joie de vivre

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, as you continued to stare at your beloved toy lodged in the branches. Would your father be disappointed in you for losing it? The tears fell faster and faster until you were sobbing upon the ground. It was such a little thing to be so upset over, you knew that, but it meant so much to you.

“What ails you, princess?” Came a voice from high above you, but from whom you could not see. “You cry so miserably, even a stone would be moved to show pity.” A shadowy form descended until the black bird landed directly in front of you, its unnervingly intelligent eyes seemingly looking into your very soul.

You were taken aback. It was talking. The bird was speaking to you. And not just mimicking someone else’s voice, but truly speaking. All thoughts of your ball were wiped from your mind as you stared in awe at the feathered anomaly. It waited patiently for your response, calm as the breeze that flowed through the trunks. 

“My ball,” you eventually stuttered out. You pointed where it was still lodged, the crow following the line of your arm to spy the golden bauble. “It’s stuck, and I can’t get it down.”

“No need to cry for that. I will help you, but what will you give me in return if I bring your plaything back down?” He asked, his shrewd eyes fixed on your own.

“Anything you desire,” you responded. “My clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the crown on my head if that is what you wish.”

The crow tilted its head. “Anything? You should be more careful when making promises, especially to the unnatural. What if I asked for your heart? Or perhaps an eye. Would you give it to me?” Derision dripped from his every word.

You faltered. What nerve this feathered beast had. “I’ll give you what you wish so long as it is within reason, and I maintain the right to deny that which I am either unwilling or unable to fulfill. Does that satisfy you?”

The bird turned your words over in its mind, thinking carefully about your wording before answering that yes, that would do just fine. So up, up, up the bird flew, nudging your precious gift from where it had lodged itself so that it came falling back to earth with a solid thud. You reached out, your hand wrapping firmly around it. The bird landed in front of you once more, his request already decided.

“Thank you, Mr. Crow. What is it that you would like in return for helping me?”

“A kiss,” he answered confidently, not a shadow of a doubt that that was what he wanted.

You had expected gold or other such shiny things, something a crow might find enjoyment in, but reality was so far from your expectations that you were again stunned into silence.

“A kiss, your highness, that is all I ask for,” he pleaded, almost desperate. Why a crow was so insistent on a kiss was beyond you, but you would not grant it. It spoke like a person, so how could you be sure it was a crow at all and not some evil of the forest that only took the form of a crow? What if a kiss would bind you to it for all eternity?

“I cannot do that, Mr. Crow,” you declined.

“Cannot or will not? Your terms were that you could refuse my requests if you were unwilling or unable, so which is it?”

“Will not. My father is considering a betrothal with another kingdom. Whether you are a crow or something else, my kisses are reserved for the one whom I will marry.”

The crow looked disappointed, which you didn't even know was possible for a bird. “I would like to be your companion then. To eat and drink the same food, to sleep in the same quarters, to be at your side, always.”

You acquiesced, but the second the crow looked away from you, you fled back to the castle, trying to put as much distance between you and that unnatural bird as you could. He took to the air, following your retreating figure, squawking at you to wait, to come back, that he meant you no harm, you promised. But you did not listen, did not care to hear one more word the mysterious bird had to say. It shouldn't have had any words to say in the first place.

You didn't stop running until the castle doors were shut firmly behind you. You thought the crow wouldn't have dared leave its home in the forest, but it was waiting for you, adamant that you would hold up your end of the deal. 

That night at dinner, you heard an insistent tapping at the window. Your father, the king, heard it as well, shooting a curious glance your way as if to ask if you heard it too. The dining room was not on the ground floor; no one should have been able to reach those high windows. You rose slowly, walking to the covered window to pull back the curtain. There, perched on the windowsill, was the crow from the forest. It stared at you directly through the thick pane of glass, its beady eyes narrowed. Yet, it never stopped the incessant tapping on the window with its beak. You yanked the curtains closed, returning to your seat and ignoring the infernal tapping upon the window.

“What is it?” your father asked, looking between you and the window.

“A crow,” you answered simply, drinking from your goblet to hopefully avoid saying more.

“Why is there a crow on the windowsill? It’s awfully late for a crow to be this active.”

You sighed heavily, telling your father of all that had transpired earlier in the day. How you had lost your ball, how the crow had retrieved it, how you had promised it a reward, and then how you hadn't fulfilled his wish. He looked angry, but not at the crow; no, he was angry with you. “That which you promised must be fulfilled. You are a princess. You cannot make such empty promises. Go, allow him in, and keep your word. He will eat and drink as you do, sleep as you do, and be at your side always.”

Though you greatly disliked it, you did as he said, approaching the window and once again parting the curtains to reveal the disgruntled bird. You scowled at it. Why couldn't it just stay in the woods? Or, better yet, have helped you just to be kind, and not ask for such ridiculous compensation.

You unlatched the window, allowing the bird to fly into the dining room where it perched on the chair across from yours, staring at you expectantly. You walked back to your seat after securing the window, not taking your eyes off the bird.

You didn't speak to the bird, ignoring it as best you could, whereas your father made polite conversation with it, as if there was nothing odd about conversing with a crow over dinner. Your father had called over a servant, requesting that both a meal and a drink be brought out for the bird. “What shall we call you?” your father asked politely.

“Your daughter called me Mr. Crow. That will do fine.”

“Don't you have a name of your own?”

He did, but it stuck in his throat when he tried to utter it. “No. I’m just a crow.” For now.

Your father nodded, not quite satisfied, feeling bad that a sentient creature such as the crow had not so much as a name to call its own. “Mr. Crow it is then.”

When dinner ended, he followed you to your bedroom, and almost followed you into the bathroom as well until you shut the door in his face. You dismissed the maids, insisting that you wanted to be alone. Obviously, the crow was here to stay, so you wanted all the alone time you could get. You scrubbed until your skin was angry and raw, wishing you could scrub the crow itself from both your memory and life. No ball, however sentimental, was worth such a headache.

You exited the bathroom, finding the crow stubbornly waiting for you just outside. You groaned, ignoring it, and it followed you all the way back to your room, making itself comfy on one of your pillows. Your distaste for the creature only deepened. “You're not sleeping in my bed,” you stated.

“Our agreement-”

“You requested the same quarters, not the same bed. It was you who said to word things carefully, no?”

He laughed, beyond amused. You were right, he did say both of those things. “Very well. Where would you have me sleep then, your highness?”

“Don't know, don't care. Get out of my bed.” You glared as you watched him settle himself on your writing desk. You crawled into bed, blowing the candle out to sleep, and hopefully, when you woke up, this would all have been a dream.

“Princess?” called the bird. “You've not given me a place to sleep.”

“Sleep on the floor for all I care,” you grumbled, pulling the covers up higher to cover your ears.

“How do you expect to care for your people one day if you cannot even care for a bird?” The bird goaded, amusement morphing into offense at your continual poor treatment of him.

“You're just a bird!” you spat at him.

“I’m your guest,” he corrected indignantly, pride running hot through his veins.

You shot up in bed, snatching the other pillow that he had been on and tossing it to the floor. “There! Is that what you wanted?” He hopped onto the plush cushion, making himself comfy.

“It is,” he said finally, content with his downy accommodations, even if not so pleased that he was still on the floor and not your bed. Just to add to your obvious irritation, he added, "Goodnight, princess.” He took immense satisfaction in your muffled groan from beneath the blankets you had buried yourself under.

The next morning, you woke from the light streaming in through the open window. You stretched, body still lethargic with sleep. You forced yourself into a sitting position, spotting the now-empty pillow on the floor, the only trace that the bird had been there at all. You dressed for the day, making your way to the dining room to join your father for breakfast. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted you warmly. “Sleep well?”

You hummed in affirmation, pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

“And where is Mr. Crow?” he asked, not missing the absence of the newest resident of the castle.

You shrugged. “Don’t know. He was gone when I woke up. The window was open last night for fresh air.”

“You didn't throw him out of the window, did you?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“No! Of course not!” You wanted him gone, but you didn't want to actively terrorize the bird.

