The Queen did not raise her voice after the doors closed.
That was when she was most dangerous.
She returned to her chambers slowly, every step measured, every breath steady. Anger had already burned itself out on the First Prince's face. What remained was calculation.
A maid knelt as she entered. Another followed, then another—heads bowed, eyes lowered.
"Leave us," the Queen said calmly.
All but one withdrew.
The remaining woman was older, dressed plainly, her presence so unremarkable that most would forget her the moment they turned away. She had served the Queen since before the First Prince was born.
The Queen removed her outer robe and sat before the mirror.
"Has the general returned to his residence?" she asked, her voice idle.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the woman replied. "General Jin Wei and Lady Xueyi were escorted out of the inner court before dusk."
The Queen smiled faintly.
"Good."
She lifted a jade hairpin from the table, turning it slowly between her fingers.
"My son," she said, almost thoughtfully, "has grown foolish."
The woman said nothing.
"He mistook affection for strength," the Queen continued. "And Jin Wei—" her smile thinned, "—has always believed distance could protect what he values."
She set the hairpin down with a soft *click*.
"Both are wrong."
Her gaze lifted to the mirror, sharp and cold.
"A lesson is required."
The woman lowered her head further. "How does Your Majesty wish to proceed?"
The Queen stood.
"Lady Xueyi must die."
The words were spoken lightly, as if discussing the removal of a stain.
"She will not disappear," the Queen continued. "Nor fall ill conveniently. No accidents that invite sympathy."
She turned.
"She will die because she stood too close to power."
The woman's expression did not change. "Public or silent, Your Majesty?"
The Queen considered.
"Silent," she said. "But unmistakable."
She walked toward the window, looking out over the palace roofs glowing under lantern light.
"Make sure my son understands that this is the price of weakness," she added. "And make sure Jin Wei understands that borders cannot protect what belongs to the court."
A pause.
"She is close to him," the Queen said softly. "That makes her perfect."
---
That same night, the First Prince hurled himself against the locked doors of his chamber.
"Mother!" he shouted, fury and terror cracking through his voice. "You can't do this—open the doors!"
The guards did not move.
He slid down against the wood, breath ragged, nails digging into his palms.
"She's innocent," he whispered hoarsely. "She hasn't done anything wrong…"
Outside, the corridor was silent.
Unaware of the verdict already passed, Xueyi arrived at the **General Pavilion** just as night settled fully over the capital.
Unlike the palace, the pavilion was quiet in a familiar way. No painted smiles, no perfumed corridors—just open space, stone railings, and the faint scent of iron carried by the evening wind. Lanterns hung high, practical rather than decorative.
Jin Wei stood near the railing, arms folded behind his back, his silhouette sharp against the night sky.
Xueyi approached and stopped beside him.
"You look like you're guarding the pavilion from ghosts," Xueyi said lightly.
Jin Wei didn't turn. "Ghosts are easier. They don't lie."
Xueyi laughed softly and leaned against the railing. "Then what are you guarding it from?"
"Courtiers," Jin Wei replied without hesitation.
Xueyi tilted his head, amused. "How terrifying."
Jin Wei finally glanced at him. "You survived the Queen's gaze today. That alone makes you dangerous."
"That's unfair," Xueyi said. "I was perfectly polite."
"That's what worries me."
Xueyi smiled, eyes bright under the lantern light. "You're tense."
"I'm aware."
"You always look like this before a storm," Xueyi added thoughtfully. "Should I start running now?"
Jin Wei's lips twitched—barely.
"If you do," he said, "I'll catch you."
Xueyi raised a brow. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
Jin Wei met his gaze fully this time. "A guarantee."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment.
Then Xueyi spoke again, casually, as if discussing the weather.
"The Queen invited me to a prayer ceremony tomorrow."
Jin Wei's expression darkened instantly.
"She doesn't pray," he said flatly.
Xueyi nodded. "That was my impression as well."
"You're not going alone," Jin Wei said.
Xueyi smiled faintly. "I wasn't planning to."
He paused, then added, teasing, "Besides, if something happens, at least I'll be able to say the General Pavilion fed me well before my demise."
Jin Wei turned fully toward her now.
"Don't joke about that."
Xueyi blinked, surprised—not by the words, but by the edge in his voice.
"…Alright," he said quietly.
Jin Wei exhaled slowly, then reached out and adjusted Xueyi's cloak, his movements careful, almost gentle.
"Stay where I can see you," he said. "In this city, that's the safest place."
Xueyi smiled, softer this time. "You say that as if you're not the most dangerous thing here."
Jin Wei didn't deny it.
From far away, within palace walls that glittered with false peace, a woman had already decided how the lesson would be taught.
And in the General Pavilion—steady, unguarded, and briefly warm—two people stood unaware that the night before the blade always felt like this.