“I will not kill you. In our father’s name, I exile you for eternity. You will take nothing with you, you will say no farewells. Leave now, and never return.”

I did not think he would show mercy to his brother. I had thought, hoped—he would kill him as just vengeance. After today none would fault him. It was what Wenzhi had taught me himself, long ago: To show mercy in a battle was to leave your back unguarded. A lesson I wished he had remembered today. Yet even as my heart sank, a part of me already fearing this mercy might be his undoing—an undeniable warmth suffused me.

As a shattered gasp broke from the king, Wenzhi’s face creased with worry. He turned, starting toward his father—a mistake, my instincts screamed—as Prince Wenshuang sprang at him, swift as a striking serpent, a drawn dagger glinting in his grasp. The metal gleamed with an unnatural brightness, coated in a shining liquid—some malevolent magic or venom. My mind went blank, my arm drawing back as I hurled my sword at him. It sliced through the air, plunging into the base of Prince Wenshuang’s skull. His eyes went wide, a wet gasp sucked into his mouth, his body jerking violently before crumpling onto the floor. As his blood pooled, the metallic scent of salt and earth entwined with the lingering sweetness of flower petals crushed beneath our feet.

Adornments for a wedding, now gracing death.

A scream rang out, racked with anguish. The Virtuous Consort ran to Prince Wenshuang, falling down to cradle him in her arms, raw sobs choked from her throat. His gaze slid to me, glazed with disbelief, the thrum of his aura fading away. His mother’s desperate cries stabbed me. I was trembling, cut by remorse—yet Prince Wenshuang had been a monster. I would waste no tears on him.

A stunned silence settled over the pavilion. Most of the guests had fled, leaving the remaining soldiers and the weeping consorts amid the bodies of the fallen.

King Wenming coughed, a withered, hacking sound. Wenzhi fell to his knees on the ground beside him, his lips moving in a question I could not hear, though the healers’ sorrowful shakes of their heads were an answer itself.

The king clutched Wenzhi’s hand, pressing it to his chest. His arms trembled, though his words rang clear. “My true and faithful son,” he rasped. “My heir and … the king.”

He released Wenzhi then as he cupped his hands, engulfed by a sudden glow. An imperial seal of purple jade appeared within his palms. Then an onyx ring, a bottle carved of jasper, and finally—the scrolls, slender pieces of golden bamboo rolled together. The treasures the king had guarded with his body, his very life.