"My lord, dinner is set," Jang said with a bow, his voice clipped and careful.
Yen stood from his seat in the study without a word, and Lily, as always, rose after him. Her steps were smaller, quieter, but she trailed him like a shadow, always a beat too late. His strides outmatched hers easily. The long hallway swallowed her in silence except for the faint echo of her shoes against the polished stone, her thin robes fluttering behind like a whisper that wanted to stay silent.
The doors to the private dining hall opened with a quiet groan. Two maids bowed and disappeared, the flames from the candlesnand lanterns casting flickers across the marble floor. A table had been prepared for two, as it always was, though only one seat was used properly.
Yen did not take the chair.
He sat at the head of the table and, with one hand, pulled her down onto his lap, settling her sideways across one thigh like a doll. Her weight barely made a difference to him. One arm remained draped around her waist. She neither flinched nor leaned against him. She simply sat—like she'd done a hundred times before.
The food steamed before them, elegant and carefully arranged. It didn't matter. She reached without hesitation for the knife, sliced a piece of meat from the platter, and raised it to his mouth. He accepted it, chewing slowly, watching her as she prepared the next bite.
He peeled the shrimp, fingers slick with the juices, and without waiting for her to ask, brought it to her lips.
Her mouth was already parted.
She accepted it. Chewed quietly. Swallowed without tasting.
Yen didn't speak.
But he watched.
His eyes never left her face—not even for a second. His gaze followed the movement of her jaw, her tongue against her cheek, the little bob of her throat when she swallowed. Every flicker of movement on her pale face was studied, memorized. Judged.
He brought a spoon of rice to her lips next.
She blinked once, then accepted it.
He fed her again.
And again.
And again.
The heat from the food faded, and the silence thickened with each bite she swallowed under his gaze. She didn't look up once. Her lashes were lowered, casting shadows against her cheeks, her mouth obediently parting for the next spoonful. Her back was too straight. Her breathing too shallow.
Her hands rested on her lap, curled like wilted petals.
Only when he brought the eight or ninth spoon—she'd lost count—did she turn her head slightly to the side, away from him, eyes still low.
"I'm full," she said, barely above a whisper. Her voice had the softness of someone afraid to speak at all.
There was a brief silence.
Then the metallic clink of the spoon being set down rang louder than it should have. Yen leaned back into the chair, his arm tightening around her waist as he did.
"You are thin," he said flatly.
She said nothing.
But her throat worked as she swallowed down the last mouthful that still lingered in her mouth, ashamed she hadn't chewed fast enough. Her body tensed ever so slightly when his hand moved.
He placed his palm against her waist, fingers splayed as if measuring her. Then his thumb pressed into her belly, firm. Not gentle. Not cruel either. Just... inspecting.
His hand slid slowly upward, over the dip of her stomach, the soft flesh of her side, then higher—until his palm settled just beneath her ribs. His fingers moved in silence, ghosting over the delicate bones there.
He exhaled through his nose.
A sharp, disappointed sound.
"Tsk." He clicked his tongue, the disdain in it striking like a whip. "The baby died due to your carelessness."
It was so sudden, the words fell like a slab of iron into the quiet.
Lily froze.
Her eyes remained on her knees, but something in her face tightened. Her lips trembled—just once—and then pressed together.
"No. I—I did everything I—" Her voice cracked as she turned her face into his shoulder, almost unconsciously seeking the illusion of comfort, or perhaps concealment.
"Enough." His tone sliced clean through her words.
She felt the muscles in his leg shift beneath her. In one swift motion, he pulled her off his lap. Not roughly. Not kindly. Just... final.
She stood on unsteady feet, her hands tightening on her sleeves as he rose beside her without even a glance. He strode ahead without offering his hand, his steps echoing harshly against the polished stone.
Lily followed.
The food remained untouched on the table. The rice had gone cold.
-----
The chambers were dim when they entered. The massive bed, dressed in dark velvet sheets and furs, stood untouched at the center. A fire crackled faintly. The servants had long since disappeared.
Yen didn't speak as he removed his coat, tossing it over the chaise without care. His belt came next. Lily stood by the door, her fingers twisting in her sleeves again, shoulders hunched slightly.
"You didn't eat enough," he said without turning.
She didn't answer.
Her stomach was twisting. Not from hunger, but from the heaviness that always followed that phrase. She knew what would come next.
"You've grown paler again."
She still said nothing. She didn't argue. Didn't plead.
He turned, finally, and crossed the room with deliberate steps. His hand came to her cheek—cold at first, then warm with contact. He tilted her chin up with two fingers. She blinked quickly, once, her lashes fluttering, but didn't meet his gaze.
"Do you think starving will bring it back?" His voice was too calm.
Her lips parted, but she had no words. Her breath caught in her throat instead.
He ran a knuckle down her cheek. "Or was it guilt?" His other hand brushed down her side again, thumb sliding beneath the loose sash of her robe. "Did you want to punish yourself?"
She flinched, barely, but he felt it.
"Stop," she whispered, voice hoarse.
He ignored her.
"You were weak," he said, hand now fully under the robe, palm flat against her stomach again. "You should have stayed in bed. You walked too much. I told you—"
"I didn't," she interrupted, her voice rising in panic before she caught herself. "I didn't... I only walked to the garden. You said I could."
He stilled.
She instantly regretted speaking.
His gaze sharpened—not rage. Something quieter. Colder.
"I said," he murmured slowly, "you could sit in the garden."
Her breath hitched.
"I—I sat. I sat most of the time... I swear—"
His hand slid out from under her robe. He stepped back. The distance felt worse than the touch.
"Then it's worse," he said simply. "The baby still died."
Her knees nearly buckled. She stumbled a step forward, reaching for his sleeve out of instinct. "Yen... please."
He didn't shake her off.
But he didn't look at her either.
"There will be another," he said as he removed the tie on his hair. "This time, you'll follow orders."
She stood in the same spot for several seconds.
There was no crying. No outburst. She hadn't cried in weeks. She didn't have the energy for it anymore.