By the time dawn rolled around, Three had smmed her forehead into the ground enough times to create a dent.

  She should’ve just killed the Third Princess when she’d had the chance. That pretty face was utterly unbecoming of that temper.

  Staggering up from the floor, she rubbed the blood off her face and coaxed the loose hairs from her head. A handful of bck in her fists, she dumped them on the brown-crusted stains and felt for the wounds on her scalp.

  That cursed princess had torn her quite a few good ones. Luckily, the tears in her skin were quite fine — by now, the blood had dried into hard lumps at her roots. Her forehead had sealed up rather nicely; the bruising and swelling helped press the gash shut.

  Her legs were numb, neck sore; every twist of her head brought a popping and snapping.

  Rolling her shoulders, she thought of the princess’s st command: to clean up after she was done.

  But she didn’t say with what.

  She tore the fresh bnket from the dead general’s bed. Dumping it on the floor, she roughly blotted up the blood and wrapped the hair in it. A light red shadow was left on the wood.

  This would do. After all, it wasn’t like the princess had ordered for it to be spotless.

  Then, her eyes nded on the bloodstained cloth.

  …But where would she dispose of it?

  *

  The princess was still blissfully asleep when Three arrived. In her bed, she seemed as fragile as a doll; even wind could blow her over and shatter her.

  A spider clinging to the roof, Three grinned.

  Then, a bundle of hair and cloth fell on the princess’s face.

  Spt.

  With a deliciously terrible shock, the princess was startled awake. She nearly inhaled the ball of hair, almost choking on it. It was a shame she didn’t.

  Groggy from sleep, she roughly shoved the ball away, but her hands came back wet. Surprise, then a confused blinking with a foreboding shudder, the drip of wet things onto the pristine bnkets —

  The princess let out a shriek, now fully awake. Fury swallowed her shock. She roared, ‘THREE —!’

  It was with a twisted joy in her gut that Three jumped down from the ceiling. ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  The princess shot to her feet, her face marred by a blot of Three’s blood. She seized the shadow guard by her pels, struggling to heave her into the air. ‘You. Dare.’

  Three shrugged. ‘You didn’t say where —’

  The princess threw her out of the window.

  Smashing through the tticed panels, Three fell — but before she hit the mirror-like surface of the water, she managed to tch onto a pilr.

  Sunlight glinted off the ke, stinging her eyes. The shy sun peeked over the naked plum blossoms, painfully crisp breaths echoing in her lungs.

  Three might not survive this princess, but until she was ordered to die, she certainly wouldn’t let death come easily.

  Heh.

  Hearing no more shrieks or orders, she crawled through the underbelly of the pavilion and nearby bridges. Water gently pped at the wooden stakes, the stillness a little unnerving — no water with life was ever this quiet.

  She observed her reflection in the water.

  Much of her face was swollen, her forehead especially so. Blood clung to her hair and skin, trailing down her neck to her bck robes.

  But the worst of the damage was the loss of her earring. The little jewelled vine of white lilies had cracked down its length, most of the petals’ tips having shattered and crumbled away.

  Three sniffed, hard.

  Could she even save it…?

  She gently caressed the metal. It was sharp and deformed, her trembling fingers not quite matching the woman’s in the water. Then, she plucked her treasure from her ear and slid it into the pocket at her chest.

  One day, she would get a smith or jeweller to glue the pieces back together. It would be simply a matter of time — she would survive this stupid game, this rotten competition.

  She stared at her reflection, the piece that was missing, for a good while after that. It was only when bells and the cttering of hooves rang that she jolted out of her reverie.

  Sticking herself to the underside of the pavilion, she crawled across to a nearby bridge. It was the one near the main gate; a man’s footsteps and the rolling of wooden wheels shook the pnks.

  A carriage? No. The rattling of it was too light. But why would a wagon be empty?

  Then, a high-pitched voice called out, ‘Eunuch Meng has come to deliver Her Majesty’s consotion to the Pace of Gentle Snow.’

  Oh, it was a eunuch. That expins it. Men castrated as boys develop higher voices.

  Footsteps. A gentle, meek voice. ‘The Third Princess gratefully greets the Head Eunuch.’

  The princess was truly a wonderful liar.

  Soft ripples of unfurling paper floated into Three’s ears. ‘I feel the same, princess. Now, I have delivered: a bouquet of jade chrysanthemums, a century old ginseng, and a set of poetry. They have already been moved to the Pace of Gentle Snow’s warehouses. Your Highness, please extend my consotions to Prince Qianzhong and His Highness the Sixth Prince.’

  ‘Of course, Eunuch Meng.’

  Hmm. So, the wagon was empty.

  She wanted to click her tongue. This princess was an exceptional actor — being able to stomach such an insult so early in the morning was certainly a feat. Even a mere eunuch dared to storm the princess’s warehouse.

  What a meek little snake.

  She shifted a little on the pilr, gently stretching her fingers across the wood.

  The eunuch added, ‘The emperor has also decreed for both the funeral and the Seventh-Day mourning ceremony to be completed by tonight.’

  A heavy pause. The Third Princess’s swallow was so loud even the eunuch could probably hear it.

  ‘…Eunuch Meng, it has only been a day since my mother’s death, how could her soul return to see the family meal —’

  ‘Her Majesty is aware, Your Highness.’ The eunuch’s voice was so soft it could be said to be gentle. This sort of gentle was overly familiar — it was the tone that Five used when she realised Three had stolen the other’s medicinal alcohol. The sort of tone that preceded a beating. ‘Her Majesty is merely worried that the sughtered hounds will rot.’

  Another swallow. The ripples by the stakes stilled. ‘Very well, Eunuch Meng.’ The princess’s voice had become deathly calm; it was so quiet that her sheer self-control warranted a good bout of appuse. ‘It shall be done.’

  Then the eunuch turned and left. When his horse and empty carriage faded from earshot, with even birds unable to hear them, the princess’s feet glided away. A door gently clicked shut.

  Then, a loud crash of porcein smashing on the floor.