Empress Meilin sat upon her throne, draped in crimson silk. Hidden within the wide sleeve of her gown, the cold edge of a jade dagger pressed deliberately against her skin. Her gaze was fixed on the two crystal goblets before her.

  The one on the right contained the infamous "Serpent’s Tear" poison of the North — death in under three minutes.

  The left held its so-called antidote — a searing blend of chili and arsenic — capable of paralyzing the drinker for an hour.

  On her left wrist, an intricately inked tattoo concealed her brother’s birthmark — a delicate swirl of black curves.

  The door creaked open.

  General Rohan entered, towering at 6’10”, a deep scar etched across his left eye — a relic of war. In his hand, he held a letter.

  “Your Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “A message from the Northern Empire.”

  The seal was already broken.

  Without touching the parchment, Meilin tore it clean in half. She inclined her head slightly.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  “Words don’t win wars,” she said coolly. “But the mark on your right hand — third finger — looks like a wedding band’s trace. That’s not our custom… That’s the North’s, isn’t it?”

  Rohan didn’t avert his eyes, but his hand trembled. Silence hung in the air, suspended like the breath between two poisons.

  As the general reached for the left goblet, Meilin suddenly stretched her hand toward the chessboard. With a flick of her fingers, she sent the pieces scattering across the marble floor. Among them, a black queen rolled aside—revealing a human molar beneath it.

  “Let’s play,” Meilin said without blinking. “If you win, you may choose whichever goblet you like.”

  The board was quickly reset. Rohan played aggressively, forcing his pieces forward. But Meilin’s eyes were elsewhere—on a victory four moves ahead.

  Then, without hesitation, she sacrificed her queen.

  Rohan let out a quiet laugh. “A mistake, Your Majesty?”

  Meilin rose slowly and drew the jade dagger from her sleeve.

  “Life isn’t chess,” she said. “I break the rules.”

  She triggered a hidden mechanism beneath the board. A thin blade shot out, pressing against Rohan’s throat.

  “No!” Rohan shouted. “I let the Northern army through because… they’ve taken my son hostage!”

  Meilin’s laughter sliced through the air like steel.

  “Liar,” she whispered. “You’re sterile. I’ve read the palace records.”

  A scream followed. The dagger had spoken. Blood spattered the chessboard, staining it beside the fallen queen.

  The door opened once more.

  A man cloaked in long black entered, a scar across his face — Meilin’s gift. Emperor Kaelan.

  “Did you kill Rohan?” he asked, expressionless.

  Meilin extended the bloodied dagger. “No,” she replied. “I brought you a gift.”

  As Kaelan took the weapon, his fingers closed around something hidden in his palm — a small, golden earring. It belonged to Meilin’s brother, long believed dead.

  At that moment, Lady Sora burst into the room, her eyes wide with panic.

  “Your Majesty! The Northern army has crossed the border! But… they’re flying our banner!”

  For the first time, Meilin faltered.

  Her gaze drifted toward some distant point. Her expression shifted — from certainty to something dangerously close to doubt.

  And in that moment, she understood:

  The deadliest betrayal… is the one that rises from your own shadow.