The Lock
The night air was cool against my damp collar as I left Chen Qing'er's palace. My steps were measured, but my spine was drenched in sweat. She hadn't exposed me—instead, she'd thrown me into a far more dangerous trap: the silent hell of being known in this court.
The wind whispered past my ears as I walked back to the Eastern Palace, her final words still ringing in my skull:
"The Crown Prince didn't elevate you for your talent—but for that mole."
I froze mid-step. My breath vanished.
That mole—hidden beneath my hairline at the nape of my neck. No one should have known it existed.
Unless—
My nails bit into my palms. The Crown Prince.
That night, when he'd removed my official cap, his fingers had lingered there. Had he known even then?
When I pushed open the doors to the Eastern Palace, tea was already steaming on the desk. The Crown Prince sat beneath the lamplight, reviewing memorials. At the sound of my footsteps, he looked up—and smiled.
"What did she say?"
"She said..." I stepped forward, my voice frigid with control, "that you're using me as a pawn."
He didn't flinch. "She's wrong. If you were merely a pawn, you'd already be dead."
I said nothing, unable to meet his eyes. He'd known I wasn't a man—had known all along—yet never revealed it. Instead, he'd thrust me into the storm's center.
What did he want?
"Do you know my greatest weakness?" He rose, closing the distance between us. His gaze was fathomless. "I trust too easily."
His hand lifted. Once more, his fingers found the base of my neck—that hidden mole—and pressed.
"And you... I believed in you at first sight."
My body jerked, instinct screaming to retreat, but he leaned in, his breath scorching my ear:
"So tell me—will you betray me... she?"
She.
He said it. Acknowledged it. Knew it.
And that single syllable—she—clicked like a lock.
Sealing me into this game of thrones.
Forever.
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and then Add to home screen.