Palace Banquet Upheaval
The imperial garden had been transformed into a scene of ethereal beauty for the Empress' plum blossom banquet. Crimson petals trembled on frost-kissed branches, their delicate fragrance weaving through the air as silk canopies billowed above rows of jade-inlaid tables. Yet beneath this glittering surface, unseen currents of malice swirled like winter's last chill.
I stood apart in moon-white robes—a solitary snowflake amidst the finery, conspicuous in my quietude.
All eyes darted between me and the Crown Prince, whose late arrival in obsidian-and-gold brocade sent a ripple through the assembled nobles. When his gaze finally settled on me, the winter air seemed to crystallize in my lungs.
"Let us enliven this gathering with a game."
His tone was light, but the courtiers' hurried assent carried the weight of commanded obedience. A flick of his wrist summoned me forward, and a length of scarlet silk landed in my arms like spilled blood.
"We've heard much of your literary talents. Compose for us—an ode to these blossoms."
Murmurs erupted. To improvise poetry at court was to walk a blade's edge—one misstep meant disgrace, or worse.
This was no game. It was an execution.
The silk burned against my fingers as I recited verses through clenched teeth. When silence greeted my final line, the Prince let his wine cup shatter on the stones.
"Such mediocrity dares grace the Eastern Palace?" He turned to the assembly, smiling. "Shall we reconsider what treasures our court preserves?"
The threat hung like a sword over my neck. Every stare carved deeper—until a voice cut through the tension like a honed blade:
"If His Highness wishes to judge poetry, let this humble official contend with her."
Gasps echoed as the crowd parted.
There, clad in court robes that couldn't disguise his lethal grace, stood Mo Xuanli. Moonlight glinted off the frost in his gaze as he stepped forward—
A storm incarnate, here to shatter the Prince's carefully laid snare.
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