Your father still looked slightly suspicious of you, but let it go without further argument. He finished his food, excusing himself from the table to go to his office. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, telling you to take your time with breakfast and that your lessons had been postponed in favor of getting to know your new friend, absent though he was.

You sipped your coffee, taking in the early morning light. It was calm, relaxing, until that same wretched tapping as last interrupted the serenity. You sighed, placing your mug back on the table and rising from your seat. As you drew near, you could see that it had something in its beak, but you weren't quite sure what until you opened the window.

They were flowers. The bird had woken up early to pick flowers. He angled his head up, as if offering them to you. “For me?” you asked quizzically.

It nodded its feathered head, hopping closer. You took the modest bouquet, curious why he would do such a thing. You had done nothing to deserve such a gesture. “Thank you. They’re very pretty,” you said with a small smile, touched by the effort this must have taken for the small animal.

“Pretty enough to deserve a kiss?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I already told you I won't kiss you.”

Sylus was beginning to think he should have negotiated that kiss before helping you at all. “I’ll earn that kiss eventually, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him and returning to finish your now lukewarm coffee, the crow in pursuit. He nibbled at the spread, but didn't seem keen to eat much. He was a bird, and the phrase ‘eat like a bird’ had to come from somewhere, you guessed. In truth, he was planning and plotting how to get you to kiss him. He only had so much time before this was permanent, and his human consciousness was overridden and forgotten.

Days came and went in the same fashion. The bird continued sleeping on what you had designated as his pillow on the floor, ate every meal with you, and joined you for walks around the garden. He was your ever-present shadow, just as he had requested. Your annoyance with him decreased with each passing day, beginning to grow fond of his company, especially once you got used to his dry humor. On this particular day, he was perched on your chair in the garden’s gazebo, reading over your shoulder. When you had asked if he was even capable of reading, he had merely scoffed at you.

The two of you were reading in silence, and with him still securely perched on your chair, you knew it wasn't him hopping around beneath the table, so what was that brushing against your shoes?

You glanced beneath the table, jerking away with a scream that startled Sylus into the air. He landed on the ground, eyes zeroing in on the offender who had scared his princess so badly. It was just a small garden snake, something he could easily handle. He looked at you to see that you weren't just surprised by the snake, you were genuinely scared. That settled that, then. The snake had to go.

It was quick, but unable to evade Sylus forever, now squirming in his beak. He flew off with it, returning without it shortly, landing on the table. “Are you alright, your highness?” 

“Yes, quite. Thank you, Mr. Crow,” you said gratefully, smiling at your feathered friend.

“I think my heroics ought to be rewarded. How about a kiss?”

You giggled. He was very persistent about receiving a kiss but would not tell you why, no matter how much you asked. You kissed the pads of two of your fingers, then brought them down on the bird’s beak. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, not impressed with your display.

He was even less impressed when Prince Xavier, the crown prince of one of the neighboring kingdoms, Philos, was invited by your father in the hopes of the two of you becoming amiable to a betrothal to unite your two nations. He was seething. It was supposed to be him! He was the one who was in talks with your father, not this boy who hadn't even ascended the throne yet. He would not sit idly by while his would-be bride was wooed by another, condemning him to life as a crow permanently.

Though Xavier was every bit the gentleman he was expected to be, Sylus also knew that Philos was suffering economically. Onychinus, on the other hand, was thriving. How unfortunate that the king had gone missing recently, leaving your father to explore other options for his daughter. It wouldn't last. Sylus would make sure of it.

Already, the young royal was on Sylus’ nerves, sitting in his spot across from you. He made his displeasure known, staring the prince down from his position on your chair, abstaining from the meal altogether in favor of glaring at the nuisance in his seat.

“Is he your pet?” Xavier asked, gesturing to the bird.

You glanced over at Sylus, shaking your head with a smile. “Mr. Crow? No, he's a friend more than a pet.” Sylus puffed his chest out proudly. “He’s usually more talkative than this, though,” you added, somewhat concerned with his new silence.

Xavier seemed confused for a moment before something clicked in his head. “Right, I’ve heard that corvids are wonderful at copying human speech. I hope to hear from Mr. Crow before I have to return to Philos.”

You pinched your lips together, deciding not to tell him that the bird could truly talk and didn't just copy phrases he heard. It almost felt special that he wouldn't talk to Xavier when usually he talked your ear off, his sarcastic remarks never failing to pull a giggle from you.

But his odd behavior didn't stop with his uncharacteristic silence. Cookies and tea were brought out, and before Xavier could take one from his plate, Sylus took it upon himself to snatch one. 

“Hey!” you reprimanded, gently pushing him away from the plates, cookie still held in his beak. “What is wrong with you today?” It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but you didn't miss the pointed glare he directed at Xavier.

“He’s quite alright. I don't expect birds to have table manners. Would you like another?” he asked, nudging his plate towards Sylus, which was promptly ignored.

The intention was to anger the other royal, cause a tantrum, but all he had succeeded in doing was endearing you even more when Xavier had actually been kind to him.

Nothing was working. Not dropping a grasshopper on him in the gardens, not pulling the buttons of his coat, not even pecking at his hand when he tried to hold yours. He remained ever so patient. You, however, were losing yours. Xavier might believe that Mr. Crow was just a normal bird, but you knew better.

That night, when the castle was turning in for the night, you were confronting an audacious bird. “What was all that about today? I need him to like me!”

“Why? You're a princess; you have plenty of other options. You don't need anything from Prince Xander,” he dismissed. Based on his tone, if he were human, you would be convinced he would be inspecting his nails, bored, and acting as if the conversation was nothing of import.

“Xavier,” you corrected. “And I do need something from him. A marriage proposal would unite our kingdoms and-”

“And what?” Sylus interrupted. “Drag you into ruin with him? Philos is a failing kingdom, and he would only take Linkon down with it. He intends to use you to gain access to Linkon’s resources.”

The bird's cruel words cut you deeply. “You're just a bird. How could you possibly know any of that?”

He scoffed derisively. “Because he believes me to be just a bird, and, despite what you say, you know that’s not true. He doesn't watch his words around me the way he does with you.”

You were biting your bottom lip, brows furrowed in that oh-so-cute way he loved. He hated that it was born of insecurity, though. “Did he talk to you?” you asked timidly, trusting that he wouldn't lie to you, but still knowing that his answer would likely hurt.

“He did. When you excused yourself from the gardens. Said that ‘my owner’ is a foolish girl looking for love in the wrong places. That she was just a means to an end, and when he married you, the first thing he would do is get rid of me. Which I don't appreciate, by the way.” He saw your downcast face, hating that there was nothing he could do to make it better. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for telling me. I believe you, but can you prove it? Something tangible that I can show my father?”

“Consider it done.”

“Come back here, you odious beast!” the young prince’s voice followed him as he took flight from his room, returning to yours, the damning letter clutched in his beak. You were waiting for him by the windowsill, accepting the letter he proudly presented to you. Your eyes scanned its contents, your face expressing your anger more and more. 

You were tempted to rip the letter into pieces, but you needed the evidence to show your father, preferably in one piece. 

“Will that suffice?” Sylus inquired. “He walked in before I could finish reading it.”

“It’s exactly what I asked for. You couldn't have done any better.”

“I believe my hard work is worthy of a kiss, wouldn't you agree?” You were, in fact, inclined to agree with him this time. Were it not for him, you may have actually ended up betrothed to a man who thought you “foolish and airheaded” and described your dear friend Mr. Crow as “a ghastly thing that ought to be fed to the dogs.”

You nodded at the bird who was waiting for you to refuse him as you always did, but the refusal did not come. You nodded slowly, ever so grateful to the bird that you were willing to accept the one request he so often made. You pushed your hair behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the feathers atop the bird’s head, the bird himself eagerly waiting to be rid of this cursed form.

A knock at the door. It was a maid informing you that your father was requesting you in his office immediately. You smiled at the bird apologetically, his disappointment palpable. His time was dwindling. Already, he could feel the crow’s instincts overriding his conscious thoughts.

