The wedding was to begin at dawn.
The guard captain knocked on the Princess's door as the first light touched the palace rooftops. "Princess Yuelai, it is time to prepare for the ceremony."
Silence.
He knocked again, louder. "Princess?"
Still nothing.
He exchanged a glance with his men. Orders were orders—the wedding would proceed whether the bride was willing or not. He tested the door. Locked from the inside, as expected.
"Break it down."
Two guards rammed their shoulders against the wood. The lock splintered. The door flew open.
The captain stepped inside, already preparing excuses for the damage. But the words died in his throat.
The chamber was empty.
The wedding dress lay draped across the chair, untouched and pristine. The breakfast tray sat cold on the table, food congealing. The bed was neatly made, as if no one had slept in it.
And the window—the window that faced the gardens three stories above the ground—stood wide open, silk curtains billowing in the morning breeze.
The guard captain rushed to look out. Nothing. No rope. No ladder. No body broken on the stones below. Just manicured gardens and the distant walls of the palace compound.
He turned back to the empty room, his mind racing through the implications. General Gu Tianyu—soon to be Emperor—would not take this well.
"Sound the alarm," he said, his voice tight with dread. "The Princess is gone."
Within moments, bells began to ring throughout the palace. The clear, urgent notes carried across courtyards and halls, pulling servants from their preparations and guards from their posts. The wedding that was meant to legitimize a new emperor had lost its bride.
---
Twelve Hours Earlier
Yuelai sat on the floor of her chamber, her back against the wall, staring at nothing.
The crushing weight of despair had settled into something else over the past two days. Not acceptance—she would never accept what had happened. But the sharp edges of grief had dulled slightly, leaving behind a hollow numbness. Her tears had dried. Her screams had faded to silence.
All that remained was emptiness.
And beneath it, buried so deep she could barely feel it, a tiny ember of rage.
The servants had stopped trying to make her eat. The guards outside her door had grown complacent, their vigilance waning as the hours passed without incident. Everyone assumed the princess was broken. Defeated.
Perhaps they were right.
A soft sound made her lift her head. Not the door—that would have been loud, obvious. This was different. A subtle scrape, like wood sliding against wood.
Her window.
Yuelai's hand instinctively went to her hair, searching for the hairpin dagger. Gone. They'd taken it after her attack on Tianyu. She had no weapons. No strength. No way to fight.
But she could scream.
Before she could draw breath, a figure slipped through the window with practiced ease. Tall, dressed in dark clothes, moving with the fluid grace of a trained warrior. For one terrible moment, she thought Tianyu had sent an assassin to finish what he'd started.
Then the figure turned, and moonlight caught his face.
"Ming Hao?" Her voice came out as a croak, unused for days.
Her childhood friend crossed the room in three quick strides, kneeling beside her. His face was tight with worry, his usual easy confidence replaced by urgency.
"Yuelai, we don't have much time. The soldiers outside will regain consciousness soon."
She stared at him, not quite processing his words. "Consciousness?"
"I used a sleeping powder on their evening meal. But the dose was light—I couldn't risk making anyone suspicious. We have maybe half an hour before they wake." He reached for her, trying to help her stand. "Can you walk?"
Yuelai tried to rise, but her legs trembled and gave out. The drugs Tianyu had given her two nights ago still lingered in her system, compounded by days without proper food or rest. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, unresponsive, distant.
"I can't—" Frustration and shame burned through the numbness. Even escape was beyond her now.
"It's alright." Ming Hao didn't hesitate. He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. "I've got you."
"Ming Hao, if they find out you helped me—"
"They won't." His voice was firm, confident. The voice of a general who'd led men into battle. "Trust me, Princess."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to leave her, to save himself. But she had no strength for arguments, and the small, selfish part of her that still wanted to live remained silent.
He carried her to the window. Three stories up, just as the guard captain would discover in a few hours. But Ming Hao had come prepared—a rope secured to the frame, leading down into the shadows of the garden below.
"Hold on to me," he instructed, adjusting his grip. "Don't let go."
The descent was terrifying. Yuelai clung to Ming Hao's neck as he climbed down one-handed, moving with careful precision. Her drugged mind kept insisting this was a dream. That she would wake up still trapped in her chamber, still waiting for a wedding that would seal her fate.
