Fang Yuan took a deep breath, the air thick with sulfur and blood.
Lin Zhaoyue's grip was a brand on his wrist, her eyes shining with rapturous anticipation.
"Before we begin… there's something I must confess," he began, his voice taut but steady.
Lin Zhaoyue leaned in, her smile sharp as a dagger.
"Mmmhmm? Confess to me, husband? How delicious." Her free hand traced a possessive line down his arm.
"I currently have… a very likely feud with the royal family."
She nodded without hesitation.
"I've already verified the rumors. They're not quite true. Your brother is on the run after thwarting the Crown Prince's plan to harvest a grade four weapon. Not because he kidnapped the third Princess."
"A… heaven grade?" Fang Yuan blurted out.
Hell—his own sword barely scraped into grade three, and it still cut just fine. And the Crown Prince was about to have a heaven grade weapon?