“Explain to me why Prince Xavier just stormed out of the castle! What happened?” Your father was livid, more so than he’d ever been with you. “You’re not a child anymore! You have your future to think about. He’s the crown prince of-”

“Of a kingdom on the brink of financial ruin. Here.” You thrust the stolen letter forth, watching your father’s anger at you redirect to the arrogant prince.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, my dear child. After reading this, good riddance to him. But how did you get this letter?”

“Mr. Crow retrieved it. I left the two of them alone, and Prince Xavier talked to him, told him everything. Mr. Crow wouldn't speak in his presence, so the prince thought he was a normal bird. I asked for proof, and he brought me the letter the prince was penning back home.”

Your father nodded, not thrilled with the methods, but opting to turn a blind eye since it kept his precious daughter out of the hands of a man who only sought to use you. He lamented the disappearance of King Sylus. Regal, successful, and in need of a queen. In terms of a political match, he was perfect. For a love match, your father still thought that you would have made a lovely pair, your personalities balancing each other. Their letters of correspondence detailed likes, dislikes, the state of the kingdoms, policies, everything that was of any importance to a marriage as high-profile as yours would be. But then they’d stopped, and eventually the news reached him that the king was nowhere to be found, having gone off on a hunt and never returning.

There hadn’t been time to build such a relationship with Philos, a fact that greatly disheartened the king. You were of the age where royalty needed to wed, but you were still his daughter, and as any father would, he only wanted the best for you. Instead, he had nearly paired you with a worm.

“When you return to your room, can you inform Mr. Crow that I would like to see him? I want to thank him personally.” You nodded, closing the door softly behind you when you left.

When you returned, Mr. Crow was sifting through your jewelry box, sorting by both types of jewelry and gemstone color. “Well, aren't you nosy?” You teased.

“It’s a terrible mess in here. Have you ever organized it?” he said, his smooth voice echoing from where his entire head was still within the ornate box.

“I have, thank you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You walked over to your vanity, prying the bird away from your priceless ornaments, a bracelet still dangling from his beak, which you relieved him of with your hand.

“My father wants to see you in his office,” you told him as you began to return your jewelry to its rightful place.

“I wasn't done with that,” Sylus told you, miffed that you were undoing all his hard work.

“You are now. Go, before my father comes looking for you.”

He heaved a great sigh, but set out through the open window. The summer breeze was lovely, but you really did need to start closing them if Xavier was a lesson to anyone.

 -𓅨-

It was gone. You dumped out the entire box, sifted through every piece of jewelry you owned, and still couldn't find it. You had lost your mother’s necklace. You were panicking, hyperventilating. Since her death, you had kept that necklace safely tucked away, so how could it have disappeared? Fat tears rolled down your face, a deep ache settling in your chest.

“What’s wrong, princess? Are you hurt?” Mr. Crow’s deep velvety voice called from the windowsill.

“My necklace, my mother’s necklace, I can't find it, and I’ve looked everywhere. Did you see it when you were digging through it?”

“What does it look like?”

You described the necklace in as great detail as you could with your frazzled mind, and, unfortunately, Sylus knew exactly the one you were talking about. It was currently sitting in the tree he had initially taken up residence in, the one you had found him in that fateful day, squirreled away with a trove of other shiny pilfered items.

You would hate him. You would most definitely hate him after this, but he could not, in good conscience, allow you to believe that you were at fault for the loss of something so important to you. He took off from the windowsill, heading straight for the tree, tossing out all of his little treasures in his hunt for the one he should have never taken.

The second he found it, he was high-tailing it back to your room, hoping against hope that you would forgive him. And for a moment, when he landed, he thought you might. You were overjoyed when he placed it in your outstretched hand, until it dawned on you. He knew exactly where to go, and it wasn't anywhere in the palace.

You looked at the bird that you had trusted so much, betrayed. “Did you steal this from me?” you asked, your voice now a hoarse whisper, disbelief coloring your words.

He hung his head in shame. “I did,” he confessed solemnly. 

“Why?” You were still crying, and it was his fault. “Why would you take this?”

“Because I can’t help it. I-” he choked on the words. He wanted to tell you that this wasn't him, that he didn't want to hurt you, and that he was losing his real self to the crow instincts, but the terms of the curse wouldn't allow it. “I’m just a crow,” he settled on morosely. He was coming to terms with the fact that soon he wouldn't exist at all, his human soul condemned to rot away, leaving only a crow in its place. It had already begun.

“Get out,” you commanded coldly.

“Princess-” he started, landing on the bed beside you.

In your anger and hurt, you lashed out at him, pushing him away from you. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that he wasn't able to prevent himself from falling to the floor.

You gasped, pushing yourself into a sitting position to lean over the edge of the bed. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to—” The tears came stronger now. You had hurt the only real friend you had.

He flapped back up to the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “If you're sorry for hurting me, then kiss it better.”

“What?” you sniffled.

“Kiss it better, and I’ll forgive you.”

Wallowing in your own guilt, you didn't think twice about fulfilling his request, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. When you opened your eyes, Mr. Crow was gone. In his place, face to face with you, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. A man who was very, very naked.

You jerked away, a scream bubbling in your throat that the man was quick to muffle with his hand over your mouth, pinning you down beneath him so you couldn't run off. “Relax, Princess,” he said. You’d know that silky voice anywhere. You pushed his hand away, needing to confirm what you already knew was true.

“Mr. Crow?” you asked in disbelief.

“Sylus,” he corrected.

“Sy-” you started, and then your eyes widened in realization. “The missing king.” 

“In the flesh, your highness,” he grinned. “Been a bird for so long I thought I’d never be human again.”

“You- how-” you stuttered, unable to properly express yourself.

He chuckled at you, the sound so much more attractive now that it was coming from a man and not a bird. “It was a curse. I took something I shouldn't have.”

“Sounds familiar,” you said pointedly.

“Don't interrupt me. As I was saying, I took a gemstone without realizing it belonged to a witch. As you can imagine, she didn't take kindly to it. And as you've come to know over these few weeks, greed is my vice. Told her finder’s keepers, so she said if I act like a crow, then I might as well be one. And then I was one. She gave me three months before it became permanent, only broken by the kiss of a princess.”

“That’s why you wanted a kiss so bad,” you said, staring at the man in awe. “But why didn't you just say that?”

“Another condition of the curse is that I couldn't talk about it. Couldn't reveal any identifying information, but now I’m free, thanks to you, princess.”

“You are. You're also…” your eyes trailed down his toned figure, quickly going back to his face when you saw more of him than you meant to, your face flushing hot.

“Naked? Doesn't seem like you're complaining, though. I don't mind if you look.” He said, thoroughly amused at your obvious embarrassment.

You turned your head away from him, avoiding eye contact. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in to nose at your exposed throat. “C’mon, don't be shy, princess. Won’t you let me thank you?”

Your tongue wouldn't cooperate to answer him.

He hummed questioningly, nipping at your earlobe. “Some time later, then.” He rolled off you into a sitting position, but you stayed put where you were, your eyes fixed on his every movement. “It's dangerous to look at a man like that, princess, especially lying down,” he stated.

You sat upright immediately, looking at him apprehensively. “I’ll get you some clothes,” you told him.

He nodded, watching you exit the room to summon a maid. You returned shortly, still avoiding eye contact with him. He frowned at this. He knew this was a lot to take in, but it’s not like he was a total stranger. You wouldn't even sit on the bed with him, choosing to stand near the door and wait for the maid to return with the clothes you had requested. 

The maid returned with a gentle knock, and you opened it just enough for her to squeeze the clothes in, which you took gratefully, tossing them over to Sylus as quickly as you could, not caring if he caught them or not. You were turned to face the wall, determined to not see any more of him than you already had. He was still a king deserving of respect. That, and you had never seen a bare man before. This was highly improper.

“You’ve already seen everything. Might as well enjoy the show,” he teased.