But the night air was cold and real against her face. The rough hemp of the rope scraped her arm. And Ming Hao's heartbeat thundered steadily beneath her ear, solid and alive.
They reached the ground. Ming Hao set her down just long enough to untie the rope, then lifted her again.
"Where—" Yuelai tried to ask.
"The main gate. Stay quiet."
He carried her through the gardens, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the patrol routes he knew by heart. They passed through courtyards where lanterns had been hung for tomorrow's celebration. Where musicians' instruments lay waiting. Where servants had prepared everything for a wedding that would never happen.
At the main gate, controlled chaos reigned. Carriages lined up in a long procession, their owners anxious to depart. The foreign dignitaries and nobles who had come for Crown Prince Junwei's coronation were fleeing the scandal like rats from a sinking ship. A murdered prince. An accused princess. A general seizing power. None of them wanted to be caught in the middle when the situation exploded into open conflict.
And escorting them safely out of the capital, ensuring no "accidents" befell important guests? That was Ming Hao's assigned duty.
He'd brought extra uniforms. Extra soldiers who were actually his most trusted men. And in the confusion of departure, with dozens of carriages and hundreds of guards moving in the pre-dawn darkness, two more soldiers joining the escort went unnoticed.
Yuelai wore the borrowed armor, her hair tucked up under a helmet, her face shadowed. She couldn't walk steadily, but propped between two of Ming Hao's men, she looked like a soldier who'd celebrated too enthusiastically at the pre-wedding festivities.
They passed through the palace gates. Through the city streets. Through the capital's outer walls.
No one stopped them. No one questioned. The deception was almost too easy.
But Yuelai knew the truth—it was only easy because no one expected the broken princess to run. Because Tianyu believed he'd crushed her spirit completely. Because arrogance made men careless.
When the last of the foreign delegations had been escorted beyond the capital's boundaries and sent on their way with formal farewells, Ming Hao's unit was free to return.
Except two soldiers broke away from the group, leading a single horse into the darkness.
A mile from the capital, hidden in a grove of trees, Ming Hao finally set Yuelai down. She leaned against a tree trunk, her legs still weak, her head spinning. But for the first time in two days, she could breathe without walls closing in around her.
"Here." Ming Hao pressed the horse's reins into her hand. "He's steady and strong. He'll get you where you need to go."
Yuelai looked at the horse, then at her friend. Reality was beginning to sink in. She was outside the capital. Outside the palace. Free.
But Ming Hao wasn't.
"You need to go back," she said, her voice stronger now. Clearer. "You were ordered to escort the guests and return. If Tianyu discovers you helped me—"
"Let him discover it." Ming Hao's jaw set stubbornly. "I'm coming with you."
"No." Yuelai straightened, pushing away from the tree. Her body protested, but she forced herself to stand without support. "You can't. He already suspects something—he's not stupid. If you disappear the same night I do, he'll know for certain. And then..." She couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't bear to imagine what Tianyu would do to someone who'd helped her escape.
"Yuelai—"
"Please." She grabbed his arm, desperation bleeding into her voice. "Please, Ming Hao. I've already lost everyone. I can't lose you too. Go back. Act normal. Pretend you know nothing."
He wanted to argue—she could see it in his face. The same stubborn loyalty that had made him risk everything to save her now made him want to stay by her side.
"Where will you go?" he asked finally, his voice rough.
"To my mother's family. My uncle—he's a general in the Luo Empire. He'll shelter me. I'll be safe there."
Ming Hao's expression darkened. "The Luo Empire? Yuelai, that's three weeks of hard travel through dangerous territory. You can barely stand—"
"I'll manage." And she would. Somehow. The alternative was going back, and that was no longer an option. "I'll rest when I can. Move at night. Stay off main roads."
"The Luo border..." Ming Hao trailed off, clearly calculating distances and dangers. "Your uncle commands the border garrison?"
"Yes. General of the Fourth Army. If I can reach him, I'll have protection. Tianyu can't touch me there." She squeezed his arm. "But I need you alive, Ming Hao. I need you here, in the capital, where you can watch him. Where you can survive."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.
"But you're coming back," he said. It wasn't a question.
