I. The Prince's Obsession
The war room's candles had burned low, their wax pooling like blood over the maps of conquered territories. The Crown Prince's fingers trembled as they traced the northern borders—lands now stained with rumors of her captivity.
"Bring her back." His whisper cracked the silence. "Alive. Unharmed. At any cost."
The advisors exchanged glances. One dared to speak: "Your Highness, the Northern Federation's stronghold is—"
"I know what it is." The Prince's fist came down on the table, scattering markers like fallen soldiers. The jade pendant in his other hand glowed faintly—their last connection, its warmth fading with each passing hour.
Somewhere beyond those mountains, she was making a choice.
And he, who had always controlled the board, could only wait.
II. The Prisoner's Dilemma
Snow lashed against the tower window as I paced my gilded cage. The Northern Prince's offer hung between us—safety in exchange for betrayal.
"Your former master searches for you," he murmured, watching me from the shadows. "Shall I let him find an empty grave instead?"
My fingers found the hollow at my throat where the jade pendant once rested. The memory of his hands fastening it there surfaced unbidden—the Prince's rare, unguarded smile that day in the peach grove.
Lies, I reminded myself. All of it.
Yet when the Northern Prince stepped closer, his scent of pine and steel triggered no such memories. Only cold calculation.
"Decide by dawn," he said, pressing a dagger into my palm. "Serve me, or return to him in a box."
The blade's edge bit into my skin as I clenched it. Two paths stretched before me:
Return to the gilded lies of the palace, where love and poison shared the same cup
Stay in this frozen wasteland, becoming the very weapon that might destroy my homeland
Outside, the wind howled like a wounded beast.
Somewhere between the storm and the silence, my choice took shape.
III. The Unbreakable Thread
The Prince woke with a gasp, the jade pendant searing against his chest.
She was alive.
She was choosing.
And for the first time in his life of calculated moves, the master player had no strategy—only this desperate, clawing hope that her heart still remembered his.
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