You squeaked out a no, making him laugh. Even listening to the shuffling of clothes was enough to bring a blush to your cheeks. “You can turn around now,” he informed you when he finished. You did, almost laughing at how ridiculous the outfit looked on him. You weren't sure where the maid had gotten the clothes, but they were entirely too small for the large man, the pants' legs barely brushing the top of his ankles.

You covered your mouth to hide the growing smile, but it wasn't nearly enough to mask your mirth. He didn't hold it against you. He knew he looked silly, and it was nice to see your smile back on your face in place of the fear and uncertainty his return to human form had caused.

“Princess, can you arrange a meeting with your father for me?”

“Of course. You could just follow me to his office. I’m sure he’d put aside whatever work he’s doing. You’ve been missing for so long.”

Sylus looked down at his ill-fitting outfit with a grimace. He’d be seen by everyone like this. He almost wished he were still a bird, but it couldn't be helped. “Lead the way,” he said.

The walk to your father’s office was awkward, at best. You had spent weeks talking to the imposing man who now walked beside you, but you didn't know how to talk to him anymore. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; you were just trying to reconcile that the bird who’d been sleeping in your room was actually a full-grown man, a king, and wondering if it was immoral that you found him wildly attractive even though he had been a bird up until twenty minutes ago.

When you arrived at the large wooden door, you knocked, waiting for permission to enter. You gestured for Sylus to wait outside for a moment, slipping into your father’s office to try to explain at least a little bit and not blindside him with the king’s sudden appearance.

You regaled him with everything that had transpired, his jaw dropping open more and more as you spoke. When you finished, he just stared at you, unsure where to even start. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

You shook your head, opening the door and waving Sylus inside. Your father looked between you and the other king, his brain still trying to catch up to your story. He addressed Sylus first. “Your Majesty, I have been told the most fantastical story I’ve ever heard. You were Mr. Crow?”

“I was, Your Majesty. Cursed by a witch. I can tell the full story if your lovely daughter here hasn't done so already.”

“She glossed over that, but it’s not important right now. So you were a bird, and my daughter kissed you, and that reversed the curse?”

You both nodded. Your father was at a loss for words. He’d never had to deal with anything remotely near the situation he now found himself in. But the more he thought about it, the more something bothered him. “You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Sylus. “You've been sleeping in my daughter’s room all this time.”

His demeanor completely flipped when he turned to you. “Darling, would you give us a moment alone?” he asked with faux cheer.

You shot Sylus a look, silently wishing him luck, before getting out of that room as quickly as you could. The second the door shut behind you, your father unleashed hell on the silver-haired king, not giving a damn about his status. You rocked on your feet outside, waiting for the lecture to end. You doubted anyone had ever spoken to Sylus like that.

Moving forward from that day, Sylus was immediately given his own room while preparations were made for him to return to Onychinus. He was also given explicit instructions to stay out of your room. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you missed Mr. Cr- Sylus.

It came to a head, and you couldn't take it anymore. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were striding down the halls to the guest wing. You found him in the drawing room, seated on one of the overstuffed chairs, a book in hand and head propped on one hand. 

He saw you enter in his peripheral vision and set the book down on a side table to give you his full attention. “Princess, to what do I owe the honor of a visit?”

“I just…” You trailed off. It was embarrassing how much you missed his company, and you knew he would be smug if those words ever reached his ears.

“If you don't know what it is that you want, then I can't do anything to help you.” Was your pride worth it if he was smug anyway?

“Just thought that we haven't talked in a while.”

“In other words, you missed me,” he said, those crimson eyes seemingly peering into your very soul. Your new shyness around him was as endearing as it was irritating. He had gone from a potential suitor, to a crow, to your friend (still as a crow), to nearly a total stranger again. Did you still view him as a bird? Because he could change that.

“Come here, princess,” he commanded. There was no bite or authority to his words; you could refuse if you wanted, but you didn't. You walked forward, head held high, a facade of confidence you did not possess, not around this man who sent heat shooting to your core with a mere glance. 

You stopped a few feet away, but you were still too far for Sylus’ liking. “Closer,” he urged. Again, you stopped short of where he wanted you. He sighed, leaning forward in the chair to pull you forwards by your hips, your body slotting between his knees, his face level with your abdomen and looking up at you. “When I say I want you close, this is what I mean.” His husky voice washed over you, as tempting as the siren is to the sailor.

You braced your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms. No amount of pushing would separate him from you, though. “This is improper,” you objected, but your voice was thin and brittle, your resolve weak, and he knew it.

“Is it?”

You couldn't tear your eyes away from him even as he rose from his seated position to his full height, not allowing you to put so much as a millimeter between your bodies. He bent low enough to brush his nose against yours. “You still owe me a kiss for chasing off that prince,” he whispered, breath fanning your face.

Your cheeks flamed, but you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you wanted him to stop. You brought your hand up to his face, cupping his jawline and guiding his face forward until his soft lips were on yours. He hummed lowly, reciprocating with movements of his own. He licked the seam of your lips, asking permission, wanting, needing, more.

You parted your lips, and he snaked his tongue into your mouth, caressing your own. You hummed into his mouth, and he tightened his hold on you as if you weren't already pressed flush against his chest. Without parting from your pretty lips, he lifted you into his arms, your legs on either side of his waist. He didn't care if any of the servants were in the halls; he had already reached an agreement with your father. The betrothal hadn't been announced, but it had been decided. You were his, whether you knew it or not. He’d almost lost you to that pompous prince, and he wasn't keen to let you nearly slip through his fingers again.

Upon entering his room, he kicked the door shut behind him, quickly making his way to the bed to lay you down gently. Your lips were kiss-swollen, your eyes wide and waiting.

Normally, Sylus prided himself on his immense patience, but your sweet form beneath him was pushing him to his limits. He surged forward, peppering every inch of exposed skin with kisses, hiking up your gown to bunch around your hips. The warmth of his hands was so much more intense with the fabric out of the way. His lips were glued to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin until he found the spot that made you mewl. With renewed effort, he focused on that spot, leaving a dark bruise that would surely let everyone know you were his. 

He toyed with the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers under it and then letting it snap back against your skin. He dragged his hand even lower, feeling the way you’d soaked a wet patch through the thin fabric. He finally gave your spit-covered neck a break, admiring the bruises already blooming. Pride is part of the reason he got cursed in the first place, and he still hadn't learned his lesson, that same vice swelling in his chest as he watched the way you panted for breath, already more worked up than anyone had probably ever made you, knowing he was the one to bring you to this point. 

Fuck, you were just so goddamn pretty, even more so when you were under him like this. He prodded at your leaking hole through your cute little panties, cooing at you with faux sympathy. “You’re so wet, sweetie. Why don’t you let me clean you up, hm?”

With slow, deliberate movements, he slid your panties off in time with the maneuvering of his body, lower and lower until he was face to face with your bare pussy. 

“Sylus, what are you- ahh!” you moaned loudly, question interrupted when he licked a broad stripe up your dripping cunt, groaning at the taste. So good, you tasted so fucking good. He dived back in, lapping and slurping as much of you as he could, his hums of approval shooting vibrations through your overly sensitive cunt. You clenched your thighs around his head, the sensation of his tongue thrusting into you pulling moans and gasps from your lips.

All Sylus could think about was how to coax more of your sweet sounds out, alternating between pushing his tongue inside and suckling on the sensitive bud at the apex. You wound your hand through his hair, pulling for some sort of stability. The sting of having his hair pulled only spurred him on. With renewed vigor, he pushed a finger into your gummy walls, then a second, curling them as he moved them in and out. It was so much that you were practically screaming his name. You’d never even been kissed before today, much less experienced such ecstasy. Your back was arching against the sheets, your hips canting upward, seeking more of his tongue, his fingers, everything he was willing to give you.

Sylus’ eyes peering up at you with all the conviction of a devotee praying at an altar was the final push you needed for your pleasure to reach a crescendo. Your legs clamped around Sylus’ head as your body writhed under his continued onslaught, his deft tongue lapping up everything your body would give him until you were pulling his hair for even a modicum of relief from the overstimulation.

He reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in huffs and his face smeared with the evidence of your arousal. His attention was utterly captivated by the sight of your blissed-out expression, your eyes watery with unshed tears, and he almost came untouched at the mere fact that he was the one responsible for your current state, and he took immense pride in that.

He reached towards you to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to continue, princess, or shall we stop here?” he asked. 

You could only stare dumbly, still trying to pull your head back down to earth from the high he had brought you to. You wanted it. You wanted him, and you don't think you'd ever have enough of him after this. As his words processed, you nodded, the only response your cottony mind could manage.

“Words, your highness. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever it is you desire. You need only ask for it.” 

Warmth flooded your face, and the sincerity of his voice only endeared you further to the king. You hesitated, somewhat shy at verbalizing such a coarse desire. Swallowing thickly, you answered him properly this time. “You. I want you.”

Sylus groaned at your admission, his cock throbbing in its confines. “You already have me,” he whispered reverently, almost in disbelief that his affections were returned. A betrothal would make you his legally, but he wanted everything: your mind, body, and heart surrendered to him the same way he had already surrendered his to you.

He wasted no time unfastening his pants and freeing his aching length, the tip raw and leaking. You eyed it warily as he leaned over you and braced his cock at your entrance. With a final glance at you to be certain that you were sure, he began to push in with as much tenderness as he could muster, his self-control fraying with every quiver of your cunt and every whine that escaped your lips.

Your breath hitched at the intrusion, the blunt head of his cock pushing further and further into you until his hips were pressed flush against yours. The new sensation of being so thoroughly filled was enough to have your head spinning before he’d even started moving. 

“Is this alright?” Sylus asked, his voice strained with the effort of keeping still. 

A breathy “uh-huh” was the best you could muster. Sylus would have chuckled at how you were already fucked out, but truthfully, he wasn't far behind you. His hands drifted from their place on your hips to your thighs to pull your legs snugly around his waist. With his body weight keeping you securely pinned beneath him, he pulled out until only the head of his cock remained and thrusted back in languidly, savoring the way your body accepted his, your tight walls clenching around him tightly. 

It took every ounce of his self-control to not let go of all his inhibitions and lavish you with all the carnal attention you could handle, until the only thing you could do was moan his name. Having you like this was a privilege he had begun to think would never be his, but here you were, staring up at him as he worked your body, his thick cock splitting you open and his tongue laving over the soft skin of your throat, the proximity allowing him to hear every gasp and whimper and moan in perfect clarity.

In his impatience, Sylus had neglected to properly undress, a fact he thoroughly lamented now that your fingernails were raking down his clothed back. How he would love for his body to bear the undeniable proof of how good he made you feel. Next time, he supposed. For now, though, he was content to watch you fall apart more and more with every deep thrust into your weeping pussy.

You were so close, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him. His own peak was rapidly approaching; you just felt too good around him, but he was determined to make you cum before he reached his own end. With a deft thumb, he began to rub sensual circles over your sensitive nub, the added sensation making you squeal and tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper.

You came undone once again with a shrill cry of his name as the ecstasy coursed through your veins. Sylus’ hips continued to snap into yours as he chased his own high, his pace beginning to falter as the need to release built inside him. Grunts rumbled in his chest and spilled from his lips with every thrust into your pulsing heat. He was so close, and the thought of filling you up, marking you as his, spurred him on, but this tryst was already more of a risk than either of you should have taken. He was already tempting fate enough as is.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, using his hand to stroke himself to completion, his cum painting your folds a creamy white as he groaned out your name. Not “your highness,” not “princess,” but your name. A title so much more intimate than that of your status. Something only those closest to you had the privilege of using. He panted above you, his pale skin flushed and pupils blown out, solely focused on you. If he got this worked up when you were practically still fully clothed, he wondered if he’d last at all the first time he sees you completely bare. For now, though, he pressed chaste kisses across your jawline, compliments spilling freely between each one. “Beautiful” kiss “stunning” kiss “perfect” kiss “mine.” He finally pressed his lips to yours softly after his claim, both of you completely melting into the single kiss that somehow felt almost more intimate than even your prior activities.

You were completely worn out, and exhaustion was quickly taking over. Sylus, always astutely in tune with your body’s needs, smiled fondly at your sleepy form. He rose from the bed, telling you he’d be right back before entering the ensuite bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He made sure you were clean and comfortable in one of his extra shirts, the material dwarfing you in a way that sent protective pangs through Sylus’ heart. 

He crawled into bed next to you, pulling you flush against his now-bare chest. He pressed a chaste kiss into your hairline, whispering a quiet goodnight.

While the two of you were wrapped up in each other and sleeping soundly, a red-faced, flustered maid hurried away as quietly as she could to tell the others the juiciest piece of gossip since a butler had been found to be having relations with not just a maid but also a stableboy.

There had already been talk about the two of you. It had started the second you’d requested a set of men’s clothes and refused to open the door any more than necessary, concealing the rest of your room from prying eyes (you were no fool, and the servants weren’t quite as discreet as they believed themselves to be). Shortly after that peculiar request, King Sylus, who had been missing for the better part of two months, reappeared in the palace from seemingly nowhere and with little explanation. And it did not escape the notice of those who worked closely with you that Mr. Crow was suddenly gone, but surely the two events were unrelated; it would be preposterous to link the two, even if the bird and the king shared certain similarities.

As your interactions with the silver-haired man increased, so too did the servants’ speculation of the exact nature of your relationship. After all, their princess was as pretty as a peach, and the foreign king was certainly easy on the eyes. They all knew it was bound to happen; it was just a matter of when. There was even a betting pool on when the inevitable finally happened, and this pleasantly smug little maid who was fortunate enough to be wandering down the halls at just the right time would be the one to announce the winner. 

She chuckled to herself. Margaret would be furious that she lost by only three days. She rushed into the servants' hall, where many of her fellows were gathered around eating, conversing, and generally merry-making. Her giddy demeanor and swift entry drew the attention of those closest to the door. “We have a winner!” she cheered. This, naturally, drew everyone’s attention to her, all of them asking their questions at once. How did she know? Was she sure it was them? Who bet it would only take two weeks?

She explained quickly. The head housekeeper had sent her to do her final check on the visiting king to ensure he was comfortable and did not require anything before the servants retired for the night. Instead, she was met with a chorus of moans and grunts and the sound of skin on skin that only got louder the more she neared the door of his room. And certainly it was you in there with him. There was no one else in the palace that “princess” or “your highness” could refer to. 

Squeals and giggles alike filled the room from the younger servants, while those who had lost the betting pool groaned while reluctantly handing over their hard-earned funds to the victor. From that point on, you began to notice that many of the palace staff would sport flushed cheeks and the occasional suppressed grin when they saw you. And not only that, but every time you were with Sylus, it was as if whispers followed you, but when you’d turn to the source, all you would see was an empty doorway with the edge of a skirt swishing just out of view.

Sylus had only chuckled, pulling you into his lap and whispering conspiratorially in your ear. “I think they know, kitten.” You had whined into his shoulder to hide your face, embarrassment washing over you. This, of course, had only made him laugh harder, mirth coloring his tone when he spoke again. “If you can’t handle even this little bit of gossip, how are you going to handle it when we’re married and talk of heirs begins, hm? Then they’ll really know.”

You had smacked him on the chest, huffing about how improper this line of conversation was. “Certainly no more improper than what we’ve already done,” he teased.

That, too, provided even more fodder for the servants’ late-night talks, but nothing had them going near as much as your wedding night.

“Did you see how pretty her dress was?” gushed one.

“Yes! And the way he looked at her!” replied another. 

“I want a man to look at me like that,” grumbled one of the cooks.

“Yeah, yeah, who cares, doesn’t anyone appreciate the flower arrangements? Grew those myself, you know,” boasted a gardener, who was now being glared at by the cook. 

One of the guards nudged the comrade sitting next to him. “Think those two are having fun right now?” he asked, grinning ear to ear, his implications obvious. He had no idea how right he was. 