Yuelai felt something shift inside her chest. The hollow numbness cracked, and beneath it, that ember of rage flared brighter.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I'm coming back. I promise you, Ming Hao—I will definitely return. And when I do..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. They both knew what she meant.
Tianyu had taken everything from her. Her brother. Her family. Her home. Her future. He'd murdered innocent people and blamed her for their deaths. He'd tried to break her spirit and chain her to his side.
But he'd made one critical mistake.
He'd let her live.
Ming Hao pulled her into a brief, fierce embrace. "Stay alive, Princess. That's an order."
"I'm not your princess anymore," Yuelai said against his shoulder. "She died two days ago."
When they pulled apart, Ming Hao's eyes were bright with unshed tears. But he nodded, accepting her words. Understanding what she meant.
Princess Shen Yuelai was dead.
What rode away into the darkness was something else entirely.
Yuelai mounted the horse with Ming Hao's help, her movements still clumsy from the lingering drugs. But once in the saddle, muscle memory took over. She'd been riding since childhood. Her body knew what to do even when her mind was foggy.
"Go," Ming Hao said, stepping back. "Don't stop until you're at least ten miles away. And Yuelai?" He looked up at her, his face serious. "When you come back—and I know you will—you won't be alone. I swear it."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Then she turned the horse toward the west, toward Luo, toward the only family she had left in the world.
Behind her, Ming Hao watched until she disappeared into the night. Then he turned back toward the capital, already composing the lie he would tell when questioned. Already preparing to play the part of the loyal general who knew nothing.
Already counting the days until his princess—no, his friend—came back to reclaim what was hers.
---
Back to present
The throne room of the Shen palace was a masterpiece of imperial architecture. Carved pillars inlaid with gold. Silk banners bearing the dynasty's crest. A throne that had seated emperors for three hundred years.
Gu Tianyu sat in that throne now, though his coronation was still days away. Technically, he had no right to it yet. But everyone in the room understood that such technicalities no longer mattered.
He'd been reviewing reports when the guard captain burst in.
One look at the man's face told Tianyu something had gone very wrong.
"Speak," he commanded, his voice cold.
"General Gu—I mean, Your Majesty—" The captain stumbled over the title, unsure how to address a man not yet officially crowned. "The Princess. She's... gone."
Silence fell across the throne room. Officials froze. Servants held their breath.
Tianyu's expression didn't change. "Explain."
"Her chamber was empty when we went to prepare her for the wedding. The window was open. There's no sign of how she escaped or where she went."
"When?"
"Sometime during the night, we believe. The guards outside her door were found unconscious—drugged, we think. They have no memory of anything after their evening meal."
Drugged. That required planning. Resources. Help from inside the palace.
Tianyu's gaze swept the room, landing on each official, each guard, each servant. Looking for guilt. For signs of conspiracy.
His eyes found Ming Hao standing near the back of the hall. The general met his gaze steadily, his expression appropriately concerned but showing no hint of knowledge or fear.
Too steady, perhaps. Too controlled.
But Tianyu said nothing. Not yet. Accusations without proof would only make him look weak. And Ming Hao was too valuable, too popular with the troops, to move against without certainty.
"Mobilize search parties," Tianyu ordered, his voice cutting through the tension. "I want every road out of the capital secured. Every village within a day's ride searched." He paused, considering. "Focus particularly on the western borders. Near the Luo Empire."
"The Luo Empire, Your Majesty?" The captain looked confused.
"Princess Yuelai's mother was from Luo nobility. She has family there. An uncle—General of the Fourth Army, if I recall correctly." Tianyu's fingers drummed once against the armrest. "She would run to family. It's the logical choice."
"We'll begin the search immediately—"
"And Captain?" Tianyu's voice dropped to something colder. Harder. "If you do not find her within three days, I want the Fourth Army's garrison attacked. A border skirmish. Something that will force her uncle to reveal if she's there."
Shocked murmurs rippled through the hall.
"Your Majesty," one of the older officials protested. "An attack on Luo forces could restart the war—"
"Then they should have thought of that before harboring a fugitive murderer," Tianyu said smoothly. "Princess Yuelai is accused of killing Crown Prince Junwei. Any nation that shelters her is complicit in that crime."
