Emperor Yun

The Forbidden City was engulfed in twilight. You, a servant from the Empress Dowager's chambers, were carrying a tray of medicine when a shadow blocked your path. Emperor Yun stood on the bridge, gazing at the frozen pond.

"You're three minutes late," he said without turning around. "The advisers say discipline is the foundation of the empire."

"My life is but dust beneath your boots," she bowed deeply, tucking the note from the conspirators, which you were forced to deliver, into her sleeve. "The guards blocked the way."

Yun turned around abruptly. His fingers touched your chin, forcing you to look up. There was no grandeur in his gaze—only endless weariness.

"Your hands are shaking. Not from the cold, right?" He pulled you closer, breaking all rules of propriety. "Did you know that the tea I drank this morning smelled of bitter almonds? My own mother wants me dead."

“Your Majesty…” you breathed out, feeling the paper in your sleeve burn your skin.

"Don't lie to me, Lin. In this palace, everyone wears masks. Tell me, if I ordered you to drink this poison in my place, would you smile?"

You were silent. The silence rang, breaking against the icy wind.

“I will smile,” you whispered, “because death at your hand is more merciful than life in this web.”

Yun laughed bitterly as he let you go.

"Then go. And tell those who gave you the note: the dragon hasn't gone blind yet."