 -𓅨-

“Sy- oh!” you cried out, his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping pussy at a furious pace. The second the two of you were behind closed doors, and finally away from the celebration, he had wasted no time in stripping you of your ornate gown, his lips crashing onto yours with a hunger for you that he would never fully satisfy. From the moment he had seen you, his gorgeous bride, walking down the aisle, his composure had formed the first hairline cracks, which only deepened and spread with every small interaction: exchanging the rings that would bind you to each other forever, the kiss that sealed the union, his hand on your lower back as he guided you through the throngs of people congratulating you on your marriage, all of it was lighting a fire in him he couldn’t put out. Not in public. The cherry atop it all was Prince Xavier’s irritated face in the crowd.

Sylus took great satisfaction that it was he who had you face down in the pillows, bringing you to the gates of heaven over and over, and that that audacious little prince would never touch you thanks to the efforts of yours truly. 

The sight of your bare back and your hands fisting the sheets was for his eyes only. The way your ass jiggled with every thrust and the way you writhed beneath him, completely pinned with his legs on either side of yours and his weight pressing into you, for only him to experience. And the way you moaned and cried out his name was for his ears only.

Your name spilled freely from his lips, your proper title forgotten and permanently replaced with “my wife” in Sylus’ frenzied mind. He leaned his body over yours, close enough for his heaving breaths to brush against your face. He trailed a hand across your delicate skin until his palm was pressed flush against your abdomen. “Do you -ngh!- feel me, my love? Feel how deep your husband’s cock is?” 

You nodded feverishly. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Sylus, it’s- ah!- so much!”

“Oh my poor wife,” he cooed, faux condescension dripping from his words. “Can’t take it? Is it too much for you? Should I stop?” Before you could even register his words, he had fully stilled above you.

“No! Don’t stop, please!” you begged, the sudden loss of pleasure somehow more overwhelming than the reception of it.

Sylus groaned, and his cock twitched inside of your tight heat. “What’s wrong, sweetie? I thought it was too much?”

“Not enough. Need more. Please, Sylus, husband, I need you.”

Sylus growled, heat rushing straight to where you were joined. He could bear it no longer. He had waited far too long as it is. His hips rutted into you with a ferocity that spoke of his insatiable greed. His panting breath and grunts mingled with your own moans and cries of pleasure.

Just a bit more, and he’d again feel the nirvana of your cunt pulsing around him. With the same hand that had been pressing into you, he snaked his fingers lower, deft digits rubbing tight circles on your clit. You howled at the added stimulation, hurtling towards the edge that Sylus was so eager to bring you to. “Cum for me, my wife,” he rasped. “Let go.”

With a shrill cry of his name, you were finally pushed to the pinnacle, Sylus following shortly after, his own orgasm triggered by yours. This time, he gave no thought to pulling out of you. His hot cum filled you as his orgasm washed over him. His grunts were low and rough in your ears, so delightfully sinful, and his free arm locked around your waist, holding your body to his tightly as he continued to release into you. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your throat and shoulders, whatever skin he could comfortably reach, as you both came down from your highs.

You did your best to separate your mind from your body. Physically, you had a sweaty man rutting on top of you. Mentally, your mind drifted to your evening plans. You had to prepare more “extract” as soon as possible. Another poor housewife had sought you out for aid. Another good-for-nothing husband who couldn’t so much as treat their wife as a person, much less an equal. The bruises she sported were more than enough proof of her husband’s unsavory tendencies. 

Your attention was drawn back to the sweaty man above you. A few strategically timed gasps and moans on your part, and the patron finally reached his end. Your pleasure was, of course, no concern of his. This was a brothel, not a honeymoon suite. Not that you had ever been interested in any of the men that passed through here for physical pleasure anyway. High prices meant the only ones who could afford a night were those in high positions—ergo, older men who had well established themselves in their careers. 

As such, it was rare for your company to be requested bought for more than intellectual or artistic entertainment. 

Several days and one dead husband later, you again found yourself leading a man to your chambers. You knew the drill, and so you didn't waste time once in the privacy of your room. Those who paid so handsomely for this service always wanted to get right to it. Children and dogs exercise more self-control than the men you’d see. However, you hadn’t even removed your outer robe, only getting so far as uncovering your shoulders, when the man’s smooth voice interrupted you.

“Impatient, are you?” he asked, the teasing lilt to his voice a sharp contrast to his rigid posture.

You shrugged your robe back on and crossed your arms across your chest. You didn't miss the way his eyes were drawn to the way the movement accentuated your breasts. “In all my time here, I think you're the only man who has wanted me to keep my clothes on.”

He huffed. “Now wait a moment, I didn't say that.” He leaned in close, his breath fanning across your face. “Just that I don’t want to rush my time with such a beautiful woman. Why not a game first? Get to know each other, hm?”

Truthfully, you were taken aback, but not displeased. Not at all. Especially not with a man who looked like him. If he wanted to spend more quality time with you, then you certainly weren't going to argue, not if it meant you got to stare at his handsome face. He was obviously military, based on his uniform, but those violet eyes and strong build had caught your attention the second the madam introduced him as a customer. 

You nodded. “Do you have a game in mind?”

He looked at you thoughtfully before deciding. “Go.”

You gave him a small, playful smile. “I should have known that a military man would pick a strategy game.”

“Am I that easy to read?” he asked, watching you pull out the board from where it had been stashed. 

“Maybe just a little,” you answered, handing him the bowl of black stones.

He chuckled as he took his place across from you. “If that's the case, then I think the emperor might need to reconsider my position. A colonel is no good if his enemies can predict his moves.” He placed the first stone.

“Do you consider me an enemy, Colonel?” Your turn.

“Of course not. An opponent, sure—” he gestured at the board with its smattering of black and white stones, “but certainly not an enemy.” Another stone.

“Then what the emperor doesn’t know won't kill him.”

“The emperor happens to be a dear friend of mine, so I sure hope not.”

Your head jerked up. You knew it was a possibility that he had been directly involved in the new emperor taking the throne after usurping the last one, but you hadn’t expected him to confirm the suspicion.

He noticed the shift in your demeanor. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that. Just… shocked, I suppose,” you answered honestly. 

“That’s fair. But I do hope it doesn’t distract you from the game any more than it has already.” He grinned, his voice more than a little smug as he captured one of your stones. 

You huffed through your nose, admittedly irritated that you had lost concentration on the game so quickly. Little did you know that petulant huff and the scrunch of your eyebrows as you refocused on the game at hand were about to be key in gaining the upper hand over the colonel. You were gorgeous; there was no question about that. Caleb’s pockets wouldn't be as light as they were now if you were an ordinary lower rank. But there was something endearing in the way you were determined to play a good game.

Every hum as you planned your next move and every groan when he took another stone went straight to his cock. He could ask you to bed at whatever point he wanted, he knew. But frankly, he was almost certain you would never forgive him if he cut the game short. He had long since decided that this would not be his only visit, not when the company was this good. Granted, it would be quite some time until he could afford any more than another game or a tea service, but he would be content with that. At least he hoped so. It was easier to assume such things when he hadn't yet experienced you. It was maddening how much you had already gotten under his skin, and all you had done was play a board game and tease him. He felt like every other fool who gets too attached to courtesans, and he couldn't even bring himself to care.

The game was drawing to a close, with Caleb having been thoroughly distracted for most of it. Even so, he’d still managed to come out the victor.

“Winners usually get a prize, right? Tell me, what are you going to reward me with?” The grin on his face told you exactly what he had in mind.

“But I thought you wanted me to keep my clothes on, Colonel.”

“I also told you that that was just until we got to know each other a little better, which I do believe we’ve done.”

Without answering, you began collecting the stones and returning them to their respective bowls. He watched the way you meticulously sorted the stones, imagining what those nimble fingers would feel like on his body. His eyes never left your figure as you stood to put the board away. While your back was turned to him, he stood from his seated position and walked behind you, pressing the hard plane of his chest against your back and settling his hands on your hips.

You froze where you stood, feeling the warmth of his toned body seep into yours. He didn’t say anything, only nuzzled his face into your neck to place light kisses up your throat until he reached the junction between your jaw and ear.

