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

Deming didn't knock when he entered.

He never did anymore.

By now, he knew me too well—knew that I wouldn't be startled by his presence, or that if I were, I'd recover before it showed. He also knew that I hated small talk, hated formality when there were more important things to be done.

Like planning how to destroy half of our own country.

"You're early," I said, not looking up from the scroll on my lap.

He moved quietly, crossing the room with the steady steps of someone used to command but not needing to flaunt it. We had moved back to the manor, and Deming had moved right in with us.

The outside world had grown hushed as the months had passed like the blink of an eye. The servants lit the torches throughout the corridors; the guards did their rounds while the servants slept lightly. The hunt had come and gone, and the snow had finally begun to fall.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied simply, pulling a chair up beside me.

"Nightmares?"

"No," he said. "Memories."

I glanced at him then.

His face was calm, but not relaxed. There was a tension to his shoulders, something unreadable in the way he folded his hands together on his knees. His eyes were darker tonight. Tired.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at the map I'd been studying—one of the older layouts of the imperial capital. I'd been marking potential weak points. Places the enemy could strike if Baiguang's forces came in heavy from the north.

After a pause, he said, "Do you ever think about what it means to win?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Win?"

"Conquer. Control. Take it all."

I exhaled slowly and rolled up the map. "That's Mingyu's ambition, not mine."

Deming gave me a faint smile. "No. It's not."

I waited.

He didn't continue, so I filled the silence myself. "You think this has gone too far."

"I think we're past the point of return," he said. "But no… I don't think it's gone too far."

He looked at me then, properly. "I think this is the only way."

I leaned back, stretching my legs in front of me. My wrists still bore faint marks from the man I'd killed—his chains replaced by silk tonight, but the bruises lingered like ghosts. "Then why ask me about winning?"

"Because I need to know if you understand what this costs him."

My fingers stilled.

Deming continued, voice low and even. "Mingyu was never supposed to be this. Not really. He played weak for most of his life. Obedient. Forgettable. Do you know what that does to a man?"

"Yes," I murmured. "I do."

He nodded. "But he didn't mind. Not until they hurt you."

I turned away slightly, eyes fixed on the edge of the tent where the candlelight flickered. "So this is guilt, then."

"No," he said. "This is war. But it started with guilt. With love. With the realization that the only way to keep you safe was to burn down everything that made you vulnerable."

A long silence stretched between us.

Finally, I whispered, "I never asked for that."

"No," Deming said softly. "But you deserved it."

I closed my eyes. The fire crackled between us. Outside, footsteps passed and faded—guards changing posts, scouts returning with information that Mingyu needed for the next phase of his plan.

I hated that he was right.

This wasn't about power for Mingyu. Not really. If it had been, he would've moved years ago, claimed the throne when the Emperor began to falter, strangled his brothers in their sleep and smiled for the court.

But he hadn't.

He had waited.

Waited until I was hurt. Until I was taken.

Until someone laid hands on something he considered his.

"He'll never stop," I said finally.

"No," Deming agreed.

"Not until it's all his."

"No."

I looked back at him. "And you're okay with that?"

Deming's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I don't care who owns the empire. I care who lives in it."

I studied him.

There were very few people I trusted in this world. Even fewer I would bleed for. But Deming was… different. Steady. Brutal when he needed to be, but never cruel. Loyal, not to the idea of justice or peace—but to us.

To me.

To Mingyu.

"I didn't want to be queen," I said quietly. "I don't want a throne, or jewels, or titles. I want a quiet house and a sharp blade. A garden where no one bothers me. I want to sleep at night without one eye open."

"I know," Deming replied with a slow nod.

"But that's not possible anymore."

"No," he agreed again. "It's not."

I let my head fall back against the tent pole. "Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Following him. Choosing this."

He hesitated.

Then: "Only when I think about what happens if we lose."

We sat in silence for a while after that.

It wasn't awkward.

It was just… heavy.

I wondered what would have happened if I offered a choice. I could easily destroy everyone on this continent if I wanted to. I could snap my fingers and it would be done. There would be no war, no opposition, just a sigh, and it would have been done.

But I kept my mouth shut, offering silence instead of solutions.

A kind of silence forged by long battles and longer friendships.

Finally, he stood. "There's a list on your desk. Names of nobles in the capital who've started shifting their loyalties. You might want to look it over."

I nodded.

He turned to leave—but paused at the flap of the tent.

"Xinying."

I looked up.

"He's not doing this for power. He's doing this for you. I need you to understand that."

"I do."

"And I need you to be okay with it."

"I will be," I said softly. "By the time it's over." And only if those I consider mine are still standing at the end of the day. If not… then I made no promises.

He didn't respond, just nodded once and disappeared into the cold night air.

I sat there a while longer.

Then I stood, crossed the room, and unrolled the list.

Names.

Allies.

Enemies.

People I'd never met and others I'd nearly killed.

I picked up a brush and dipped it in red ink.

If this was what it meant to be queen, then I would wear the title like a dagger.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I had to.

And in the end, the world would learn—

Zhao Xinying does not break.

She conquers.