilin, I cannot promise your survival."
That night, the Princess died. I leapt from Tianlong Tái into the freezing currents of the Xuán Hé. My crown sank—a golden testament to a finished life. What surfaced was ice, steel, and fire.
The girl of silk was gone. A blade of shadow remained.
— Zhenkai —
The weight of the sword in my hand felt like a mountain. The weight of the secret in my chest was heavier.
My father's generals were a pack of starved hounds at my back. I had two choices: watch them butcher the girl I had spent a year dreaming over, or become the monster she would hate forever to give her a chance to run.
I chose the monster.
I burst into her chambers, the smell of her sandalwood perfume hitting me like a physical blow. She looked like a goddess in that crown—too beautiful for the world I was about to burn. When I grabbed her throat, my hand shook. I prayed she couldn't feel it. I needed her to believe I had already killed her.
Run, Meilin, I screamed in my head. Hate me, but run.
I tackled her as the glass shattered, shielding her from the shards. For one heartbeat, she was pinned beneath me. I could smell orchids and copper. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her the truth.
Instead, I pressed the dagger into her hand. I made my voice as cold as the iron I wore.
"If I ever see you again, Meilin, I cannot promise your survival."
I watched her jump. My heart stopped when I heard the splash. I stood there, knuckles white on my sword, as my father's men rushed in.
"The Princess?" General Fang demanded.
I turned, my face a mask of bored cruelty. "She fell," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "The Southern line is ended. Clean up the mess."
I walked away from the window, leaving my heart at the bottom of the river. I had saved her life—and condemned myself to live as her executioner.