The logic was flawless, even if the premise was a lie. And no one in the room had the courage to challenge him.
Tianyu rose from the throne, his wounded hands—still bandaged from catching Yuelai's desperate sword strike—clasped behind his back. He walked down the steps slowly, deliberately, until he stood before the assembled officials.
"Find her," he said quietly. But there was nothing quiet about the fury in his eyes. "Bring her back alive. She will stand trial. She will confess publicly. And then she will marry me, as planned. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And if anyone in this palace—" his gaze swept the room again, lingering fractionally longer on Ming Hao "—discovers they know anything about her escape, I suggest they come forward immediately. My mercy only extends to those who volunteer information. Not to those from whom it must be extracted."
The threat hung in the air, clear and sharp as a blade.
"Dismissed."
The officials fled. The servants scattered. Within minutes, only Tianyu and a handful of guards remained.
Ming Hao stayed as well, as protocol demanded. As the highest-ranking military officer present, he needed to coordinate the search efforts.
"General Ming," Tianyu said, not turning around. "I trust your escort duty last night went smoothly? No incidents with the departing guests?"
"None, Your Majesty. All foreign delegations were seen safely beyond the capital boundaries."
"And your men? All accounted for?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Interesting." Tianyu finally turned, his dark eyes studying Ming Hao's face. "The Princess was your childhood friend, wasn't she? You grew up together. Trained together."
"We did, Your Majesty."
"It must be difficult, learning she murdered her own brother."
Ming Hao's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "It was... shocking, Your Majesty. I would never have believed her capable of such a thing."
"No," Tianyu agreed softly. "I wouldn't have thought so either. Yet here we are."
The moment stretched. Two men who'd known each other for years, who'd fought in the same battles, who'd shared the same loyalty to the Crown Prince. Now standing on opposite sides of a chasm neither could cross.
"You may go," Tianyu said finally. "Coordinate with the guard captain. I want reports every six hours."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ming Hao bowed and left, his movements precise and controlled. But as he walked away, Tianyu watched him with eyes that missed nothing.
He didn't have proof. Not yet. But he would find it.
And when he did, Ming Hao would pay the same price as everyone else who chose the wrong side.
For now, though, the general was more useful alive. More useful in position to inadvertently reveal his co-conspirators. More useful as a message to anyone else who might think of helping the Princess.
Tianyu returned to the throne, his mind already moving through possibilities. Where would she go? How would she travel? Who would help her?
And most importantly—how would he use her escape to his advantage?
The wedding might be delayed. But it would still happen. He needed her alive. Needed her beside him to legitimize his claim to the throne. The people loved their princess, believed in her innocence no matter what evidence he fabricated.
When he found her—and he would find her—she would learn that escape was an illusion. That the cage he'd built for her had no true exit.
She could run to the ends of the earth.
He would still drag her back.
---
The sun was rising somewhere behind her, painting the eastern sky in shades of pink and gold.
Yuelai didn't look back.
She'd been riding for hours, pushing the horse as hard as she dared. The capital was far behind now, lost in the pre-dawn darkness. Every mile felt like a small victory. Every moment of continued freedom felt like stealing back a piece of herself.
But exhaustion was catching up to her.
The drugs still affected her coordination, made her reactions slow and her thoughts fuzzy. Her arms ached from gripping the reins. Her legs trembled against the horse's sides. She hadn't eaten properly in days, hadn't slept except in brief, nightmare-plagued intervals.
Her body was screaming at her to stop. To rest. To give up.
She kept riding.
The landscape had changed from manicured palace grounds to farmland to wilderness. Yuelai followed animal trails and dried streambeds, avoiding main roads where searchers would look first. The horse was steady beneath her, responding to her guidance even when her hands shook.
As the sun climbed higher, she finally allowed herself to slow to a walk. Not stopping—she wouldn't stop, couldn't stop—but giving the horse a chance to breathe. Giving herself a moment to think beyond the next mile.
Three weeks to the Luo border. Three weeks of riding through territory that would be crawling with Tianyu's soldiers. Three weeks before she reached safety.
If she reached it at all.
Yuelai's hand went to the pendant around her neck—Junwei's final gift. The jade orchid was warm against her skin, a constant remin