Rui had always believed he could endure anything, so long as he kept his heart sealed tight. But now, the fortress he had so carefully constructed was beginning to fracture.
After meeting with Li Yuan the night before, Rui had returned to his chambers and stood motionless for hours, replaying every word, every moment. The emperor's apology had not been forced. There had been no threat, no veiled command behind his eyes. Only honesty—stark and unfamiliar.
It had disarmed Rui more than any sword could.
Shadows Beneath the Surface
Morning sunlight filtered through the latticed windows as Rui prepared for the day. He dressed simply, his silver hair pulled into a high knot, ceremonial robes exchanged for a lighter, more personal ensemble. The scroll of the koi painting remained on his table, now unrolled and weighted with a jade stone.
He stared at it again, his fingers tracing the gentle curve of the inked brushstrokes. There was something deeply human in it—a confession without words.
Was it foolish to believe Li Yuan could feel something real? That the man who had taken him, broken his world, could also be the one to piece something new together?
He closed the scroll and exhaled.
If he allowed himself to feel again, he risked far more than heartbreak.
Courtly Games
Later that day, Rui entered the imperial court beside Li Yuan. Their appearance together was deliberate—meant to quell whispers, remind the ministers of the unity between their kingdoms. But Rui could feel their eyes on him like knives. Some with suspicion, others with envy, and a few… with hope.
The Southern delegation had sent envoys. He recognized them by their crimson accents—his people, now watched from a distance.
The audience was long, tedious. Petitions, grain disputes, minor rebellions. But Li Yuan was attentive, commanding, and sharp in ways Rui could not help but admire. Even now, even when he was trying not to.
After the audience, Rui made to slip away, but Li Yuan caught up with him in the corridor.
"You held yourself well today," the emperor said, walking beside him.
Rui didn't look at him. "It was not for you."
"I know."
That honesty again.
"I would like to speak with you tonight," Li Yuan added. "Not as your emperor. As your… husband."
Rui stopped walking. His breath caught. The title felt strange still, heavy with both memory and possibility.
"I may come," he said quietly, and walked away before Li Yuan could answer.
A Tangle of Emotions
That evening, Rui did not attend the emperor's chambers.
Instead, he wandered the Moon Gate Pavilion, where plum blossoms had begun to bloom despite the lingering chill of early spring. Lanterns swung softly overhead, casting circles of gold on the stone path.
He wasn't sure why he'd come here, only that his thoughts were too loud inside the palace walls.
He found himself beneath the ancient plum tree, the same one where he had once watched the stars on his first week here. Everything had changed since then—his body, his mind, and especially his heart.
He thought of Li Yuan's voice, his restraint. The gentleness that had replaced command.
Why now? Rui wondered. Why do I begin to see him not as a captor, but a man?
A breeze rustled the branches, and a single blossom fell into Rui's hand.
He stared at it for a long time.
Nightfall
The next morning, Rui was summoned not to court, but to the private study shared only by the emperor's most trusted few.
Li Yuan was already there, alone, seated at a long table with maps unfurled.
"Come," he said, softer than usual.
Rui stepped inside, cautious.
"There's been movement from the Eastern border. Strange reports. A village swallowed by fog. Entire families missing, but no blood."
Rui's brows furrowed. "Another omen?"
Li Yuan nodded. "Perhaps. Or something older."
He tapped a corner of the map—where the Eastern Mountains curved like a dragon's spine.
"There were stories once," Rui murmured. "Of gods imprisoned beneath these peaks."
Li Yuan looked up. "You've heard the legends too."
"They were more than legends," Rui said quietly. "My mother believed in them. She said there were things older than dynasties. Things that wait."
Li Yuan held his gaze. "Then perhaps we must face them. Together."
The word together echoed louder than it should have.
And So It Begins
As Rui returned to his chambers, he realized something had shifted—subtly but irrevocably.
He was no longer a prisoner. Not in body. And perhaps, not even in heart.
But that made everything more dangerous.
Because now, Rui was beginning to care.
And caring was the one battle he had never prepared to fight.