Chapter 2: Within Walls of Jade

The soft rustle of silk, unfamiliar and heavy, stirred her from sleep.

The bed beneath her was the finest she had ever touched — smooth brocade cushions, jade-carved bedposts, and embroidered curtains that danced faintly with the morning breeze. Yet it all felt foreign, like she’d awakened in someone else’s dream.

A quiet knock echoed against the wooden screen.

“Princess Consort,” came a gentle voice, “It is time to dress.”

She didn’t reply.

The girl who entered — no older than sixteen — was clad in pale green robes and bowed deeply. “I am Meilan. I will serve you now.”

The princess rose slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the red silk bedding.

“They sent you to dress me like one of them,” she said, not unkindly.

Meilan hesitated. “The Prince instructed... it would please the court, if you wore—”

“Let them be displeased,” the princess murmured. Her hand moved to her travel bundle. Inside, wrapped in plain cloth, lay a hairpin of white jade and gold — the only thing she had left from her mother.

She fixed it in her hair. “I will wear this.”

Meilan bowed again, eyes lowered. But her silence spoke volumes.

The hall was cold.

Though decorated with scrolls and priceless art, the room where she met the prince felt more like a stage. He sat at the head, straight-backed, his dark robes marked with the golden sigil of his dynasty — a dragon entwined with flames.

“You are late,” he said without looking at her.

“I was mourning,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “Time passes differently when one is buried.”

For a brief moment, something flickered across his expression — the barest twitch of surprise. Then it was gone.

He gestured for her to sit — at the lowest corner of the table.

She obeyed.

Court ladies whispered behind their sleeves.

“Does she understand our customs?” one said.

“Or is her barbarian tongue too proud to learn?” another added with a laugh.

The princess sipped her tea quietly, then set the cup down with grace.

“I was not aware,” she said softly, “that refinement now means mocking the dead.”

A sharp silence followed.

Even the prince’s hand stilled over his bowl.

Later, as Meilan led her through the gardens, her steps slowed.

There, hanging near a pavilion, was a tapestry of a white qilin — its horn broken, its hooves running through clouds. Her breath caught.

That tapestry had once hung in her brother’s study.

She walked to it and placed a hand gently on the fabric.

“Did you know?” she asked Meilan. “This was stitched by my brother’s hand.”

Meilan said nothing.

“I wonder,” the princess whispered, “what else they’ve stolen from us.”

Unseen by them, a shadow lingered behind the stone lanterns — a man watching in silence, lips pressed into a tight line.

That night, the palace was still.

She wandered, pretending she was in her own kingdom again — barefoot, unseen. A crack in the wooden wall caught her attention.

“…she’s only a placeholder,” said a voice behind it. “The Emperor will arrange a better match once the border alliances are stable.”

“So the Prince must tolerate her,” another said, “until her use runs dry.”

Her hands clenched. And yet, she smiled.

If she was a piece on the board, she would learn how to move.

Not for revenge. Not yet.

But for power.

For survival.

For something more.

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