The Prince's Pursuit and the Heroine's Resolve
I. The Falcon's Hunt
The Crown Prince's fingers clenched around the war table's edge, his knuckles whitening under the strain. Before him lay the latest dispatch—scrawled in hasty ink, still reeking of horse sweat and desperation:
Northern forces have taken her.
The words burned like brand marks across his vision. Around him, the council chamber buzzed with petty debates over border taxes and grain yields, their voices fading into meaningless static. All he could hear was the echo of her last words to him—I am no longer your pawn—and the terrible silence that had followed her disappearance.
"Your Highness?" A minister dared to approach. "The trade agreement with Liang Province—"
"Burn it." The Prince's voice was lethally calm. "Burn every treaty, every missive. Mobilize the Black Feather Guard. I want every northern pass scoured, every village turned inside out."
His advisors froze. One brave soul whispered, "But the Federation's borders—"
"Are made of paper," the Prince snarled. For the first time in his reign, the mask of perfect control slipped, revealing the raw, gnawing thing beneath. "She is mine. And I will carve through a thousand kingdoms to retrieve what belongs to me."
II. The Songbird's Choice
Stone walls pressed close around me, their chill seeping through the thin silk of my borrowed robes. The Northern General's offer hung between us—a gilded dagger poised to strike.
"Serve us," he'd said, "and you'll have power beyond what that pretty prince ever offered."
The palace maid beside me poured tea with practiced hands. "Our generals reward loyalty handsomely," she murmured. "A title. Lands. Perhaps even... vengeance?"
The cup trembled in my grasp. Memories surged unbidden—the Prince's fingers tracing my jaw, his lips forming promises that tasted like lies. The way his eyes had darkened when I'd refused him.
Yet stranger still—the phantom warmth of his palm against mine that storm-lit night in the archives, when he'd thought no one was looking. The single, unguarded moment when the Crown Prince had been simply a man.
"I refuse." The words left my lips before I could reconsider.
The General's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then you choose death?"
"I choose myself."* I set the teacup down with deliberate calm. "Your war is not my path."
Outside the narrow window, the setting sun bled crimson across the snow-capped peaks. Somewhere beyond those mountains, two men moved pieces across a board—one seeking to reclaim me, the other to wield me.
But as the first stars pierced the twilight, I made my own calculations.
Let the Prince rage.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa2wAzWYKiR
Let the General scheme.
Tonight, the pawn would become the player.
202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRMpn76OvN0
and then Add to home screen.