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Overnight, Great Sheng changed.

When the historians rewrote the record, rumors swirled outside the palace.

They said only I survived the palace coup.

They said my fate was too hard.

My mother died on my coming-of-age day.

My husband rebelled and died.

My father-king was forced to death by me.

“I accept everything else,” I said.

“But not father-king.”

The historians trembled.

“Then how should this be written, Princess?”

“The former emperor died beneath Prince Ling’s arrow. What does that have to do with me?”

They looked at each other and understood.

I remained in the palace several more years.

I watched the crown prince babble.

Then enter the study hall.

I arranged the best tutors for him.

Also masters to teach him riding and archery.

Among the people, they called me the Supreme Emperor.

I knew what that meant.

They resented a woman controlling the court.

On the day the crown prince took power, news spread through the palace:

Princess Jiao had died.

Outside the city, I watched the funeral procession layers deep.

I was buried in the imperial tomb.

Or rather, the Princess Jiao they knew was.

I turned back one last time toward the high walls that had trapped Mother.

Then mounted my horse and looked north.

The wind carried the scent of dust and grass.

I urged the horse forward.

“Mother.”

“Jiao is taking you home.”