Hours had passed. My tears had dried, and the trembling in my hands had faded to a dull ache.

Burke set a small bowl of wine in front of me.

The first sip burned down my throat like fire. For a moment, I thought I would choke.
But the sting cleared the fog in my mind. Slowly, I began to breathe again.

I needed to think.

If I wanted to survive this night—if I wished to escape this cursed camp alive—I needed a plan.

“Think, Banu… think…”
The words left my lips like a prayer.

Princess Sayina had known how to wield a blade, how to ride, hunt, and command.
But I wasn’t her.
I was an ordinary woman trapped inside her body—a soul that didn’t belong to this ruthless land.

Still, humans… Humans always found a way to survive. Even when cornered, they created paths out of nothing. I had to do the same.

If I wanted to live, I had to carve my own fate.
Fear could no longer bind me.

The Khan’s shadow loomed above me, but every trap had a weak thread.
There had to be a way out—a word, a gesture, a moment no one else would notice.

I clenched my fists. The wind outside howled, carrying whispers of doom through the tents.

Then, a thought struck me.
The screams I’d heard earlier… the ones I tried to forget.

I turned to Burke.
“When I arrived at the tent, I heard someone crying out. What happened?”

My voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of the unknown.

Burke hesitated, then sighed. Her eyes were heavy with sorrow.
“Two nights ago, one of the soldiers’ daughters was thrown off a wild horse. She didn’t make it. She… passed tonight.”

Silence fell between us.

“The shaman tried everything—herbs, chants, old prayers. But her soul has already crossed into the sky.”

My throat tightened. Death was a cruel certainty in this world.

And now… an idea was forming—dark, dangerous, and desperate.
But if I wanted to live, I had no choice but to embrace it.

“What will happen to her body?” I asked quietly.

“She’ll remain in her tent until dawn,” Burke murmured. “Then the elders will prepare her for the next life.”

A chill crept down my spine. Could I really do it? Desecrate the dead? Risk a curse that might follow me forever?

But the truth was simple: She was gone. I was not.

A flicker of resolve sparked within me—dark but alive.
I leaned closer to Burke and whispered my plan.

Her eyes widened—first with horror, then with disbelief.
But she said nothing. Because she knew… I was right.

When survival called, even the purest soul could walk through the shadows.
And tonight—I would step straight into that darkness.

Later that night…

The bridal carriage creaked as it moved. Its bells chimed softly—a fragile melody in the endless dark.

Han Ruo tightened his reins, casting a cold glance at Chen Bo.
He was about to order the removal of the bells, but Chen Bo had already understood.
He nodded once and rode forward, silencing them.

The carriage was far from royal—built for endurance, not beauty.
No delicate carvings, no golden ornaments—only rough wood and thick ropes.
Each turn of the wheels groaned against the rocky earth, a harsh rhythm in the quiet night.

Han Ruo’s eyes scanned the guards—five men, tense yet distracted.
If an attack came now, he doubted half of them would even draw their swords in time.

Then, a gust of wind swept through the night, lifting the heavy curtain of the carriage.

For a brief heartbeat, he saw her—a shimmer of red veil glowing in the lantern light.
Like fire. Like blood. So vivid it could not have been real.

Then the wind shifted, and the curtain fell back into place.
The world fell silent again, save for the creak of wheels and the pounding of his own heart.

Chen Bo approached the window.
“Princess, I am Chen Bo, General Han’s lieutenant. We will escort you safely to the capital.”

A soft, composed voice answered from behind the veil.
“Thank you. Tell me, Lieutenant—how many soldiers accompany us?”

Han Ruo turned his head slightly, studying the carriage. The question was too calm, too deliberate.

Chen Bo hesitated. “Twenty trained men, Your Highness.”

Silence.

Then, the voice spoke again—quiet, but steady.
“Could you lend me a dagger, Lieutenant Bo?”

Han Ruo’s gaze flicked toward his officer. Chen Bo froze, startled.
A dagger? Was she planning to take her own life? If so, that would be a relief. He wouldn’t have to marry her at all.

The princess seemed to read his thoughts.
“Don’t misunderstand,” she said softly.
“It’s not for death. It’s for freedom—if I must choose who ends my life, it will be me.”

Han Ruo felt his jaw tighten. So she thought his soldiers incapable of protecting her?
Pride flared like a blade in his chest.

But he nodded once, coldly. If she wanted a dagger—so be it.

Chen Bo handed it through the curtain, and the weapon disappeared into the shadows.

The princess leaned closer to whisper something—words Han Ruo could not hear.
But he saw the way Chen Bo’s expression shifted: from unease to grim understanding.

He nodded. And the curtain fell shut once more.

As the bells were cut away, the procession moved forward into the silent night.

Han Ruo looked back at the carriage. A strange heaviness settled in his chest.

If his instincts were right, he was not bringing home a bride…
But something else—something unpredictable—sat behind that crimson veil.