The invitation arrived at dusk.
Elegant.
Fragrant.
Deadly.
"From Lady Zhao," Qingyu said carefully, holding out the silk card.
Xueying didn't take it immediately.
"…What is it?"
"A small gathering, Princess. Tea and poetry by the lotus pavilion."
Xueying's gaze lingered on the card.
Beautiful handwriting.
Carefully chosen words.
Too perfect.
"Do you think I should go?" she asked quietly.
Qingyu hesitated.
"…No."
The honesty made Xueying glance at her.
"They've been targeting you constantly," Qingyu continued. "This feels… wrong."
It did.
Everything about it did.
Xueying finally took the card, her fingers brushing the silk.
"…If I don't go, they'll say I'm afraid."
"And if you go?" Qingyu asked softly.
A pause.
Then—
"They'll try something."
Silence filled the room.
Because both of them knew—
That was exactly the point.
—
Xueying looked down at the invitation again.
Then slowly—
She folded it.
"I'll go."
Qingyu's eyes widened. "Princess—"
"I won't run anymore."
Her voice was calm.
But firm.
"And this time… I won't walk in blindly either."
Something in her expression had changed again.
Sharper now.
More aware.
—
From across the palace—
Zhao Meilin smiled.
"She accepted?"
"Yes, Miss."
Meilin leaned back, satisfied.
"Good."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"Prepare everything."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"Let's make sure this is… unforgettable."