“I think it’s time you continued what you started earlier,” he rasped in your ear as he tugged on the tie that held your robe shut. You exhaled shakily as you obliged, letting the outer robe fall away. He used his grip on your hips to urge you to turn around. “Beautiful,” he purred.

You averted your gaze to the side, your face heating up. You weren't a stranger to receiving compliments, but you couldn’t remember the last time a man had bestowed one upon you when he wasn’t already grabbing handfuls of your flesh and taking what he wanted from you. But Caleb did, and he wasn't having any of your bashfulness. He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing your face back to his. He was closer than you anticipated, and he took full advantage of your brief moment of weakness, pressing his plush lips against yours.

You made a surprised noise that he swallowed eagerly, pushing his tongue into your mouth and tasting every bit of you that he could. Without separating, he hoisted you up. You got the hint and wrapped your legs around his slim waist. He didn't even struggle to hold your weight as he carried you to your bed. When his knees hit the edge, he laid you down gently, far more so than you’d expected from a man who had devoured your kisses as if he would die without them.

Above you, like this, he seemed even larger. You pitied the soldiers that had faced him in battle, but it was hard to continue that line of thought when he was using his size to thoroughly pin you to the bed as he removed your clothes, exposing your bare body to his hungry eyes.

His hands stroked your newly exposed skin reverently, worshiping every inch. He dipped his head down to lick a stripe up your neck, pulling back just slightly to blow cool air onto the wetness, making you shiver. The anticipation and eagerness to have him do something, anything, had your head swimming. You couldn't focus on anything except the remarkably handsome man who was now nipping and suckling your tender skin, doing his damndest to make sure that you would have something to remember him by long after tonight, to be sure that you would think of him every time you looked into a mirror.

You could feel the way he smirked into your skin as you squirmed beneath him, rubbing your thighs together for even a modicum of relief. “Patience, pretty girl. I want to take my time with you.”

“Colonel, please,” you whined.

“Use my name,” he said. “Came here tonight to forget about my job. C’mon, pretty, let me hear you say it.”

“Caleb,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide as you gazed up at him, breath coming in heavy pants. He had barely touched you, and yet you were already this worked up.

He groaned. “Such a good girl, aren't you?” Caleb reconnected his lips to yours, his soft lips parting yours as his hands groped at your body, paying special attention to your breasts and tweaking your nipples. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his hands continuing their journey down your supple skin.

He swiped a finger through your sopping folds and pulled away from your lips just enough to tease you. “You're soaked, pretty girl.

“Then do something about it,” you quipped, your brain officially incapable of thinking of anything other than having Caleb inside you, whether it was his fingers, cock, or even his tongue. You just wanted him to make you feel good.

He laughed, and his radiant smile completely stunned you. What was such a gorgeous man doing paying for sex when he could probably have people pay him for a night? Whatever his reasons, you didn't care. You chose to consider this a blessing—one you would happily accept.

“I plan to, don't you worry. Is this what you want?” he asked, slowly dragging a finger up and down your weeping slit, but never quite pushing in.

“Ngh—! Yes! More, please, Caleb!”

He dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder, a shuddering groan rumbling through his chest. “Fuck, baby, when you sound like that, how is a man supposed to be a gentleman?”

“I don't want you to be a gentleman, I want you—”

You didn't even get to finish your sentence before his finger was plunging inside of you.

You squealed at the sudden intrusion, but he wasn't going to hear any complaints from you. The drag of his knuckles on your inner walls felt heavenly, the pleasure amplified when he used his thumb to rub small circles on your clit.

You moaned his name, cupping the back of his neck with one hand as he mouthed at your neck, the other gripping the bicep of the arm he held himself up with. 

He added a second finger, curling them both to hit that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. As his fingers thrusted in and out, his thumb applied more pressure to your clit. 

“Wait, wait, Caleb, I’m gonna cum!”

He propped himself up more, his pretty purple eyes meeting yours. “Do it. I want to see you make a mess on me. Wanna hear you scream my name, so give it to me, pretty.”

His filthy words were the final push you needed. Your back arched off the bed, your chest pressing into his as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. Even so, he never stopped moving, allowing you to ride out your high until you were nearly crying from overstimulation.

“There you go,” Caleb murmured, brushing hair away from your sweaty face as he slowed his movements to a stop. “Did so good for me.”

You were panting, desperately trying to catch your breath.

“Don't get too comfortable. We're not done. Not by a long shot.”

He rose from the bed to strip his uniform, his toned chest now in full view. You were again struck with the thought, “What on earth is he doing in a brothel?” But as soon as he dropped his pants, all rational thought flew from your mind. That wasn't going to fit. No way.

If Caleb noticed your internal dilemma, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he resumed his position above you, locking eyes with you, his expression asking what he didn't verbalize. “Is this okay? Do you want to stop?”

You pulled him into a gentle kiss with both hands cupping the sides of his face. Without breaking the kiss, you trailed a hand down his first chest and abs until your hand was grasping his stiff and leaking cock.

Caleb whined into your mouth, his hips bucking into your hand and catching your leaking entrance where you had lined him up. He took the hint, pushing his cock into you in one slow thrust, only stopping when his hips were flush with yours. You took a shuddering breath, his size filling you so thoroughly you felt like you were seconds away from coming apart at the seams, and he hadn't even started moving yet. Caleb didn't seem like he was faring any better; his breathing was shallow, and his face flushed.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled out just to thrust back in fully, cockhead buried deep within your pretty pussy.

“Ah—!” You cried out. He set a quick pace, pummeling your insides with his brutal thrusts. Watching the way Caleb’s face contorted in pleasure was almost doing as much for you as his cock. You turned your face to the side, not wanting to be pushed over the edge this soon, but Caleb wasn't having it. He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. He chuckled slightly as he spoke. “Oh, no, baby. You’re gonna watch while I fuck you. If you look away from me, I’ll stop, and you don't want that, do you?” To prove his point, he stopped moving entirely, cock still nestled in your silky walls.

The immediate loss of such mouthwatering ecstasy had you begging and pleading for him to keep going. He almost laughed at your desperation, but he was every bit as desperate as you were. He pulled out slowly, slamming back in and picking up an animalistic pace, instincts overruling every ounce of self-control.

You were panting heavily, the girth of his cock stretching you out so good that all you could do was moan his name. All it took was a few expert touches to your clit before you were spasming around him, body tense with your release. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it until you were crying from the overstimulation. He slowed when he saw the tear tracks down your face. “Are you okay? Was that too much?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

You nodded. “That was perfect, I just need a second.” You laughed softly, still out of breath. God, your smile was mesmerizing. 

The more you came down from your high, the more and more aware you became of the fact that Caleb was still buried deep in your cunt, still painfully hard and throbbing. “You didn’t finish,” you pouted.

“You needed a minute,” he said nonchalantly, as if any other man would have done that for you.

“Oh,” was all you could muster, eyes wide as you stared up at him. He really did surprise you at every turn. “Well, I’m okay now if...” you trailed off, once again averting your eyes from his intense gaze.

Without a word, he pulled out of you completely. Your head snapped to look at him, flabbergasted.

“Turn over,” Caleb says, eyes clouding with want. Knowing you were okay to continue, his lust was reaching a boiling point. 

You did as he said, and his hands took their place on your hips as he pushed his length back inside in one fluid stroke. Your dual moans blended, his hips slapping against your ass from behind. He was moaning freely, too lost in the feeling of your walls clamping around him. His hips stuttered, and he began to babble. “You feel so—ah! S-so fucking good, baby, hnng!”

Still hypersensitive from your previous orgasms, it didn't take much to have you on the precipice once again. This time, though, Caleb went over it with you. His warm seed filled you so completely that it leaked out around the edges of where he was still pumping into you, prolonging the euphoria you each felt until it fizzled into nothing more than small sparks.

He pulled out of you slowly, his cum leaking out of your abused hole. He flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you snuggly into his arms to lay your head on his chest. You were both panting, and you could feel his rapid pulse under your cheek where your head lay. His hand rubbed your back soothingly, his warm palm easing your aching muscles.

