Li Yuanjing frowned and gave a sharp tug, snapping the thorn, though a thread from his robe was left caught on the bush.
"Your Majesty, were you scratched?" Lu Xuan gasped, her voice laced with concern.
Li Yuanjing replied calmly, "It's nothing."
Yet inwardly, he thought: Shen Wei was right—roses have thorns, and they do cut easily.
Perhaps fewer roses should be planted in the palace from now on.
Night had fallen, and Lu Xuan attended to Li Yuanjing as he prepared to retire.
She personally helped him change into his sleeping robes, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink as her gaze traced the firm lines of his chest and abdomen.
The Emperor was undeniably handsome, his vigor unmatched.
In the past, their intimate moments had often left her overwhelmed to the point of fainting, but at least she had found joy in them.
However, Lu Xuan was now with child and could not serve him tonight. A soft smile curved her lips as she prepared to share the news with Li Yuanjing.
