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

The imperial corridors had always been quiet.

But this time, the silence followed me.

Like a held breath. Like reverence. Like dread.

The guards I passed didn't dare speak. The eunuchs and maids bowed low, but none met my eyes. I wasn't veiled, nor hidden. There was no cloak of modesty to shroud me anymore.

I walked openly now. In silk dyed the color of dried blood, with a silver hairpin shaped like a phoenix's talon, and footsteps that didn't bother pretending to tread lightly.

When I reached the Empress's wing, the palace doors opened without needing to be knocked on.

The matron waiting at the end of the hall—old and bent but sharp as glass—nodded once and turned without a word. I followed her down a passage I hadn't walked since I'd first arrived at court.

The same court that once labeled me a bandit whore.

Now it bent its head when I passed.

The private garden behind the Empress's quarters was still blooming, even in winter. Pale chrysanthemums dotted the frost-rimmed hedges, a riot of delicate defiance against the cold. At the center, beneath a red-lacquered pavilion, sat the Empress herself.

She was alone.

There were no servants or guards. Just her. A table. And a second teacup already waiting for me.

"Xinying," she called out without rising. "Come sit."

I did.

She poured me a cup of tea herself, a slight smile on her face.

The tea was pale and fragrant—jasmine, perhaps, or white lotus—and the warmth of it touched my fingers before the cup did. She waited until I'd taken a sip before speaking again.

"You've done well," she said softly. "I've seen emperors try to take less and fail harder."

I raised my cup to my lips again. "I didn't take anything. They gave it up the moment they tried to chain me."

A smile ghosted across her face.

"Good. Don't ever forget that."

We sat like that for a long moment. Two women who understood the difference between power and performance. Between appearance and control.

Then she reached into the sleeve of her robe and withdrew a folded slip of parchment. She slid it toward me with one finger.

I opened it.

Names. Dates. Rooms. Codes.

"These are the last of the servants in the inner court loyal to the old faction," she said. "Ones who didn't react quickly enough when I began cleaning house."

"I thought you'd already taken care of them."

"I did," she said simply. "But I left them breathing. I thought I might let you decide what should be done."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

"Because one day you'll sit in my chair," she said. "And you'll need to understand what kind of soil a palace grows in. There's no such thing as loyalty without fear."

I let the names burn into memory.

Then I folded the parchment again and tucked it into my sleeve.

"I'll handle it before dusk."

She nodded once, satisfied.

We drank more tea.

And then, as if on cue, a third figure stepped lightly onto the stone path behind us.

Imperial Consort Yi.

She was dressed too finely for a quiet visit—embroidered black robes with a peony pattern that shimmered like blood in the sunlight. Her face was painted to perfection. Not a line out of place. But there was something different in her eyes.

A crack.

A wound still healing.

I rose slightly. The last time I'd seen her, her son had been writhing on silk sheets, poisoned by his own ambition.

She bowed low. Not to the Empress.

To me.

"Your Highness."

I stared at her for a long moment before returning the gesture with a nod.

"Imperial Consort Yi," I replied.

The Empress didn't look at either of us. She simply took another sip.

"I thought it was time the three of us had a proper conversation," she said. "We've all lost something to this court. And we've all killed something to survive it."

A flicker of movement crossed Consort Yi's face. Her hands tightened around her sleeves. But she didn't speak.

"You lost a son," the Empress continued for her, pressing the issue. "But you were never the kind of woman to cry for long. Were you?"

Consort Yi took in a deep breath and looked up. "No, Your Majesty," she replied.

"You've always known how to serve," the Empress said. "Even if the Crown twisted that service into something filthy."

My cup was empty.

I set it down.

And smiled.

"You're not angry with me?"

Consort Yi's eyes didn't blink. "He deserved to die. But I would've done it slower."

I leaned forward just slightly. "I did hold back."

"Don't next time."

The Empress finally set her teacup aside.

"You see," she said, "I've watched this palace eat too many women alive. Girls thrown into a harem to please a man they'd never speak to. Daughters sold for titles. Mothers discarded. And the only ones who ever survive are the ones who choose not to weep."

Her gaze sharpened.

"You're not just a consort anymore, Xinying. You're the mother of this empire. And mothers don't beg."

"I've never begged," I said.

"No," Consort Yi agreed, smiling coldly. "You just kill."

We all sat in silence again.

The wind moved through the garden. Somewhere, a bell rang twice. It was nearly time for the noon court.

The Empress stood and turned toward me. "I'll send word to my spies in Baiguang. Let them know you're in control here. But if you want the capital to stand behind you, you'll need to do more than wear Mingyu's ring."

"I don't wear rings."

She smirked. "Good. Then wear their fear instead."

I followed her back into the palace. Consort Yi stayed behind in the garden, watching the chrysanthemums shudder in the wind.

"Will you kill her one day?" the Empress asked, once we were alone.

"Only if she gives me reason."

She gave a small nod. "Good girl."

At the end of the corridor, she paused.

"One last thing."

I turned.

"When this is all over," she said, "when Mingyu's throne is carved from the bones of four kingdoms and the world calls you Empress—remember who helped you survive the bloodletting."

"I will," I said.

Then, softer, "You were the only one who taught me how to rule."

She touched my cheek briefly. A blessing, or perhaps a farewell.

"Not rule," she said. "Endure."

Then she was gone.

And I was alone again, walking through a palace that no longer belonged to ghosts or golden crowns.

It belonged to me.

And I would teach the world what it meant to have a halfling as a Queen.