Leena's POV
The first thing Leena noticed was the smell.
Sharp. Medicinal. Almost suffocating.
It was the scent of a struggle she had already lost. Incense sticks smoldered in a corner, their smoke weaving with the bittersweet aroma of boiling herbs—mint for pain, ginseng for strength, something else acrid and unfamiliar. Tang Dynasty remedies, her hazy mind supplied, the knowledge surfacing through a fog of agony. Herbs for healing… or for gently ushering the dying into the next life. The thought sent a fresh spike of cold fear through her veins.
Her body was a map of pain. Her throat was a raw, scorched channel, burning as if she had swallowed fire. Every tiny shift on the silk mattress sent waves of protest through her fragile frame—a deep ache in her ribs, a sharp throb in her sprained wrist, the ghost of brutal fingers still pressed against her neck. She felt… dismantled.
Her lashes trembled as she lowered her gaze. Her wounds, visible where her thin sleeping robe gaped, were slathered in translucent salves that glistened under the lamplight. Their perfume was cloying and heavy, a desperate attempt to mask the scent of blood and fear that she felt was still baked into her skin. Panic, cold and sharp, began to claw its way up her chest, threatening to steal what little breath she had—until she saw him.
A silhouette against the paper-walled screen. A solid, familiar shape in the uncertain gloom.
The Prince.
Li Wei.
He turned, and his eyes found hers instantly, as if he had been tethered to her very presence. He moved toward the bed with long, decisive strides, a small porcelain vessel cradled carefully in his hand. His expression—usually a masterpiece of calm, unreadable composure—was fractured. Tight with a concern so profound it seemed to etch new lines into his handsome face.
"Leena!" His voice was a crack in the holy silence of the sickroom, low yet vibrating with an urgency that made her want to weep. "Are you alright?"
She parted her cracked lips, her mind forming the words I'm fine, a healer's automatic, reassuring lie. But—nothing. No sound. No voice. Only a thin, pitiful whistle of air escaped her bruised throat, a hollow, broken sound.
Her eyes widened in horror. This was a new kind of terror. To be stripped of her voice, her primary tool of healing, of defiance, of connection… it was a cage.
"What is it?" Li Wei was at her bedside now, leaning so close she could see the flecks of gold in his dark, worried eyes. His brows were furrowed, tension etched into every line of his face. "Do you need water? Something for the pain?"
She tried again, forcing the air from her lungs, pushing against the painful constriction. All that came was a strained, pathetic squeak, the sound a dying bird might make.
His breath stilled. The realization dawned in his gaze, a slow, dawning horror that mirrored her own.
"You… you can't talk?"
His hand rose, almost of its own volition, to cup her cheek. His thumb, calloused from sword and rein, grazed her cold skin in a gesture so painfully gentle it nearly broke her. The warmth of his touch was an anchor, the first real, safe sensation she had felt since the cave. It soothed her trembling, quieting the frantic rabbit-beat of her heart.
Leena could only nod, a weak, pathetic gesture, her lashes fluttering like fragile wings against her pale cheeks.
His chest tightened visibly, a physical reaction to her vulnerability. He began to pull away, the prince reasserting himself over the man. "I'll call the physician—he must not have realized—"
But her hand shot out from under the covers, her fingers curling around his wrist with a strength she didn't know she possessed. Her eyes, wide and pleading, locked with his. A desperate shake of her head.
Don't. Don't leave me. Not now. Not yet.
Li Wei froze, captured by the silent desperation in her grasp. How could he? How could he possibly leave her like this—alone, helpless, trembling in the aftermath of a terror he had only just pulled her from? The thought was anathema.
Jaw tight with suppressed emotion, he sat back down on the edge of her bed. Without another word, he lifted the spoon from the porcelain bowl. His movements were deliberate, reverent. He gently pressed it to her lips. "Drink," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
The warm, bitter-sweet medicinal broth slid down her throat. It was a balm, easing the raw, shredded ache, its warmth spreading through her chest and melting into her parched, terrified soul. It was more than medicine; it was an act of care, a silent promise.
Sip by sip, warmth slowly returned to her icy limbs. The sharp edges of her pain dulled into a manageable throb, just enough for her to notice something else—the weight of his gaze on her.
