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

The sky bled orange as the fourth day of the hunt slipped toward dusk.

Most of the court was either drunk or pretending not to be, sprawled across silken mats and embroidered pillows beneath a canopy of fluttering banners. The musicians played softly—strings and flutes that sounded like lullabies for fools. Someone was laughing. Someone else was weeping into a wine cup. And all of it felt too loud.

I sat at the edge of the firelight, a bowl of broth in my hands, watching steam curl upward in thin, ghostly lines.

My spoon didn't move.

Shi Yaozu stood behind me again. As always. The only thing constant in this sea of shifting allegiances and sharper smiles. I hadn't said much since the show with the stag. Since that perfect, bloodless lie had been dragged into camp and hailed as proof of courage.

He hadn't earned it. That was what grated.

Not the kill, not the praise—but the emptiness behind it all. It was just another illusion, another story painted over rot. And people had clapped anyway.

I set the bowl aside without tasting it.

"I don't like the way the wind feels tonight," I murmured, not bothering to look over my shoulder.

Yaozu didn't answer. But he shifted slightly—just enough to block me from the firelight. Just enough to make himself a harder target to reach.

"Someone's watching," I added, glancing out past the light, toward the dark edge of the trees.

"I know," he replied, his voice flat.

Of course he did.

I let out a slow breath and picked up the cup beside my bowl instead. The tea was bitter now. Left too long, it had oversteeped and had gotten cold. I wondered for a brief moment if Yao Luo would have brought any of the good stuff with him.

With all my luck, he didn't bother.

I wasn't the only one forgotten tonight. Zhao Meiling had yet to show her face since the Third Prince's little speech. Lady Zhao hadn't come out of her tent either. The court had buzzed with whispers all afternoon, pretending not to whisper. How quickly reputations seemed to wither when left without the sun.

The precious 'Eldest' lady of the Left Prime Minister's house… disregarded by the Third Prince in front of everyone. No wonder they hadn't married since they were found in bed together. Not even the Third Prince was dumb enough to want to marry her.

However, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the silence around me wasn't gossip. It was calculation.

Too many people were trying too hard to look anywhere but in my direction. Crown Princess Yuyan. Princess Yiran. Several of the ministers' sons. Even Mingyu had gone quiet, standing at the opposite end of the fire circle, deep in conversation with one of the generals.

They were all pretending everything was fine.

But we all knew it wasn't.

I rose to my feet, not wanting to be the center of everyone's gaze any more.

Yaozu didn't even need to ask where I was going.

We left the circle slowly, not too fast to draw any more attention, and not too slow to be suspicious. Just two shadows stepping away from the warmth of the fire.

The camp was quieter farther out, where the nobles didn't bother venturing. A few guards nodded at us as we passed, but not a single one questioned it. Not with Yaozu at my side. Not with the look on my face.

Of course, it didn't hurt that most of them were wearing the red and black armor of the Red Demons.

I didn't stop until we reached the back edge of the hunting grounds, where the trees grew thick again and the path narrowed to a single trail.

Here, the scent of pine and soil replaced wine and smoke.

Here, the wind whispered again.

I waited.

It didn't take long.

A branch snapped—soft, but not soft enough.

Yaozu turned before I could speak, stepping forward and drawing the blade at his waist in a smooth arc.

Silence.

Then, a figure stepped into view. Slim. Hooded.

But not a threat.

Not tonight.

One of Sun Yizhen's men.

The man gave a short bow and held out a folded slip of parchment, hands trembling slightly before he vanished back into the trees.

I opened it.

No name. Just a single line written in precise, calligraphic brushstrokes:

"Watch the guards changing shifts. The one with the limp isn't ours."

I folded the paper again, slid it into my sleeve, and turned back toward the camp.

"I want a headcount of every man who's been assigned to this camp since the hunt began," I said. "From every faction. Especially the Red Demons. And I want it before nightfall."

Yaozu didn't hesitate. "Of course, Mistress, you'll have it before then."

Mistress. Not my name. Not a title. But a warning.

He was falling back into his training.

I was falling back into mine.

We returned to camp just as the moon began to rise.

The circle of people around the fire had quieted, and the nobles were too drunk or too tired to keep up the charade. Princess Yuyan was gone. Yiran, too. Mingyu was back by my side, speaking softly to Deming, who looked like he hadn't slept in days. Sun Longzi sat near them, his leg stretched out and his goblet full.

I resumed my seat as if nothing had happened.

Mingyu looked at me once. I nodded once in return.

No words.

Just understanding.

I let my eyes drift across the gathering, watching faces. Postures. Guard rotations. Attendants. A few of the men standing watch looked new—too new. Faces I hadn't seen in the palace before. That didn't mean they weren't loyal. But it didn't mean they were, either.

And one of them—tall, thin, with a scarf wrapped too tightly around his leg—stood too still.

Too close.

He didn't flinch when I met his eyes.

But he blinked. Just once.

A tell.

I reached for my tea again and said nothing.

Let them come.

Let them try.

I was done pretending the hunt was a game.