On the night the crimson canopy was lifted, I myself cut the golden thread at the sleeve of my bridal gown.
Before the carriage tumbled into quicksand, I still clutched the tiger tally my father—the Emperor—had pressed into my palm, promising me the protection of the imperial guards. Yet those very guards had been slaughtered by “barbarians” a hundred li away. When the blade touched my throat, the “chieftain” removed his wolf-pelt mask—and I laughed.
Behind his ear was a mole—identical to the one on the boy who, at seven, had secretly hidden my kite.
“Your Highness played your part beautifully,” I said, sliding my dagger beneath the leather clasp at his waist to reveal the dark under-robe beneath—still bearing the unsewn wedding motif of the *he jin* ceremony. “Though this pattern is crooked by half an inch. Back then, when you copied *Admonitions for Women* for me, you rewrote each page three times for a single miswritten character. Now you dare botch even your wedding robes?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Suddenly, he seized my wrist and pressed my palm hard against his chest. There was no heartbeat—only a cold bronze plaque, engraved with the falcon-and-hawk sigil reserved for Northern Frontier spies.
Three years ago, he hadn’t been exiled to the northern deserts—he’d gone to infiltrate and commandeer this very “fake barbarian” force. And I? I was his appointed military supervisor—hidden among the three hundred trunks of “cosmetics” in my dowry, each powder box concealing a border defense map.
At dawn, as our horses’ hooves shattered the frost, I cracked my whip—shattering the final imperial edict behind me. The convoy shed its silken drapery to unveil rows of gleaming crossbows. Ahead, the Vermilion Bird Gate swung open slowly. My father stood shakily from the Dragon Throne, gripping its arms.
I reined my horse, turned—and wind billowed my scarlet cloak, revealing the newly embroidered qilin lining: its left claw stamped upon the Eastern Palace seal; its right pressed firm upon the Western Frontier tiger tally.
“Father,” I said, tearing off my phoenix crown and hurling it onto the steps below. Gold and jade shattered with a clear, bell-like chime. “Your daughter will not wed the barbarian king.”
“Your daughter,” I declared, “will ascend the throne.”
The kingdom of Narethia sees two baby girls born at the same moment. A high monk prophesies that one
