The Crown Prince's estate was alive before dawn.
Servants ran like ants across the courtyards, carrying bolts of red silk, trays of peaches, and painted paper charms for prosperity. Red lanterns were hoisted onto wooden poles, fluttering in the breeze like bloodied moons. Groomsmen hung crimson banners along the gates with trembling fingers, careful not to place any of them upside down. It had happened once—one upside-down "double happiness" character—and that bride had died before the ink on her marriage scroll had dried.
No one wanted to be responsible for that again.
From the outside, it looked like a celebration.
From the inside, it was controlled chaos.
And the heart of it all—the so-called bride—had not been seen since last night.
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Inside the estate's bridal wing, a pair of lacquered doors swung open.