Dark. Unreadable. And yet… something new flickered there, something hot and intense.
His eyes lingered on her, longer than was proper, longer than was safe. They followed the vulnerable curve of her neck, the pale, delicate line of her collarbone exposed by the robe. A flush of heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming like fire under his scrutiny. Her heart thudded wildly, erratically, against her bruised ribs—a frantic, betraying rhythm she was sure he could hear in the quiet room.
Abruptly, as if scalded, he looked away. A faint cough, a slight clearing of his throat. The tips of his ears, she noticed with a strange, giddy lurch in her stomach, burned a bright, tell-tale red.
The silence that stretched between them was thick and heavy, charged with everything they could not—or would not—say. Then—his gaze, searching for an escape, caught on a small writing desk in the corner. Paper. Brush. Inkstone[1].
A solution.
Li Wei rose and fetched the set, his movements efficient. He placed the lacquered tray carefully on the bed before her.
Leena blinked, confusion flickering in her tear-bright eyes. Then, realization struck, sending a fresh wave of anxiety through her. He wants me to write.
Speaking Mandarin was one thing… but writing? Her skills were a ghost of a memory, rusty and clumsy at best. The elegant strokes and complex radicals were a far cry from the flowing script of her native tongue. Yet she remembered the characters, drilled into her by that patient, elderly instructor from her father's vast trade circle. As the only daughter of a merchant who dealt with empires, she had been prepared for this—letters, numbers, contracts. It was a skill for ledgers and treaties, not for baring her soul.
You can do this, Leena. You must.
With trembling, ink-stained fingers, she gripped the brush, its weight unfamiliar and daunting. Li Wei adjusted the small table over her lap, his hands steadying it, his presence a silent, grounding fortress. Each stroke she painted on the paper felt like a battle. Every character was a silent scream of effort, a testament to her will. Minutes stretched, the only sounds the soft scratch of the brush and of their shared breath, the air thick with the scent of ink and unspoken words.
He watched her in complete, unnerving stillness. Not a sound, not a breath wasted—just those dark, fathomless eyes, tracking her every move, reading the struggle in her trembling hand.
When at last her strength failed her, the brush slipped from her trembling fingers, leaving a final, trailing stroke across the paper. She hadn't finished her sentence, but her hand, bruised and exhausted, could do no more. A frustrated tear welled in the corner of her eye as she weakly pushed the paper toward him, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
Li Wei didn't wait for a finished product. He leaned in, his eyes already tracing the journey of her brush. He watched the path of her struggle in the shaky, uneven lines. He saw where her determination had pressed the ink deep into the paper, and where her fatigue had made the strokes faint and childlike. He wasn't just reading words; he was witnessing the sheer, stubborn will it took for her to form them.
His lips parted on a silent breath. And then—it happened. He smiled. Just barely. A curve so small and fleeting it almost wasn't there, but it was… undeniably warm. Deep. A smile that reached his eyes and lit them from within. It wasn't a smile of amusement, but of awe. In her clumsy, imperfect characters, he saw not a lack of skill, but an abundance of spirit.
He leaned closer, so close she could feel the faint whisper of his breath on her skin, could count the dark lashes framing his eyes as he traced each clumsy character.
Their gazes met, the paper forgotten between them.
And in that moment, the silence roared louder than thunder.
Words were unnecessary. Because in the dark, reflective pools of his eyes, she saw it—everything he would never dare to say aloud. The fear, the relief, the burning, terrifying possessiveness.
But before she could draw another breath to steady her spinning world…
Crash.
A sound from outside—a sharp, sudden clatter of wood against stone—shattered the fragile peace.
Li Wei's head snapped toward the door, his body instantly rigid, the softness in his eyes replaced by the sharp focus of a soldier. The prince was gone, replaced by the protector.
"Stay here," he commanded, his voice low and steel-edged. In one fluid motion, he was on his feet. He slipped out the door, melting into the darkness outside to investigate the threat.
The silence he left behind was somehow louder and more terrifying than the noise that had taken him away. But it was also a window of opportunity. Heart hammering against her ribs, Leena lunged for the brush, her injured fingers fumbling as she desperately tried to finish her message before he returned...
── .✦ To be continued…٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
[1] lol