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The scent of sandalwood and old blood filled the General's private study. Shen Ruojun sat at her desk, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across her scarred armor. In front of her sat Princess Li Qinghe, calmly pouring tea as if they were old friends, and not enemies playing a game of life and death.
"You shouldn't have come here," Ruojun said, her hand resting near the dagger on the table. "If the Emperor knows we are speaking in private, even your royal blood won't save you."
Qinghe set the teapot down with a soft clink. Her eyes, usually as still as a frozen lake, now shimmered with a dangerous spark. "The Emperor is busy celebrating his latest conquest. He has forgotten about the 'fragile' daughter he discarded years ago."
She leaned forward, her voice a silken thread. "But you, General... you haven't forgotten. You see the cracks in his empire. You see the corruption rotting the heart of this palace."
Ruojun stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. She moved like a hunting cat, pinning Qinghe against the stone wall in a heartbeat. Her forearm pressed against the Princess's throat, but not enough to choke—just enough to feel the pulse.
"I am a soldier," Ruojun hissed. "I follow orders. I do not plot treasons with exiled princesses."
Qinghe didn't struggle. Instead, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck, a defiant smile on her lips. "Then kill me, General. End the threat. But we both know that if you wanted me dead, you would have finished it at the pond."
Their breaths mingled in the cold air. The silence was heavy, charged with a strange, forbidden heat. Ruojun's gaze dropped to the Princess's lips for a fraction of a second—a crack in her iron armor.
"What do you want?" Ruojun finally asked, her voice raspy.
"I want the head of the man who killed my mother," Qinghe whispered, her eyes turning into obsidian. "And I want you by my side when I take the throne."