The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis

It had been a week since everything turned upside down. Since accusations of treason had rattled the entire court. Since Minister Bai nearly spat his tongue trying to frame Zhu Mingyu for rebellion. And since I, once again, had to sit in the middle of it all, pretending I didn't already have enough poisons in my sleeves to kill them all twice.

But today? Today it was quiet.

I knelt in the garden with a worn basket at my side, my fingers caked in dirt as I tugged weeds from the edges of the herb bed. The roots came up easier after last night's rain, and the morning sun felt soft against my back, like someone was finally being gentle for a change.

The birds were louder than usual, or maybe I was just unused to hearing them here. There was no urgent footsteps, no messengers whispering behind fans, and no sisters crying in their sleeves about poisoned combs or stolen hairpins. We were back down to the original five concubines, not counting myself—and the air had never been cleaner.

A breeze stirred the edge of my robe, and I leaned forward, brushing a worm aside as I moved to the next clump. My fingers paused, hovering over the soil.

Peaceful days like this made me nervous.

"You're frowning at your own basil again," Concubine Yan said lazily.

I glanced up. She was seated beneath the gingko tree, pale pink robes spread around her like a silk pond, sipping tea that one of the younger maids had just poured. Her hair was pinned with a jade butterfly, the wings catching little flecks of sunlight. She looked effortlessly elegant, as always.

"It looked at me wrong," I replied.

Yan Baihua smirked at me from behind the rim of her cup. "If that basil ends up poisoned, I'm not drinking the soup."

"Noted."

The seat beside her was empty. I wiped my hands on a cloth and stood, padding barefoot across the stone tiles to join her. She poured me a cup without asking.

The tea was warm, floral, lightly sweet.

No one was screaming. No one had tried to stab anyone in at least three days. It was unnerving.

"You know what this means, right?" I asked.

"Yes," Yan Baihua sighed, rolling her eyes. "It means you're going to ruin it by saying something dramatic. You do know that this is how the majority of the population lives, right? Without all the drama that seems to flock to you like a nest of hornets waiting to take you out."

I turned to her with a serious expression. "And you said that I was the dramatic one," I grumbled under my breath. "But what it means is that someone is going to die."

She sipped her tea before placing it on the table. "Ah. There it is."

Footsteps approached behind us. I didn't have to look up to know it was Yaozu. His movements were too clean, too measured. Every other guard walked like they were trying not to get in trouble. He walked like he was the trouble.

"The Crown Prince requests your presence," he said quietly. "Tea in the west courtyard."

"You mean he's actually leaving his study?" I asked, accepting the offered slippers with a sigh. "Miracles do happen."

"You could try being nice to him once in a while," Yan Baihua chuckled. "He did fight an entire room of ministers for you. Besides, the more attention he gives to you, the less he'll give to me."

I grinned. "Yes, but he likes that sort of thing," I replied, coming to my feet. I ignored the rest of her comment, knowing that she would much rather never have to 'entertain' Mingyu again. The two were… pleasant to each other, but it was not a romantic match at all.

Yaozu gave me a long-suffering look as I followed him around the bend, through the covered walkways and out into the smaller courtyard where the Crown Prince waited.

Zhu Mingyu sat alone at the stone table, a single teacup in front of him and a fan resting against his knee. His robes were looser than usual, the outer coat draped over the back of the bench. He looked more like a man than a symbol today—less crown prince, more careful husband trying to act like everything was fine.

I liked him better like this.

"You look relaxed," I said as I approached. "Did someone force you to actually enjoy yourself today?"

He didn't look up, but the edge of his mouth tugged up just slightly. "I had a dream that you'd come in and throw water at me again. Thought I'd beat you to it and dress how you wanted me to."

"Smart."

I sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders brushed. He didn't move away. If anything, his body leaned subtly in.

Yaozu took his usual place near the entrance, facing outward. He wouldn't sit unless ordered. Wouldn't speak unless needed.

That was alright. I could speak enough for all three of us.

"The garden's thriving," I said casually. "Even the ghost peppers are blooming."

"Did you say ghost peppers?" Mingyu asked, turning slightly toward me.

"Mhm. I thought they'd be useful. You know, in case the next assassin has taste buds."

That made him smile. For real this time.

"It's been too quiet," he murmured after a moment.

"Yan Baihua said I wasn't allowed to say that."

"But you thought it."

I glanced sideways at him. "You think they're planning something?"

"I know they are."

The edge in his voice wasn't sharp, just certain. Mingyu never yelled. He didn't storm into rooms or throw things. His fury was quiet. Precise. And far more dangerous.

"Let them plan," I said. "I've finally managed to regrow the chives. If anyone comes after you now, I can make sure their last meal is appropriately seasoned."

He turned to look at me fully, eyes scanning my face. "You joke too easily about death."

I shrugged. "It's the only thing that doesn't disappoint."

Silence settled between us again, but it wasn't cold. Not distant. He looked like he wanted to say something else. I reached out and picked up his fan.

"You know," I mused, opening it and peeking over the edge, "if you keep looking at me like that, your guards might start talking."

"They already do."

I fanned myself twice. "Good. Let them."

He caught the fan, still in my hand, and held it in place. His fingers brushed mine. Just once. But I felt it all the way to my spine.

"They'd be fools not to see why," he said softly.

I let the silence stretch.

And then I stood, placing the fan neatly back on the table.

"Well," I said, turning toward the main hall. "I'll leave you to your brooding. There's still a part of the rose trellis I haven't terrorized yet."

He didn't stop me.

But as I passed Yaozu on the way out, I caught the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was a quiet week.

But even in the quiet, the game never stopped.

And I wasn't done playing with my food yet.