The door closed behind them with the softest sound.
Not a slam. Not a scrape.
Just the hush of old wood settling into privacy.
Shi Yaozu stood still, barely breathing, eyes adjusting to the warm dark of her room. He could feel the fire in the main hearth down the hall, but here, everything was quieter. Closer.
She let go of his hand.
And turned to face him.
Not as the creature the world feared. Not as the Crown Princess of the most ruthless dynasty the continent had ever known.
Just her.
Zhao Xinying. The girl who built a house with her bare hands before she had her second set of molars. The woman who had healed strangers and killed armies. The one who never once flinched when he showed her his worst.
She was standing in front of him, asking for something wordless.
And he didn't know if he was worthy of it.
