The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 213: The Knife You Feed

The boy didn’t look away.

Not when the wind stirred the tapestries.

Not when Lord Han lowered his cup without drinking.

And not even when I narrowed my gaze—just slightly—waiting to see if his father would swat him back into obedience.

He didn’t.

Which ant one thing.

He was testing .

"You brought your son," I said again, my voice as soft as it was cold. "But I notice you haven’t taught him how to bow."

Lord Han finally smiled. It was small. Controlled. As careful as the way he adjusted the sleeve of his robe.

"He doesn’t bow," he replied. "I thought that much would be obvious."

"He will," I said simply with a shrug.

There was no threat in it. No sharpness. Just certainty, delivered like weather.

The boy blinked.

Slow. Unbothered.

I could feel the Empress’s eyes on —just a flicker of warning in the way she shifted her weight. But she didn’t interrupt. She knew better than anyone that silence had power. And this one, especially, wasn’t mine to break.

I returned my attention to the warlords.

"We’re done with introductions," I said. "Now let’s talk about the deals Baiguang is offering in your stead."

Lord Fan frowned. "We haven’t accepted any such offer—"

"No," I interrupted. "But you’ve listened."

Lord Han tilted his head. "Is it treason to listen now, Crown Princess?"

"No," I replied. "It’s treason to entertain the voice that follows. Especially if it’s saying sothing sweeter than what you want to hear."

General Wen’s hand twitched. "Then say sothing better."

I stepped closer to the table and flipped the second scroll open. This one wasn’t a map.

It was a ledger.

Every rchant na I’d tracked from Lady An’s network. Every na connected to missing grain, vanished silver, or cross-border coin marked with Chixian seals. Each one paired with a date and a delivery location—several of which matched stops on the supply trails my own soldiers had flagged weeks ago.

"This is what Baiguang is doing," I said. "Buying out your own rchants. Stockpiling rations, hoarding tal, controlling the flow of ironwood for weapons. They’re not attacking yet because they don’t have to. They’re waiting for your knees to buckle."

Lord Fan stepped closer. "This is real?"

"You think I wasted ink to impress you?"

He grunted. "Fair enough."

Lord Han said nothing.

But the boy—still sitting straight-backed at the edge of the table—glanced at the scroll with more curiosity than any child should’ve had.

I made a ntal note of that.

He wasn’t just a boy. He might look like one, but everything inside of was sounding warning bells. After all, I had grown up in the Devil’s Playground. I knew better than most that what you see isn’t always real.

In the very least, he was being grood to listen. At most, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t a boy, but rather a weapon instead.

And if he was simply a boy who listened too well, he would eventually beca a man like his father.

"You ca to this table because you want to survive," I said. "I didn’t offer gold. I didn’t offer land. I’m offering a choice."

"Between what and what?" Lord Han asked, finally lifting his cup.

"Between feeding the knife that will slit your throat," I said, "or using it to slit theirs."

A long pause.

Then the boy sneezed again—harsh, sudden, echoing across the quiet like a broken spell.

Lord Han’s fingers twitched once.

He didn’t look at the boy, but he did set the cup down, untouched, again.

I knew I had won.

Maybe not fully.

Maybe not cleanly.

But they had flinched first, and that was enough.

"I will send n to confirm these routes," General Wen said after a mont. "If they hold, I’ll sign."

I inclined my head. "You’ll find them accurate."

"And if we agree to this alliance," Lord Fan added, "you expect us to follow your orders?"

"No," I said. "I expect you to follow your own conscience. And keep your armies out of my way when the ti cos."

Lord Han stood.

"I don’t like being strong-ard," he said.

"Then don’t bend," I replied. "But then don’t expect my help when the fire reaches your doors, too."

His eyes narrowed.

"You’re young."

"I’m not the one who needs reminding."

That finally wiped the smile from his face.

He adjusted his cuffs again, glancing once toward his son. "Co," he said.

The boy stood, quiet as ever, and followed his father out the side door without looking back.

When it closed behind them, I leaned against the table and pressed two fingers to my temple.

The Empress set a fresh cup of tea in front of .

I didn’t reach for it.

I just stood there, the echo of quiet footsteps still ringing in my ears.

"They’ll sign," she said. "Eventually."

"Yes."

"And the boy?"

"He’s too sharp. There is a chance that he is a threat that we don’t see coming."

"You’ll kill him if it cos to that? If he is a threat to us?"

I didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

She didn’t flinch. Just poured herself a second cup and sipped. "Okay then."

There was another stretch of silence before the Empress continued. "Do you want to rest before the feast tonight?"

I shook my head, freezing because I couldn’t actually rember if I knew about the feast or not. "If I stop, I won’t start again," I admitted honestly. Not to ntion it would take hours to get ready for sothing like that. I don’t think I could get away with dust covered clothes a second ti.

"You say that like it’s a weakness."

"It is."

She studied over the rim of her cup. "And if you collapse during the toast? Or faint while walking through the garden?"

"Then you’ll carry ," I said dryly.

She smiled. "I’ve carried worse."

Then she stepped away and left alone in the hall—scrolls still open, the last heat from the tea fading into the cold.

I stayed there for a long ti.

Not thinking.

Not moving.

Just listening.

To the silence after fire.

To the river that still ran in the back of my mind.

To the echo of a boy’s eyes, too old for his body.

And to the reminder that knives didn’t always gleam.

Sotis, they sat quiet.

Polished.

Patient.

Waiting for soone foolish enough to feed them.