"Princess! Wake—by the gods, she moved!" Rong's voice cracked like an alarm.
I opened my eyes to white silk and a ceiling painted with trailing lotuses. The face above me blurred, then snapped into focus: Rong, hair loosened, hands trembling. I tested a sound.
"Rong," I said, and my throat gave the princess's soft, trained cadence with none of my modern accent. Rong sobbed and knelt, clinging to the sheet as if it were a rope.
"Princess, you are back. You are back. I thought the Emperor had taken you—" she choked.
"Tell me what happened," I said flatly. My head throbbed. I slapped memory like dust from a sleeve; only fragments landed—ceremonial wine, chanting in the courtyard, someone saying the wrong name. No luxury; no indulgence. I had one rule: act like the body I wore.
Rong's lips trembled. "You fainted at dawn. There was a panic. Servants said your breathing stopped. They called the physician and the Prince—" She looked at me with a pleading I could read without words. "You were supposed to be dead. They had already prepared the bier."
I sat up so quickly Rong yelped. "What are you doing? The physicians—"
"Where is the physician?" I asked. I spoke like I owned this room.
"Master Lu in the west wing. He—" Rong swallowed. "The Prince sent word. He said: make sure there is no return."
My mouth went cold, but I didn't breathe out that way. I leaned
