I had never known that exhaustion could cling to one's bones like a stubborn shadow.
When I first entered the palace, I believed the hardest part of my new life would be pleasing the Third Prince enduring his silence, his aloofness, the way his eyes passed over me as though I were little more than a painted vase placed in his chamber. But I was wrong. It was not the prince's indifference that wore me down,it was the endless lessons.
Madam Yun's voice still rang in my ears like the clink of iron against stone.
"Sit straighter, Princess Consort."
"Your hands must not flutter like frightened birds when you pour the tea."
"No, no, the bow must be lower. Your eyes must not linger. Again."
Her commands fell on me like a hailstorm. Today she made me repeat the correct way to fold a handkerchief for almost an hour, as if my worth as a royal consort depended on neat creases. I wanted to scream that a handkerchief was meant to wipe tears, not to become an ornament for her judgment.
But I bit my tongue, bowed lower, and obeyed.
When she finally released me, the sun was already sagging toward the horizon. The golden light bled across the courtyard stones, and I felt my chest tighten with the need for air. I did not wish to retreat to my chambers, nor did I wish to risk seeing my husband's cold gaze again. My feet, as if led by their own will, carried me past familiar gardens, down unfamiliar paths, until the manicured beauty of the palace dissolved into something simpler.
And there, tucked away at the palace's edge, I found it.
The lake.
It was broader than I expected, its still waters holding the colors of dusk as if it had swallowed the entire sky. Lotus leaves floated across the surface, pale blossoms half-shuttered in the cooling air. I could see servants on the far end filling jars and buckets, their chatter faint, carried away by the breeze.
I knew I should not linger there. It was not the place for someone of my new station. Yet, in that moment, I was not a princess consort. I was merely Chyou, daughter of Mao Chengguang, who once chased dragonflies by the riverbanks of our manor, who once believed the world beyond the market stalls was unreachable.
I sat upon a flat stone near the water's edge, gathering my skirts about me. For the first time since I had entered the palace, my breath felt light, as though I could breathe freely. And before I realized it, a melody rose from my lips.
It was the song my father used to sing when he returned from his travels.
The words were simple, about distant mountains and the way a swallow always finds its way home. He sang it in a voice that was not refined, not elegant, but warm. As a child, I would hum along, clutching his sleeve, convinced that the song itself was a charm that would always bring him safely back to me.
Now, my own voice wove into the evening air, soft and uncertain at first, then clearer as I surrendered to memory.
The palace walls, the lessons, the cold indifference of the Third Prince — all of it slipped away. For a moment, I was no consort, no piece in the emperor's game of politics. I was simply my father's daughter, singing a common song by the water.
"Ah," a voice said behind me, amused. "So the Third Prince's consort is also a songbird."
I froze.
Turning quickly, I expected to see one of Madam Yun's ever-watchful attendants, perhaps come to scold me for sullying my dignity in a place meant for servants. But instead, standing not three paces away, was a man dressed in robes of deep indigo, embroidered with the faintest trace of silver clouds. His smile was bright, his eyes sharp, and his bearing carried a natural authority that made my pulse skip.
The Crown Prince.
My breath caught. I scrambled to rise and bow, my hands awkwardly clutching my skirts. "Your Highness-"
He lifted a hand lightly, his expression playful. "No need for all that. You'll wrinkle your dress if you bend too low on such hard stone."
His voice was warm, almost teasing, and not at all the stern thunder I had imagined would belong to the emperor's heir.
"I did not mean to disturb you," I said quickly. My cheeks burned, for I knew I must have looked foolish hair loosened by the breeze, skirts dusted with earth, caught singing like a village girl.
"Disturb me?" he repeated with a laugh, stepping closer. "On the contrary, I should thank you. Palace songs are always about duty, loyalty, and the glory of the emperor. Dull enough to put the heavens themselves to sleep. But you-" His eyes glimmered as they fixed on me. "You were singing something else. Something alive."
I lowered my gaze, embarrassed. "It is only a tune from my childhood. Hardly fit for the ears of a Crown Prince."
"Then perhaps that is exactly why I like it."
His words startled me.
He lowered himself onto the stone beside me without ceremony, as though he were not heir to the empire but simply another young man seeking respite by the water. The servants on the far end of the lake glanced over nervously, then wisely turned away.
I dared a glance at him. His posture was relaxed, one arm draped across his knee, eyes fixed on the rippling water. There was an ease about him I had never seen in the Third Prince.
"What is the song about?" he asked after a pause.
I hesitated, then answered truthfully. "About a swallow. It always leaves the nest to fly over mountains and rivers, but no matter how far it goes, it returns home again."
The Crown Prince tilted his head, as if tasting the meaning of my words. "A swallow that finds its way home," he murmured. "Do you miss your home that much, Princess Consort?"
The question pierced me, gentle though it was. My throat tightened. I thought of my father's warm laughter, of the way the villagers greeted him with respect not because he was rich but because he never forgot his roots. I thought of the manor's courtyards, the sound of merchants bargaining, the smell of fresh buns steaming in the kitchens.
"I do," I whispered. "More than I can say."
For a moment, silence stretched between us. The water lapped softly against the stone, the faint sound of buckets filling far away.
Then the Crown Prince chuckled softly. "I can understand why my brother likes you."
My head snapped up, startled. "He does not-"
"Oh, don't look so flustered," he said with a grin. "I know my brother well. He is cold, yes. But even ice notices warmth when it's near. Perhaps he does not show it, but he is not blind."
I could not find the words to answer. Heat flushed my cheeks at the thought of the Third Prince "liking" me, though every look he gave me seemed laced with disdain. Yet, I could not bring myself to argue with the Crown Prince.
Instead, I asked quietly, "Does Your Highness always wander the palace like this?"
"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "The palace may be gilded, but it is a cage all the same. If I do not walk its corners, how will I know what lies beyond my golden perch?" He smiled, boyishly almost. "Besides, the servants here tell better stories than half the ministers in court."
I found myself laughing before I could stop it. The sound felt foreign after so many days of stiff lessons and cold silences, but it warmed me.
The Crown Prince's eyes softened at the sound. "There. That suits you better than all Madam Yun's corrections."
I blinked. "You… you know of her?"
"Who in this palace does not?" he said dryly. "She is a woman of sharp eyes and sharper tongue. But do not let her cut away your spirit. If you lose yourself here, little swallow, the palace will swallow you whole."
His words struck me more deeply than I expected.
For the first time, I felt truly seen within these walls. Not as a consort, not as a bargaining piece between kingdoms, but as myself.
"Sing it again," he said suddenly.
I stared. "Your Highness-"
"Just once more," he coaxed. "I promise I will tell no one. Let it be our secret."
My lips parted in protest, but the warmth in his gaze disarmed me. And so, shyly, I turned back toward the lake and let the melody slip once more from my lips.
The swallow flew again, carried by my voice across water and sky, weaving itself into the silence of twilight. And as I sang, I felt the weight of the palace ease, if only for a moment.
When I finished, the Crown Prince did not applaud, nor did he mock. He only smiled, soft and sincere.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "Not because it is flawless, but because it is real."
The words lingered within me long after the sun sank and the first lanterns of the palace flickered to life.