The tea garden inside the imperial court shimmered under the early sun, a pond of silver lilies resting between smooth stone paths and cherry trees. The petals hadn't started to fall yet, but the Fifth Prince was already dressed like spring had bloomed only for him.
Lin Qian sat cross-legged on a low cushion, robes of pale jade embroidered with golden plum blossoms flowing around his ankles. His skin was nearly translucent, kissed faintly pink at the cheeks from the steam rising out of his porcelain teacup. A hairpin shaped like a phoenix feather held his obsidian-black hair in place, but a few strands had fallen forward — perfectly, of course. Like everything about him.
A cluster of his personal maids sat nearby, giggling behind sleeves as they poured fresh osmanthus tea and placed candied hawthorns beside him.
"Your Highness, don't drink so fast—"
"You'll cough again—"
"Let him drink, he's prettier when his eyes water."
Qian smiled without looking up. "Liu Mei, if you don't stop talking nonsense, I'll marry you off to the stables."
The maid giggled harder, unrepentant. "Only if you'll visit me there, Your Highness."
It was soft. Peaceful. The kind of scene meant for embroidered scrolls and cherry blossom poems.
Which meant, of course, it couldn't last.
A high-pitched scoff sliced through the air like a blade.
Qian didn't look up. He didn't need to.
Only one person's steps were that loud, that arrogant — echoing against stone like she expected it to applaud her. Princess Lin Hua, third child of the Emperor. Beautiful, refined, court-favored… and absolutely bitter that her sickly little brother still managed to shine brighter than her despite coughing into silk every other week.
She appeared in a burst of embroidered crimson robes, flanked by two stiff maids in peony-pink. Her mouth curled when she saw him lounging peacefully, surrounded by smiling girls and flowers.
"Qian," she said sweetly, voice like sugar rolled in glass shards. "Still pretending to be delicate, I see."
He finally lifted his head, slow and graceful like a doll on strings. Their eyes met.
"Still pretending to be relevant, I see," he answered softly, and took another sip.
The maids around him barely hid their laughter behind their sleeves. One of them actually snorted.
Lin Hua's smile cracked.
She stepped closer. "I heard you nearly fainted yesterday walking down the East Hall. What a fragile little flower you are. Perhaps you should stop being so pretty if it's exhausting you."
Qian set down his teacup and looked up at her fully — his expression unreadable. His lips were pale from the tea, his lashes long and still damp from steam.
"Perhaps you should stop looking at me," he replied gently, "if it's so exhausting for you."
Her hands clenched.
Behind her, one of her maids looked like she wanted to vanish into the koi pond.
"Your Highness," one of Qian's maids whispered, "should we—"
He lifted a finger. "No need. Flowers don't argue with weeds."
Lin Hua stepped forward, about to speak—
But the gates to the court groaned open, and every servant stilled.
The wind carried the sound of footsteps. Heavy ones. Rhythmic. Soldiers' boots.
Qian's eyes flicked toward the entrance.
He didn't need to look twice. His heart recognized that presence before his brain did.
General Yan Hei walked into the garden like the war hadn't just ended — like he was still painting kingdoms red with his blade. Armor shining, cloak black as crows' wings. Dozens of soldiers behind him, but it didn't matter. The sun bowed for him.
And he was smiling. Not kindly. Not gently.
Smiling like a man who just returned from killing someone beautifully.
The princess immediately straightened her posture. A blush bloomed on her cheeks.
"General," she said, lifting her chin. "You've returned…"
That smile dropped.
Instantly. Like it had never been there.
Yan Hei looked at her, and the only thing behind his eyes was ice.
Qian didn't blink. Didn't breathe. He simply reached for another cup of tea, heart stuttering under his robe.
And then—
The general turned his gaze.
Straight to him.
It was quick. Barely a flicker.
But Qian felt it like a lightning strike — burning hot under layers of silk and secrets.
And behind him, his soldiers slowed. The court held its breath.