The invitation arrived with no herald, no servant.
Just a folded slip of silk, pressed between pages of a book she hadn't touched in days.
Shen Lian knew better than to ignore it.
The Third Prince's residence was nestled in the east wing, far from the main corridors of power. It was said that those who visited seldom returned with the same mind.
She entered alone.
A servant guided her through corridors bathed in incense and pale morning light. The air smelled of dried herbs and ink.
At last, she reached a quiet chamber.
There, reclining on a couch beside an open lattice window, was the Third Prince—Li Jingzhao.
He looked as rumors painted him: too thin, too quiet, too still. But his eyes… they moved. Quick, searching, unblinking.
"Lady Shen," he said, voice smooth but fragile. "So they've chosen you."
"I chose myself," she replied.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Better. You'll need that kind of arrogance."
She studied him. "Why send me the jade?"
"So you'd come."
"To what end?"
He waved a hand lazily. "They will eat you alive. The Empress wants a shadow. The Crown Prince wants a hound. The Second Prince wants a fire to burn both."
"And you?"
He turned his head toward her fully now. "I want a mirror."
Shen Lian paused. "To reflect what?"
"To see which of us breaks first."
Outside, a crow cawed once.
Then silence.
She bowed slightly. "Then you may watch. But only from the edges."
She turned to go.
His voice followed, softer:
"They'll never forgive you, you know. For not playing their roles."
She didn't look back. "Good. I'm not here for forgiveness."