For a heartbeat, the time seemed to pause, the rustle of robes and distant murmurs fading into the background. Sunlight streamed through the tall palace windows, brushing the polished marble with gold, catching on silver threads woven into the curtains. The air felt charged, electric, as if every breath, every movement, were conspiring to heighten the anticipation. Even the faint scent of polished wood and incense seemed to thrum like a quiet heartbeat, echoing through the cavernous hall.
"Now that our queen is here, we would love to share a bite of our kingdom's famous sweet Zhào and the renowned wine Yeifeng."
Kuradome turned to Yurei, his gaze sharp yet intimate, silently commanding him to prepare the offerings. Yurei snapped back to reality, cheeks warming as he moved quickly to a small table near the throne, where a bottle of Yeifeng and a rose-golden tray of snow-white Zhào awaited. Every careful step felt heavier than usual, as if he too sensed the almost tangible tension radiating between the king and the queen.
He poured the golden-red wine into two delicate cups, the liquid catching the light like molten sunlight, and carefully placed a mini plate of Zhào before Kuradome and Bài Qíyuè. The faint clink of porcelain echoed like a soft bell in the quiet hall, and the gentle aroma of the sweets and wine swirled around them, teasing a warmth that contrasted sharply with the formal solemnity of the gathering.
For a moment, the world seemed to still. The shuffle of robes, the distant hum of conversation, the soft scuff of polished boots—all faded into a hushed reverence. It was as though the palace itself had drawn a deep, anticipatory breath. Every eye in the room could have looked elsewhere, yet the subtle magnetic pull between the two figures seemed to hold the universe suspended, quietly demanding attention.
Bài Qíyuè expected to eat and drink alone, as tradition dictated—but no. Kuradome's hand brushed against hers once more, deliberate yet feather-light, and his silvered eyes flickered briefly beyond the veil to meet her crystal-blue gaze. She felt it immediately—a shiver running straight through her, igniting her pulse. She gasped softly, a faint warmth blooming in her cheeks, yet held herself rigid, unwilling to let anyone see her falter.
"This ceremony will be this year's most memorable one… so things won't go as usual, my lady," he murmured, releasing her hand slowly, letting it hover for a heartbeat before resting it casually at his side.
The quiet charge between them was almost suffocating. Every subtle movement—the tilt of his head, the slight curve of his lips, the brush of his robes against the marble—pulled her attention, focused it entirely, and left her with a delicious ache of anticipation. Her chest tightened, her breath catching on a pulse that seemed far too fast to be contained.
Yurei nearly froze mid-step, caught in the current of that silent, electric tension, while Sozai's excitement bubbled dangerously close to bursting. Saimei scowled at their antics, though even he couldn't completely mask the twitch of a smile tugging at his lips. Ennagiri, usually stoic, blinked once, twice, unsure how to process the almost tangible intimacy threading itself through the court.
Kuradome picked up a piece of Zhào, shaped like the royal mark, and leaned slightly forward, pressing it gently to her lips. Her blue eyes widened, cheeks burning hotter than before. She parted her lips obediently, and the taste—the delicate sweetness—seemed to hang on her tongue, mingling with the charged presence of the man before her.
He took a bite from the same spot she had just tasted, the gesture intimate, teasing, something the real Kuradome would never have dared. The brush of shared flavor, the unspoken closeness, made her pulse hammer against her chest like a drum announcing war—or love.
Her lips trembled as she sipped from the wine cup, Kuradome's gaze lingering over her, slow, deliberate, and impossibly intense. Then, almost playfully, he tilted their arms so that their cups clinked softly, feeding each other Yeifeng like lovers in a private dance hidden within the grandeur of ceremony.
The hall seemed to hold its collective breath. Even the rustle of rose petals drifting from Sozai's unseen cascade felt amplified, as if the world itself leaned closer to witness this unfolding intimacy. The guqin and flute began their soft, intimate melody, underscoring the quiet storm building between them.
Bài Qíyuè felt herself unmoored, simultaneously thrilled and terrified. This was not the distant, untouchable Kuradome she had known all her life. This was a man who claimed space, who whispered promises in gestures rather than words, and whose presence made her heart ache with longing she had tried for centuries to deny.
For a brief, suspended moment, she forgot her role, her title, even the audience. The only reality was the warmth of his gaze, the faint scent of his hair, the unspoken invitation lingering in the air between them. She had waited lifetimes for this, and now it shimmered before her, delicate and devastating, like embers glowing beneath silk—alive, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.