"A princess may be sacrificed, but a kingdom must survive."
The war between the Eastern Empire and the Northern Kingdom had raged for almost a year. Rivers ran red, villages turned to ash, and still, neither side could claim victory. King Aldric of the East, desperate to end the bloodshed, made a decision that would change the fate of two nations.
The Princess of the Eastern Kingdom, his only daughter, would wed the ruthless Emperor of the North—the man whose armies had slaughtered thousands of her people.
When the Royal Princess was told of her fate, she stood frozen in the throne room, her clenched fists hidden beneath the folds of her silk gown.
This is not peace. This is surrender.
But the court whispered: "She is the key. She must endure."
And so, with clenched teeth and eyes veiled in defiance, The Princess was sent across the border—not as a prisoner, but as a bride.
{♤}
The morning air was thick with the scent of burning incense and despair.
Smoke curled lazily from braziers set along the steps of the Eastern Palace, their fires fed with sacred herbs meant to ward off misfortune. The scent clung to Princess Fei's clothes, a cloying reminder of the ceremony's pretense—that this was a divine union, a noble offering to secure peace between kingdoms.
But Fei knew better. This was no divine union. It was a transaction, one bartered behind closed court doors, sealed with silk documents and stamped with imperial seals. Her value had been weighed in terms of strategy and survival.
She stood at the highest step of the stone staircase, her velvet cloak the color of crushed wine. It flared in the breeze like a banner of surrender, though her spine remained straight, unyielding. From there, she looked down upon the capital—a city of grand beauty and subtle cruelty, where courtiers whispered poison behind lacquered fans and smiles hid the sharpest daggers.
Behind her, a frail hand clutched her own.
"Must you go?" the Empress Dowager's voice was a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of a mother's breaking heart.
Fei didn't turn. She couldn't. She had spent the night fortifying herself behind walls of silence. If she turned now, if she saw the pain in her mother's eyes, her armor would shatter.
"Would you rather it be my head on a pike instead?" Her voice came out harder than she meant—cold steel when she had only meant to speak stone.
There was silence. And then, almost brokenly, "Your father had no choice—"
Fei did turn, just enough to let her gaze meet her mother's. The wind tugged a strand of her raven-black hair across her cheek.
"Father traded me like a livestock," she said, her voice flat and bitter. "Spare me his excuses."
The Empress Dowager flinched, lips parted but no answer came. What could she say? That the court needed this alliance? That the empire could not afford another warfront? That her daughter's freedom was the price of national survival?
The palace courtyard echoed with preparation. Three carriages waited beneath the red banners strung from the gates. Fei's was the first—a gilded monstrosity of gold and crimson, too ornate for comfort, too symbolic to be ignored. It looked more like a trophy case than a mode of travel.
The other two carriages carried her maids—Yuna, gentle and hopeful, and Lihua, sharp-tongued and skeptical. Both had volunteered to accompany her north, though Fei knew they had no obligation to follow her into the unknown.
Around the perimeter, Eastern soldiers stood like statues, their bronze armor glinting under the pale sun. They were not merely escorts—they were witnesses. To the princess's departure. To her transformation into a bargaining chip.
At the head of the guards stood General Renshu, his face as unmoving as the stone lion beside the gate. A jagged scar cut through one brow like a war mark from another life.
"Princess," he said gruffly, offering a shallow bow. "We are at your service"
Fei did not acknowledge him. Her eyes were fixed on the great palace gates. Beyond them lay the war-torn roads to the Northern Kingdom—a land of ice and stone and endless snow, where her future lay shackled behind a foreign crown and a man she had never met.
"A cold land" her nursemaid used to whisper, "where winter never leaves, and wolves rule the forests."
Yuna tried to lighten the air, her voice tremulous. "The North is said to have beautiful winters, Your Highness. Snow like powdered sugar over the hills."
"And men like beasts" Lihua muttered, arms crossed.
Fei exhaled. "It doesn't matter what it's like. I won't be there as a guest."
Her hands clenched into fists inside her sleeves. This was not a journey—it was a funeral procession. Her name, her choices, her future—all buried under diplomatic necessity.
Trumpets pierced the silence like ceremonial knives, signaling the time had come. The Emperor stood by the border, eyeing his daughter from afar.
The Empress Dowager turned to her daughter one last time, pressing something small and sharp into her palm. It was a dagger, delicately wrought, no longer than a comb—but the blade glinted with a dangerous sheen. Fei caught the faint scent of crushed nightshade lingering on the handle.
"For protection" her mother whispered, barely audible.
Fei didn't reply. She only closed her fingers around the dagger's hilt. A mother's love couldn't stop fate—but it could still offer teeth.
Without another word, she ascended into the carriage.
The doors shut behind her with a heavy, final click—a sound that echoed like a verdict across the courtyard.
Outside, the soldiers mounted their horses. Hooves clattered like thunder against the stones.
Inside, Yan Fei sat alone, her face expressionless, her heart a furnace of fury and fear.
If the North wanted a bride, they would get one.
But not the meek lamb they expected.
They would get a flame—quiet now, but waiting to burn.