The silence following the crossbow fire was deafening, broken only by the hiss of the dying incense and the frantic thud of my heart against Zhenkai's ribs.
I kept him pinned, my body a shield of silk and hidden steel. I didn't look at the bolts embedded in the mahogany headboard. I looked at the balcony. Shadows shifted in the moonlight—three figures, silhouettes of lethal precision, readying their next volley.
"Stay down," I hissed.
I didn't wait for his permission. I rolled, grabbing a heavy ebony footstool and hurling it toward the window. As the glass shattered further, I launched myself into the fray. My twin blades moved in a silver arc, a dance of desperation. I wasn't just a guard tonight; I was a woman protecting the only truth I had left in the world.
I took the first assassin at the throat. The second at the heart. The third managed to nick my cheek with a poisoned needle before I drove my dagger into his temple.
I stood amidst the bodies, chest heaving, the metallic scent of fresh blood masking the sandalwood. I reached for my mask on the floor—but the heavy double doors of the bedchamber groaned open.
"Your Majesty!"
General Fang burst in, flanked by a dozen armored guards. Their torches turned the room into a chaotic swirl of orange light and long, jagged shadows.
The scene was damning. The Emperor was on the floor, robes disheveled. I was standing over him, blood dripping from my blades, my porcelain mask lying feet away. My face—the face of the "dead" Southern Princess—was fully exposed in the flickering torchlight.
General Fang's eyes widened. He looked from the corpses on the balcony to the girl standing in the center of the room. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face—the smile of a man who had finally found the loose thread to unravel a throne.
"Forty-Seven?" Fang whispered, his voice dripping with false concern. He took a step toward us, his hand resting on the hilt of his heavy broadsword. "Or should I say... Princess Meilin?"
The guards behind him shifted, their spears leveling toward me.
"I found an assassin, General," I said, my voice steady despite the ice in my veins. I didn't hide my face. To hide now was to admit guilt. "I was performing my duty."
"Your duty?" Fang barked a laugh. He looked at Zhenkai, who was slowly rising from the floor, his expression unreadable. "Your Majesty, you have a viper in your bedchamber. A ghost from a fallen house. She isn't here to shield you—she is here to finish what the river couldn't."
Fang turned to his men. "Seize her. By order of the High Council, the Southern survivor is to be executed for treason and attempted regicide."
The guards lunged.
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud, but it had the weight of a falling mountain. Zhenkai stepped forward into the circle of light. He didn't look at Fang. He looked at me—a long, agonizing look that felt like a silent conversation.
"General," Zhenkai said, his voice cold and terrifyingly calm. He walked over to where my mask lay and picked it up. "You forget yourself. You are in my chambers. This woman is not a Princess. She is my Personal Shadow. And she just saved my life while your palace security was busy sleeping."
"Your Majesty, look at her face!" Fang roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She is the girl from the Red Snow! You cannot keep this monster by your side!"
Zhenkai turned to Fang, his eyes turning into pits of obsidian. He stepped so close to the General that the older man had to retreat.
"I see a guard who bled for her Emperor," Zhenkai whispered. He reached out and pressed the porcelain mask back into my hand. "If you ever speak of 'ghosts' or 'Princesses' again, Fang, I will ensure you become a ghost yourself. Clear the bodies. And get out."
Fang's face turned a bruised purple. He knew he was being defied, but he couldn't strike—not yet. He bowed low, a mockery of respect. "As you wish, Your Majesty. But remember... even a Shadow can cast a very long light."
As the room cleared, leaving only the two of us and the scent of death, Zhenkai turned back to me. He didn't move to touch me. The wall was back up, higher and thicker than before.
"The General won't stop," I whispered, clutching the mask until the edges bit into my palm. "He knows who I am now. He will use me to destroy you."
Zhenkai looked at the blood on my cheek—the scratch from the poisoned needle. "Then we have to destroy him first," he said. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, black iron key. "Go to the archives in the West Wing. Look for the 'Red Snow' manifests. My father didn't act alone that night, Meilin. And the man who truly ordered the slaughter... is currently standing at the head of my army."