Lan Yue stepped down from the carriage, her legs stiff from the long ride. The grand gates were painted deep red, flanked by stone lions whose eyes seemed to glare at anyone who dared enter. Rows of lanterns cast a warm glow across the entrance, but there was nothing warm about this place.
She knew that from the novel. And she felt it now, standing in the cold night air.
*This isn't a home. It's a battlefield.*
Zhao Lingxi descended from the carriage with quiet grace. Her face had returned to its usual mask of ice, revealing nothing of the chaos that had happened just hours ago. If Lan Yue hadn't witnessed it herself, she would never believe this composed young woman had been drugged and nearly destroyed.
Liu Ruyan and Chen Mei rushed forward from the servants' entrance, their faces pale with worry.
"Young Miss!" Liu Ruyan's voice trembled. "We heard what happened at the palace. Are you hurt? Did they—"
