The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 150: The First Cut

It took three courses and half a dozen performances for the court to breathe again.

Servants moved more freely, laughter resud in cautious doses, and even the flutists returned to their lody with so semblance of ease. But none of it reached the head table.

Not truly.

Mingyu was still and unreadable beside , two of his fingers lightly pinching against the stem of his wine cup. The Emperor, now thoroughly entertained, leaned back in his seat as though watching a stage. And the Baiguang Princess—still composed, still smiling—kept glancing our way with just enough subtlety to seem accidental.

But I wasn’t fooled.

Her gaze landed on Mingyu too often to be polite. She was trying to asure him. Weigh him. I didn’t have to read minds to know that she was wondering whether she could slide past and reach for the crown without losing a hand.

I turned slightly, catching her next glance and eting it with the calm of soone who’d already decided how the story ended.

Her smile didn’t falter, but the fan in her hand stilled for just a breath too long.

Better.

The next dish was brought in on trays of lacquered gold—peach-glazed pork belly with stead greens and delicately shaped buns pressed with chrysanthemum patterns. Symbolic. Beautiful. ant to honor peace, tradition, fertility, and grace. All things the Empress loved to see at her table. All things I found endlessly boring.

Across the room, the conversation turned toward the northern trade routes. The Pri Minister Zhai spoke of iron tariffs, General Wei countered with the cost of keeping the northern wall manned through winter, and several noble sons murmured agreent without really listening.

The Baiguang Princess sipped her wine and said nothing.

Until the room quieted again.

"I’ve heard," she said lightly, turning toward the Empress, "that the Crown Princess is skilled with tea. Is that true?"

I glanced at the Empress just in ti to catch the shift—an almost imperceptible pause as she turned her gaze on .

"She does favor the art," the Empress replied, her tone sweet as syrup. "Though I believe her talents extend far beyond teapots."

I smiled politely and inclined my head. "Only where necessity demands it, Your Majesty."

The Princess turned to fully then, her fan rising again to trace slow circles through the air. "Would you consider showing us one day?" she asked. "I’d love to see a proper tea ceremony. There’s sothing so elegant about the ritual. So... controlled."

It was a test.

Not a request.

I leaned slightly toward her, tilting my head just enough to seem demure.

"I’m always happy to share what I know," I said smoothly. "Though I’ve found that not everyone enjoys the waiting. Tea can be patient. So prefer things that burn quickly."

Her lashes fluttered, just once. "And so find that heat brings out the flavor."

"True," I agreed, letting my smile bloom. "Though the wrong fla ruins even the finest leaf."

The silence that followed was not quite comfortable.

The Empress let out a gentle laugh. "How delightful. I do believe we’ll all be spoiled by so many gifted won at court."

There it was. Her hand, soft and gloved, pressed both of us back into place with a single complint.

The Princess lowered her gaze and took another sip of wine. I returned to my pork bun, carving it with slow precision.

She wanted a reaction.

She wouldn’t get it.

But I would give her sothing else.

"Baiguang must be proud," I said, tone mild. "To send soone so well-spoken. It’s no small thing to represent your entire kingdom."

The Princess smiled over the rim of her cup. "The King of Baiguang trusts completely."

"How rare," I murmured. "Trust is a difficult thing to earn when distance clouds the view. But perhaps that’s the brilliance of diplomacy—believing in sothing even when you can’t see the shape of it."

"I find belief is easier when there’s sothing worth seeing," she replied.

I t her gaze and held it.

"So do I."

This ti, it was Mingyu who chuckled—quiet, low, and entirely amused. He didn’t speak, didn’t lean in, didn’t interrupt. He simply lifted his wine and drank, utterly relaxed, as if two won weren’t throwing velvet-coated daggers beside him.

The Princess didn’t miss it.

And the Empress did not stop it.

Another round of food was announced. Poached quail eggs in five-spice, fresh greens in plum vinaigrette, and glutinous rice ford into petals. A dessert, though no one touched it. Not yet.

I dabbed the corner of my mouth with a silk cloth and set it down.

"Your Highness," I said sweetly, "you ntioned an interest in tea. I’d be glad to host you soti. Perhaps when the peach blossoms open. They do pair beautifully with certain oolongs."

Her lips curved just slightly. "I would be honored."

Good.

Let her walk into my territory and call it a garden.

Let her think I’ll bring cups and leaves and pretty flowers.

Let her believe that the warmth between us is real.

By the ti she realizes otherwise, it’ll be far too late.

The Princess inclined her head at my invitation, her expression graceful, her eyes sharp. "Peach blossoms sound lovely. Do they bloom near the palace?"

"Not naturally," I replied. "But I’ve encouraged a few to grow where I like them. Wild things need gentle direction."

Across the table, the Empress humd in amusent. "The Crown Princess has always had a gift for cultivation. Flowers, manners, court."

My smile held. "I try to be useful."

The Princess’s fan stilled again. "And yet you have so few allies here. One would think a woman of your talents would have gathered more admirers by now."

That earned her a few glances from nearby tables.

It was an opening. One that she clearly expected to rush toward or shy away from.

I did neither.

"Admiration isn’t sothing I collect," I said quietly, slicing my dessert with the side of my chopsticks. "It’s a noisy thing. Fragile. Easily turned by rumors and proximity to power. I prefer loyalty. And that takes longer to grow."

"A fair point," she said, though her tone thinned. "But isolation is a lonely shield. Even thrones need shadows to soften their edges."

"Ah," I said softly, "but not all shadows are harmless. So bite."

I looked up again and let the silence linger—not hostile, not warm. Just clear.

You picked the wrong target.

The Empress broke the tension with a sigh too elegant to be natural. "How lucky the two of you are to learn from each other. So different, and yet so alike."

Alike?

No.

We wore similar masks.

But I did not mistake her beauty for danger. Nor did I believe her laughter was real.

She wanted Mingyu.

She didn’t know she was walking through a room already full of knives.

"Perhaps," I said gently, "we are alike in ambition. But I doubt we seek the sa ending."

Her eyes narrowed.

And I knew I’d scored the first real cut.