Snow had not yet fallen, but the wind already howled through the inner courtyards of the imperial palace like wolves searching for prey. Winter loomed ever nearer. The Crown Princess Qin Yelan had always endured the cold in silence, but this year, something in the wind felt sharper. Thinner. Less forgiving.
And her enemies were growing bolder.
In the hushed corridors of the palace, whispers traveled faster than light. Princess Zhaoying—the king's favored daughter from a lesser consort—had long harbored jealousy. Everyone knew it. Everyone ignored it. She wore her smile like jade, bright and polished, and spoke softly even as she maneuvered blades behind her sleeves.
Zhaoying was next in line beneath Yelan, and though the gap between them was vast in rank, she clawed at it like a starving animal, desperate for more. Where Yelan had elegance, restraint, and the trust of the people, Zhaoying had manipulation and silence. She wove allies out of discontent, turning the other princesses—once fond of Yelan—into sharp-eyed spectators of her fall.
One had even tried to poison Yelan's bathwater a season ago.
She had known.
She had said nothing.
Because Yelan had learned early that the moment you cried out, you admitted weakness. Instead, she let her enemies think she remained unaware while quietly unraveling their threads from beneath her stillness.
But lately, the palace had shifted.
The king remained active and strong, yet he watched with a wary eye. He did not intervene. Whether out of calculation or distance, he let the inner court simmer. Perhaps he wished to see who emerged intact.
And so the game continued.
Yelan had no illusions about her safety. Her power as Crown Princess was ceremonial in many ways—a title that made her a threat but gave her little in return. Her duties were endless. Her influence, contested. And Zhaoying… Zhaoying was growing impatient.
One snowy morning, Yelan stood at the eastern palace veranda, watching the gardeners rake fallen leaves into quiet mounds. She sipped tea without warmth.
Her head maid approached quietly. "Your Highness, a banquet has been arranged."
"Another one?"
"The Grand Empress Dowager is hosting it. Tonight. In honor of the celestial alignment."
Yelan said nothing for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Prepare the indigo robes."
---
That evening, the palace was transformed. Golden lanterns lined the eaves like stars brought down from the heavens. The halls glowed with candlelight. Musicians played soft guqin melodies while dancers in white and gold silk spun like drifting snow.
The banquet had begun.
Princess Zhaoying arrived early, draped in crimson trimmed with ivory fur, playing the part of the dutiful royal daughter. She greeted ministers, flirted with young nobles, and sat beside the Dowager with a calm expression that barely veiled the delight in her eyes.
Crown Princess Yelan entered just before the second round of toasts, clad in deep blue robes embroidered with silver phoenixes. Her hair was pinned high with a single jade ornament. She walked with the poise of snowfall—silent, flawless.
The moment she entered, silence swept briefly through the hall.
She bowed respectfully to the Grand Empress Dowager, who smiled warmly but said nothing.
The other princesses offered forced smiles.
Yelan returned none of them.
She took her place quietly, and the banquet continued.
Plates of delicate dumplings, sweet taro, and roasted chestnuts were served. Wine flowed. A poet recited a verse about the twin moons rising together. But Yelan remained alert, barely touching her food.
At one point, a servant approached with a silver cup.
"It's chilled pear wine, Your Highness," he said. "From your personal kitchens."
She accepted it without suspicion, noting the figure who stood behind him—her own carriage driver.
She took a sip.
And the world shifted.
The music became distant. Her heartbeat slowed. A strange warmth spread through her limbs, and the soft candlelight grew blinding.
She rose to her feet slowly.
"I need air," she whispered.
No one stopped her.
She drifted through the side corridors, vision swimming. The cold stone walls wavered. She heard footsteps but couldn't tell if they were hers. Then—
A young man turned the corner, startled. A low-ranking official's son. Barely older than a page. Their eyes met. He tried to bow, but she swayed forward.
There was a gentle push.
A room behind her. The door clicked shut.
The corridors remained silent.
From the end of the hall, Princess Zhaoying lingered in the shadows, dressed in red, lips curved into a perfect smile. One hand rested calmly over her stomach, the other holding a folded fan. The golden glow of the banquet lanterns flickered against her eyes like flames licking the edge of victory.
She watched the closed door where the Crown Princess had just stumbled in.
And she whispered, quiet enough for only the night to hear:
"By tomorrow morning… it'll all be over. Let's see how you escape this, elder sister. You will be ruined."
Her smile deepened, sharp as a blade beneath silk.
"The palace belongs to those who know how to kill slowly."