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The winter wind in the Forbidden Palace didn't just bite the skin; it whispered secrets of the dead.
Princess Li Qinghe stood by the frozen pond, her face a mask of porcelain perfection. To the world, she was a discarded royal, a fragile bird in a golden cage. But beneath her silken robes, her heart beat with the rhythm of a thousand revenges.
"You are out late, Your Highness."
The voice was like a blade drawn over stone. General Shen Ruojun stepped out of the shadows, her black armor swallowing the dim moonlight. She was the Empire's silent executioner, a woman whose iron will was matched only by her cold, unreadable eyes.
Qinghe didn't flinch. Instead, she turned, a slow, predatory smile playing on her lips. "And the General is always watching. Tell me, Ruojun... is it my life you're guarding, or the throne's many lies?"
Ruojun's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. The tension between them was a physical thing, a cord stretched to the breaking point. "My duty is to ensure the peace of the palace. Your 'ambitions' are a threat to that peace."
"Duty," Qinghe whispered, stepping closer until she could feel the cold radiating from the General's armor. "A beautiful word for a prison. But tell me, after all the blood you've spilled for an ungrateful Emperor... don't you ever crave a fire that doesn't burn for him?"
For a fleeting second, the General's composure cracked. A flicker of something dark and longing crossed her eyes before the mask of stone returned.
"Be careful, Princess," Ruojun said, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. "Fire destroys everything it touches."
"Then let us burn together," Qinghe replied, her gaze locking onto Ruojun's with an intensity that promised either a kingdom or a grave.