****
The journey to the kingdom of Yue was long, but nothing compared to the stares that followed the twins as they entered its golden gates. Word of their gifts had already drifted farther than they realized; servants whispered behind silk fans, and guards stiffened as if they had seen ghosts.
For Yín Shu, with her silver hair catching the afternoon sun like liquid moonlight, it was both thrilling and annoying. She strutted through the marble streets as if she owned them, grinning at the gasps she drew.
"Careful," Mo Yao muttered beside her, adjusting the black cloak around her shoulders. Her voice was soft but firm, her eyes scanning for danger. "Not all eyes are kind."
Yín Shu rolled her eyes. "If they stare, let them. I'd rather dazzle than hide."
Behind them, Zhao Lian trailed awkwardly, balancing a satchel of scrolls almost as large as himself. "I don't think dazzling is a military strategy," he murmured, nearly tripping on the polished stone steps.
The three were led into the Hall of Radiance, the grand palace chamber where Yue's court gathered. The air smelled of incense and roasted pheasant, and golden lanterns painted the room with warm light. At the far end, upon a throne carved with dragons, sat the King of Yue. His smile was wide, but his eyes measured the twins as if weighing their worth.
"Princesses of the northern realm," he boomed, his voice echoing off marble columns, "and their faithful companion. Welcome to Yue."
The banquet began. Musicians plucked zithers, dancers swirled in ribbons of crimson, and the air thickened with laughter and wine. Yet, beneath the merriment, Mo Yao felt the weight of unseen eyes.
"Look to the right of the dais," Zhao Lian whispered, leaning close. "There, by the shadows."
Mo Yao followed his gaze.
The man leaned in the shadowed corner, silent as if carved from the darkness itself. Black hair tied back in a blade-straight line, his features were too sharp, too precise — the kind of face that looked made for cutting rather than smiling. His eyes, obsidian and steady, lingered on her with a stillness that felt like a knife pressed against her throat. Handsome, yes… but not the kind one admired. He was the kind one survived.
"That," Zhao Lian continued under his breath, "is said to be Lián Hēi. Barely nineteen. A shadow-for-hire. The King claims him as a 'protector,' but I've heard whispers he was once an assassin sent to silence rulers instead."
Mo Yao felt his gaze touch hers, just for a flicker of a heartbeat. Cold, unyielding. She looked away first.
Meanwhile, Yín Shū was oblivious, her attention caught by the herald announcing with dramatic flair:
"Presenting His Highness, Prince Rén Jiāo of Yue!"
The young man who entered was a burst of warmth in a hall heavy with politics. Seventeen, with dark hair tied loosely, he wore silk robes embroidered with silver cranes. His movements were graceful but slightly clumsy, as if his limbs hadn't quite caught up to his height. And when he bowed before the King, he nearly stepped on his own robe, earning a ripple of polite chuckles from the court.
Yín Shu snorted with laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, he's perfect," she whispered.
"Perfectly awkward," Mo Yao corrected, but Yín Shu didn't care.
The boy standing before her did not look much like a prince. His robe wasn't like those of royalty. his hair half-tamed at best, and when he bowed, he nearly tripped over the them. But when he looked up — eyes wide, golden-brown and bright as dawn — Yín Shu felt her breath catch. There was no polish, no practiced charm, only warmth so unguarded it felt dangerous in its own way. A prince, yes… but more like sunlight that had learned to wear human skin.
The Prince was soon seated near them, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. "You must be the northern princesses," he said with a shy smile. "I've heard… well, many things."
"Good things, I hope," Yín Shu grinned, leaning closer than etiquette allowed.
He flushed, fumbling with his cup of tea. "Ah....yes, of course. Good things."
Mo Yao watched the exchange with a faint sigh. Yín Shu always charged toward life without hesitation, but Mo Yao couldn't shake the feeling that every word in this hall carried traps.
As the feast wore on, Lian Hei never moved from his post in the shadows. Once, when Yín Shu's laughter rang too brightly, Mo Yao felt his gaze sharpen, cold as steel. He was watching them—watching her.
When the banquet ended and lanterns burned low, the King rose. "Tomorrow," he declared, "we honor our guests with a tour of Yue's inner sanctum. Rest well, princesses. May tonight's light guide your path."
The guests dispersed. Zhao Lian was already dozing against a column, clutching his satchel. Yín Shu skipped ahead, humming a tune she had picked up from the dancers.
But Mo Yao lingered. For as she stepped toward the courtyard, a shadow peeled away from the pillar.
Lian Hei.
They stood face-to-face, the banquet noise fading behind them. He was taller up close, his presence unnervingly calm.
"You carry yourself like one who expects attack," he said flatly, his voice low and precise.
Mo Yao stiffened. "…And you hide yourself like one who plans it."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it came. "Sharp tongue. Perhaps sharper than your blade."
Her hand twitched toward her sash, but he raised his palms in mock peace.
"Not tonight, princess. Tonight, I am but shadow. But shadows see what others do not." His eyes flicked briefly toward Yín Shū in the distance. "Keep your sister close. Not everyone here welcomes your light."
Before she could respond, he melted back into the darkness, leaving only the echo of his warning.
Mo Yao stood in the courtyard, heart steady but thoughts spiraling. She knew then: Yue was no sanctuary. It was a web. And both her sister's laughter and her own silence had already caught someone's attention.