The enemy palace's courtyard was a gilded cage, its cherry blossoms drifting like flakes of rusted gold in the twilight. I walked its paths under armed guard, each step measured, each breath calculated—until the general intercepted me with a smile sharper than his sword.
"Our honored guest," he purred, "has yet to prove her worth."
His proposition slithered into my ears: a key role in their war, a chance to strike back at the Crown Prince who'd branded me a traitor. The price? My soul.
"And if I refuse?" My voice didn't waver, though the stakes coiled around my throat like a noose.
Moonlight caught the general's teeth as he grinned. "Then you'll rot here as a pretty prisoner. But you're no one's pet, are you?"
The truth hissed between us:
This was no choice at all.
Yet within the trap lay opportunity—to turn their weapons against them, to forge my own path through the wreckage of empires. The courtyard's shadows seemed to whisper: Sometimes, to survive the storm, you must become the lightning.
I lifted my chin.
"When do we begin?"
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