Dinner was barley porridge and pickled cabbage. Simple. Tasteless. Forgettable.
Exactly how I liked it.
But as I lifted the lid on my tray that evening, something shifted.
A piece of dried rice paper, barely the size of my palm, folded beneath the porcelain spoon. Too delicate to have fallen in by accident. No seal. No name.
I unfolded it carefully.
Just two words, written in pale ink:
"Still watching."
No signature. No symbol.
But the ink was the giveaway.
It bled slightly at the edges, the way the Prince's calligraphy always did he favored untreated mulberry paper and a light hand.
My stomach tightened. Not with fear.
With confirmation.
Prince Zhen knew.
Not only that the food had been tampered with.
But that I had found it out. And stayed quiet.
This wasn't a warning.
This was… a signal.
But what did it mean?
That he wanted an ally?
Or that I was a threat to be tracked?
I folded the paper again, slipped it into my sash, and sat with the porridge untouched.
The light flickered low as the guards passed down the hall.
And in the reflection of the windowpane, I saw it.
A shadow.
Still.
Watching.