The moment Chen Bo stepped away from the window, I yanked the curtain shut. Hard. Not a single glimpse of the inside was allowed. Darkness swallowed the carriage, and my heart pounded so fiercely I felt each beat in my throat.

I shifted uneasily. Bürke, however, remained unnervingly calm—like someone accustomed to death’s scent. Her serenity made my trembling hands feel even more pathetic.

My gaze flicked to the center of the carriage.

The girl sat there in silence. The dead girl.
Dressed in a red bridal gown.
Face pale, peaceful… and terribly still.

The purple shadows under her closed eyes looked like death’s signature. A mix of dread and guilt twisted inside me.

I repeated my silent prayer—again and again.
This was necessary.
If I hadn’t found someone to die in my place, I would already be buried beneath the earth. But even in the dark of the carriage, I felt the bride’s presence pressing on me—judging, promising that the price of this decision would come due.

We would be cursed for this.

The carriage shuddered as it began moving. Every bump rattled my insides, the wooden boards groaning with each jolt. My fingers, slick with sweat, tightened around the dagger in my hand. In my world, “carriage” meant comfort. Here, it was a torture device on wheels.

But I had to stay alive—far from the Kagan and whatever oath he claimed I had broken. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but I feared what he would do if he caught me. I wasn't even sure death would return me home. I had come here through a ritual. That meant… dying might not send me back.

“Bürke… we must be careful,” I whispered.
“The Kagan will come for this caravan.”

She nodded, calm as ever—untouched by fear.
I stared at the dagger again. Sayina might’ve known how to fight, but me? I had only ever used knives to cut fruit—and even then I preferred eating things with their peel.

Would muscle memory magically guide me in a fight?
I hoped I wouldn’t have to find out.

The carriage jostled violently, and memories of my world flickered in my mind—smooth asphalt roads, soft car seats, seatbelts, traffic lights… Here, I was nothing but a terrified woman in a wooden box with shaky wheels and no escape.

But I forced myself to breathe.
I had to survive until the next Blood Moon. That might be my way home.

As the carriage rattled on, I held the curtain tightly, the dusty air burning my lungs. My thoughts drifted to the man waiting at the end of this journey—the golden-armored general. My supposed husband. A stranger forged in war and blood.

How was someone like me supposed to survive next to a man like that?

In my world, marriage was a choice. Here, I was a bargaining chip—an object passed across a political table. My pulse quickened. His golden armor wasn’t a symbol of glory. It was the gleam of the chains tightening around my neck.

I needed to find someone who could read the sky—someone who understood omens, moons, stars. That was my only hope. Everything in this world was foreign: its rules, its wars, the role of women, the politics… One wrong word, one wrong move, one wrong glance could destroy me.

But a small spark inside me refused to die.

I would not be just a victim.
I would live.
No matter what.

Minutes—or hours, I couldn’t tell—passed as the caravan hurried forward. Every jolt, every creak of wood stabbed at my nerves. Then suddenly, the carriage slowed… and stopped.

“Rest here,” Chen Bo called from outside.

A bitter taste climbed up my throat as dread coiled in my stomach. I looked again at the dead bride. Her lifeless face behind the veil seemed to lean toward me… watching… judging.

“Princess, are you well?” Bürke asked softly.

I couldn’t answer.
The suffocating air, the smell of sweat, dust, and death pressed on me like a weight.

Then—

fssst

A sharp hiss.
The carriage shook.
Bürke’s eyes widened.

“Princess… they’re attacking!”

Cold washed through me—ice in my veins.
Time slowed.

“Down! Get to the floor!” I hissed, dragging her with me.

We curled tightly against the rough wooden boards—worms hiding beneath the soil. If everything went according to plan, we might live.

The sounds outside grew louder—shouting, clashing steel, frantic footsteps. Each one hammered against my heart.

Then another hiss.
Another jolt.

I looked up—
An arrow had pierced the dead bride’s forehead.
Blood trickled down her veil in a thin line.

This was it.

My voice ripped out before I could stop it.

“THE PRINCESS IS DEAD!”

Bürke understood instantly. Together, we pushed the corpse toward the window. Her head slumped outside, the arrow clearly visible.

A stunned silence rippled through the battlefield.
Then chaos erupted.

Death had reached us.

And I stepped outside.

I gathered my skirts, ignoring Bürke’s cries, and rushed out of the carriage.

One of the soldiers had his bow raised—aimed directly at the fleeing assassin. Without thinking, I lunged between them. The arrow wavered as the soldier’s furious gaze snapped toward me.

“You can’t kill him,” I said, my voice trembling.