Lily was pouting slightly but she lowered her head when Yen turned to her so he wouldn't see. She knew better than to let him catch even a flicker of her mood. He could read her too well already, and today—tonight—she was beginning to feel like a tightly wound spring. Her legs were sore, her stomach was bloated, and all she wanted was a bit of air to herself. But Yen wouldn't let her go.
They had just finished eating for dinner. He had fed her by hand halfway through the meal, wiping her lips with his thumb between bites, licking the corner of her mouth once like it was an afterthought. She had tried not to react. Not to blush. Not to look annoyed. But his hand never left her wrist for long.
Even when she rose to excuse herself—for something as mundane and human as needing to pee—Yen had followed. He stood just outside the door, arms crossed.
She farted. Loudly.
There was a beat of silence.
"Hah," Yen barked a single, sharp laugh. And then, as if nothing had happened, he reached out to rub her stomach through the silk of her robes in a circular motion.
She couldn't even glare properly. Her face was red. Her ears, too.
Now back in the room, she sat cross-legged on the cushion beside him, her hands clutched tight in her sleeves as she began to fiddle with the fabric. It was her small nervous habit—an anchor. Something to do when her chest felt too tight.
Yen tilted his head, watching her. His expression was unreadable. Cold, as usual. He reached up, pushed her hair back behind her ear, and stared at her in that unsettling way he always did when he was planning something.
"You'll start managing for the spring festival tomorrow," he said.
Lily blinked.
"Winter just started," he continued, "so you'll have enough time."
She looked up at him then. The smallest spark of something genuine lighting in her eyes. She liked that part of herself—the one that worked, that planned, that solved problems and orchestrated events.
Yen saw it instantly. The joy. The shift in her posture. Her fingers stopped fidgeting.
He smiled faintly. A rare thing. "Make it grand. Don't worry about the budget."
He stood. Not gracefully. Not gently. Like he was done indulging this moment of softness.
Then his fingers wrapped around her wrist.
He pulled her up with him as they exited the private dining hall. His grip was loose enough not to bruise, but firm enough.
Lily's lips parted slightly. She followed a step behind. "There's more to it," she said softly. "It's not just a festival, is it?"
"Hm," Yen muttered. "It's an announcement."
She glanced at him, a little more wary now. "...For what?"
"I'll talk at once when the two are present."
He didn't elaborate. Of course he wouldn't.
But she didn't push.
Instead, she nodded, and looked down at the floor as they walked. Her pout had vanished.
As they walked back toward their chambers, Lily couldn't help the small smile beginning to unfurl at the corners of her mouth. Planning festivals was one of the few things that still made her feel… like herself. She loved every part of it. The colors, the music, the lantern designs, the layout of the courtyard procession. The way guests gathered in awe when the lights finally lit across the walls like stars.
It was hers. Or… it used to be.
Still, for now, it felt real. He was letting her do something again.
"But you won't do it alone," Yen said, tone flat as stone. "Arkon and Zion will assist."
Her smile faded a little, but she nodded. She wasn't surprised. She never did anything without someone at her back anymore. Watching. Reporting. Guiding.
Monitoring.
Still. It was something.
-----
Later that evening, in their chambers, the routine continued.
Lily laid out the papers for the archived festival preparations she did in the past. Her handwriting was delicate but clear, and her list spanned four scrolls already. Everything from food inventory to seating arrangements. From seasonal color schemes to music and security routes. She was thorough. She always had been.
Yen lounged behind her on the bed, shirtless, a book forgotten beside him as he watched her write. One hand constantly found its way to her lap or thigh. Once, it wandered up her side to feel beneath her robes, massaging her absent mindedly.
"Your fingers are too stiff," he muttered as he caught her hand mid-sentence. He kissed her knuckles once. Then released her. "Don't ruin the ink."
She didn't respond. Just dipped her brush and kept going.
Eventually, he stood and walked to his own desk at the far end. Took his time stretching, rolling his shoulders before pulling out a map and his inkstone.
He began writing. Letters to clan leaders. Messages to the other territories. There was a kind of ruthless beauty in the way he planned things. Everything intersected. Everything was controlled.
No surprises.
He hated surprises.
Lily stood at some point to fetch more parchment and brush water. When she passed behind him, he reached out suddenly, grabbing her waist and pulling her down onto his lap.
She let out a soft breath, startled but not surprised.
He kissed her neck once. Then her jaw. Then her mouth.
No words. Just lips pressed to hers, sharp and soft at once. Tongue flicking inside as if to taste what mood she was in.
Then, he let her go.
Back to work.
-----
By the time the moon was high and the fire had burned low, Jang was called in.
He entered with his usual bow.
"Tea," Yen said without looking up.
Jang bowed again and exited. He returned with a tray of steaming jasmine and small preserved fruit. Lily served it herself. Poured Yen's cup first. He drank. She drank next.
Nothing more needed to be said.
-----
The fire was crackling by the time they undressed.
Lily folded both of their outer robes. They changed into sleeping silks in silence. He blew the candles out once she climbed in beside him.
Then, he pulled her close.
Not gently. Not lovingly.
But with finality.
He crushed her against him, burying his face in her hair. One arm wrapped over her waist like a vice. His legs tangled into hers until there was no space for her to turn.
She didn't try to.
Her breath hitched. His didn't.
Sleep came slow for her. It came quick for him.
But the hold never loosened.
Not even when the sky began to pale with morning.