My wound had not yet sealed, and still, I stood.
Beneath the silk, blood clung to the bandages like secrets i couldn't keep.
Every step was a quiet defiance, every breath a rebellion against the weight in my chest.
The halls i walked were not mine, though once, they whispered of gold and future.
Now, they spoke only of caution, of silence, of eyes that watched and waited.
I entered the Hall of Blossoms.
A room crafted for harmony, for tea, poetry, music, and the performance of grace. Its high ceilings were painted with flying cranes and clouds; calligraphy scrolls hung like blessings along the red-lacquered beams.
But beauty had a sharp edge today.
The room fell silent at my arrival.
They were all there, the daughters of dukes and ministers, young ladies from ancient clans, wives-to-be and favorites dressed in gauze and brocade, gathered for the Crown Prince's monthly court of women.
Most bowed.
Some stared.
A few gasped, either at the limp in my step or the blood soaking through the lower hem of my sleeve.
Whispers rose before i could breathe.
"She shouldn't be walking."
"She looks pale…"
"I heard she was caught with a blade last night."
"No, I heard she struck someone. Maybe one of the guards—"
I kept my head high.
None of them knew the truth.
Not about last night.
Not about how close i came to dying.
Only Elise and the physician knew and neither were here.
Let them guess.
Let them invent their stories.
That was all they were ever good at.
A ripple moved through the room.
Then—
Mei stepped forward.
Her silk today was lilac, embroidered with butterflies along the hem. She always wore soft colors. Always smiled just enough to seem harmless.
"Crown Princess," she said, voice sweet, expression unreadable. She bowed, not too deep, but enough to escape criticism.
"Lady Mei," I answered, forcing my voice steady.
She straightened. Her eyes flicked down to my bandaged arm. "You're wounded."
"I am," I said plainly.
"From what, I wonder?" she asked, gently enough to seem innocent, but her words carried across the room.
Several girls lowered their fans.
Some even leaned in.
I was about to respond — I don't even know how — when it happened.
A sudden clink. A gasp.
Then—
A scream.
And then chaos.
I didn't see the blade.
I didn't even see the hand that held it.
I only saw the moment Lady Mei's body jerked violently, her eyes going wide with something i couldn't name m, shock? Pain? Betrayal? and then blood.
A sharp, red bloom erupting from her side, soaking through the butterflies on her gown.
She stumbled toward me.
Her fingers reached out, grasping at air or maybe at me and then she fell.
Hard.
Her knees cracked against the tiles, then her hands, then her cheek, dragging silk with her.
Her face turned toward me as she dropped, her mouth trembling, unable to form words.
The blood spread fast, too fast.
A pool beneath her ribs, reaching across the stone.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
Everything froze, the scent of tea, the hush of silk brushing silk, the fragile sound of someone's fan hitting the floor, all of it drowned in that single moment.
Then—
Screams.
Footsteps thundered in.
Guards. Servants. More cries. Someone called for the physician. Another dragged a chair aside to make room.
But no one looked at Mei.
They looked at me.
All of them.
I had not moved.
I had not touched her.
The knife wasn't even in my hand.
And still—
"She did it."
"She was standing right there."
"She's never liked Lady Mei—"
The lies came quick. Too quick.
As if they'd been waiting.
I wanted to shout.
To scream that i didn't do it.
That i had no knife.
That Mei had fallen before i could even blink.
But i said nothing.
Because nothing i said would matter.
Not here.
Not in this court.
Not when they already wanted me gone.
-
I was summoned to the throne chamber.
Not gently. Not kindly. No one offered me help this time, not even the soldier who used to slip me extra rice cakes when Lucien wasn't looking.
He didn't meet my eyes as he delivered the order. Just turned and walked away.
So i followed. Quietly. Slowly.
The wound on my arm throbbed with every step, seeping fresh blood down my side.
But no one noticed.
Or maybe they did.
They just didn't care.
The doors to the chamber were open.
Lucien stood near the dais, dressed in ceremonial white, gold trimming the folds like judgment.
The throne behind him cast a long shadow across the polished floor.
He didn't wait.
"What did you do?" he asked.
Not did you? Not are you all right? Not how did this happen?
Only what did you do?
I stopped a few steps away.
My heart pounded in my throat.
"I didn't—"
"You were there," he cut in. "You hurt her! Just the way you wanted"
"That's not what happened—"
"Then tell me what happened!" His voice thundered through the hall.
I flinched, biting back the tremble in my jaw. "I don't know who attacked her. She fell, right in front of me."
"You expect me to believe that?" he snapped.
My silence answered for me.
His gaze dropped to the blood on my sleeve.
His expression twisted. "You're always stained lately."
That one hurt more than it should have.
He paced once, then stopped, not facing me, but turned just enough that i could see his profile.
The sharp line of his jaw.
The coldness in his mouth.
"You've made this palace a battlefield," he said. "A place where women bleed. Where they die."
His voice lowered, but the danger in it grew.
"By order of the Crown Prince, Crown Princess Seraphine shall receive thirty strokes of the rod. Immediately."
The room stilled.
The guards hesitated.
Even the air seemed unsure.
That punishment was never given to royalty. Not even to concubines of the third rank.
Never to a Crown Princess. Never to his wife.
But no one moved to stop it.
Not even him.
—
The courtyard was cold.
Wind brushed through the cherry trees, stirring the petals above, petals that used to fall into my hair when he smiled at me. Now, there were no petals. Only clouds.
They bound my wrists.
Dragged the back of my robe down.
My back was bare.
The fresh bandages from last night's wound had already begun to slip; blood crusted at the edges.
The strings of my inner garment stuck to my skin.
A soldier lifted the rod.
Then—
Crack.
The first strike landed like fire.
I bit down hard.
My teeth dug into my lower lip.
I refused to scream.
Crack.
Again.
Each one heavier than the last.
I lost count after ten.
The pain blurred into heat, then into something hollow.
My skin split, opened.
Blood mixed with sweat, then with dust.
Tears streamed down my face, not from pain.
From betrayal.
From the face on the balcony who didn't look away. Who didn't flinch. Who didn't care.
Lucien.
By the twentieth strike, I could no longer sit straight.
My body leaned forward, trembling, spine quaking under every breath. The voices around me had gone quiet.
By the thirtieth, I collapsed fully.
My wrists strained against the ropes.
My face hit the stone.
My hair fell loose, hiding my cheek.
Still no one touched me.
Still no one came.
Except—
My eyes flicked up.
Through blurred vision, I found his face again.
Lucien stood unmoved.
Unchanged.
Untouched.
My lips parted.
But no words came.
Only breath.
Only salt.
Only the heavy silence that came after thunder.
And then—
Darkness.
I fainted.
While the tears still streaked down my cheeks and soaked into the cold stone beneath me.