The pavilion emptied slowly after Mingyu's final command, but the silence left behind lingered like smoke after a fire. The guards didn't look at one another. The ministers didn't murmur as they left. Even the Emperor's oldest advisors walked like men who knew their time had ended—like stones dislodged from a crumbling cliff, too proud to scream as they fell.
Outside, the wind howled through the bare trees. The scent of pine and old blood mingled on the cold breeze. The head of the Third Prince still lay behind them in the tent, forgotten by all but the flies.
Zhu Mingyu didn't stop walking until they reached the edge of the encampment. Only then did he slow, turning his head slightly toward the figure beside him.
"You didn't need to follow me."
"I know," Zhao Xinying replied. Her voice was quiet, but not soft. "But I wanted to see what you'd do next."