“Earlier,” you started, still somewhat breathless. “You said you came here to forget about your job. Your uniform is clearly military. Is it something—”

“Nothing like what you're thinking, so don't worry your pretty little head about it. Just an assignment that’s got me running around in circles.”

You looked up at him curiously. “What’s the assignment?”

He hesitated before speaking, not sure just how much he was allowed to share. After some consideration, he decided it wouldn't do any harm to tell you. “Sy—The emperor— said that there have been a string of mysterious deaths in the city. I’m here to figure out why. I’ve talked to all the widows and anyone associated with the men who died, but so far, nothing. It’s frustrating feeling like I’m not making progress, you know?”

Mysterious deaths, huh? You had a fairly good idea exactly which deaths he was talking about.

“What if it’s just an illness?” Maybe if you directed his attention elsewhere, he wouldn't catch on to the real reason. Poison. 

“I don't think so. If it were something like that, wouldn't their wives and the people around them have caught it? Surely at least one of them, right? But not a single person they typically interacted with was affected. I’m not saying foul play, but I’m not ruling it out either.”

You hummed, but otherwise didn't respond, mulling his words over in your head. He couldn't possibly trace anything back to you, right? The only witnesses to the deaths were the wives, and backstabbing you would also incriminate them.

“Hypothetically, let's say it is foul play. What do you know about the men who died? Any reason they could be targets?”

Caleb narrowed his eyes as he directed his attention down to see that you had adjusted your head to look up at him, eyes glistening in the light. Fuck, you were pretty. Looking at him like that, he could almost go again if it weren't for the subject matter killing the mood. “Why are you so interested in this?”

Because I don't want to get caught, duh. “Because this city is my home, and people are dying. I want to know if I or anyone I care about could be at risk. Plus, it helps to talk with someone else when you're stumped. Get a fresh pair of eyes, you know?” If only the colonel knew just how close he was to both the culprit and the means of death. That little, unassuming plot of purple flowers in a forgotten corner of the garden, tended carefully by your own glove-protected hands. Given that it was a generally unkempt area and that one of the girls had once seen a snake there, it was heavily avoided. Not to mention he’d have to do some serious mental gymnastics to even begin to suspect you.

He nodded slowly. “Would you be open to allowing me to pick your brain when I need another point of view? Perhaps over a game of chess next time? Maybe you'll actually beat me.” He smirked down at you, smug with his victory over you.

“You just got lucky. I won't lose to you again. And you never answered my question. Who died?”

Caleb sighed, trying to recall the men whose families he had spoken to. “Um, there was a traveling merchant, a restaurant owner, a potter, and a scholar.”

The merchant cheated on his wife during his travels. The restaurant owner was a drunk who drank more of his wares than he sold. The potter left his wife black and bruised for knocking over a vase. And the scholar was a narcissist who made sure his wife knew that he thought he was far superior to her. 

“Do you know anything else about them? Have you considered that their deaths might not be connected at all?”

“I have, but it would be one hell of a coincidence for all four to just up and die. None were old enough for it to have just been old age. I’ve talked to the widows, but none of them offered any useful information. Same story with all of them. They had dinner with their husband, went to bed, and he was dead by morning.” Wrong. They would have died painful deaths. You remembered the livestock where you grew up. It took a long time to realize that the reason so many were dying was because of a harmless-looking flower in the fields. 

“If you don't mind, I’d rather not use this time to talk about dead men,” Caleb said, readjusting his and your position so that he was spooning your smaller frame. His body was so warm, and yours was so tired from earlier that, before you knew it, you were drifting off to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, Caleb was already gone. You frowned but knew he had important business to attend to. It just so happened that that business was also your business, albeit on the opposite side of things. His presence didn't bode well, but all that meant was that you would have to be even more careful moving forward.

Caleb had figured that going to the brothel would kill two birds with one stone: relieve his pent-up stress and also give him an idea of the women who worked there. But wow, you had taken his breath away. It was no accident that he chose your brothel. A particularly helpful acquaintance of the restaurant owner said there was a brothel in town that had had a patron die of mysterious causes. Same story. He had been fine that night and was dead by morning. It wasn't much to go by, but it was more of a lead than he’d had previously. Presently, he was in the local inn he was staying at for the duration of the investigation, nursing a cup of tea, wondering if there really was any connection between your brothel and the deaths. He tapped his index finger against the rim of the delicate cup, deep in thought. You had seemed very interested, but, as you said, you lived there, so your reasoning made sense. Still… you hadn't just asked about the deaths themselves; you had wanted to know his working theories. He was grasping at straws, he knew. Actively looking for a reason to visit again.

It was about two weeks before Caleb waltzed back into the brothel, fully intending to make good on his request to pick your brain —two weeks and still no significant headway. Sylus had checked in once already, and Caleb had had to tell him that he was no closer to figuring this out than when he’d first started. He was frustrated and slightly ashamed, but Sylus seemed a little too frazzled to really care. A newborn will do that to you, Caleb figured. A prince this time. The heir that Sylus’ advisors wouldn't stop hounding him about. Tiny little thing, but so was the princess when she was born. It was especially amusing since Sylus was such a large man, and yet both of his children were so little. Caleb smiled to himself, thinking about his honorary niece and nephew while he waited for the madam of the house to take his payment.

The brothel was a social space, and instead of your bedroom, you were this time in the communal area dedicated to hosting guests. Mostly on account of him not paying for anything more. The other women were pretty, but the second his eyes locked onto your figure, there wasn't anything that could draw his attention away. You had played only one game, had spent only one night together, and yet you had stubbornly remained at the forefront of his mind ever since. 

He took the seat across from you as a younger girl brought out the Go board. “No chess?” he asked, one of his eyebrows raised. “Didn't think you'd be eager to lose again.”

You took your bowl of stones, answering, “I’ve been practicing with the other ladies. I won't lose again.” You were oozing confidence, and damn did it look good on you. Caleb smiled, a real smile. “Show me what you’ve got then, pretty girl.”

The game progressed slowly, with him telling you how he still couldn't find any meaningful connection between the dead men and how it was beginning to keep him up at night, not knowing what had happened to them.

“If it’s stressing you out so much, it might help to know that none of those men are worth this amount of effort.”

Caleb’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

“Did some asking. You were vague when you were telling me who died, so I wanted to find out who exactly. They weren’t virtuous men in life, but people tend to avoid speaking ill of the dead. That’s likely why you didn't get much. Such awful men likely had a lot of people who wished them harm. This is, of course, assuming it's murder and that they didn’t all die of separate things.” You placed your white stone down, collecting Caleb’s black ones. He huffed at the move, staring at the board, trying to determine the most efficient placement for his next play. When he answered you, his eyes were still trained on the board, but his thoughts were on your words. How much else did you know? He had a feeling you weren't telling him everything. The game continued in time with the conversation.

“Awful, you say? How so?”

“Well, the merchant got around, so to speak. He also spread disease around. Enough said. The restaurant owner had a drinking problem and frequently became violent. He also had money problems as a result and wasn't reliable for paying back his debt. The potter had a quick temper. And the scholar was arrogant and condescending. Not well-liked.”

“I see. And why would you be privy to this information, but I wouldn't be freely given it until now?”

“My face is known here. I’m seen as more trustworthy. I also entertain patrons of the brothel who tell me the goings-on outside, so I’ve heard stories of all of them.” You shrugged like the answer was obvious.

Caleb scowled. You assumed it was finding out that people were intentionally uncooperative, which was partially true, but he also disliked the thought of you entertaining other men. He knew it was your occupation, and with the way brothels worked, it’s not as if you could just up and leave, but he didn't like that other men had had you the same way he did. If they could afford it, that is. That night with you hadn't come cheap, but the money from the previous emperor had been nothing short of a small fortune.

“And what would be your next course if you were in my position?”

“Well, I guess that depends. Do you still suspect murder? Could be that the merchant succumbed to his disease, or the restaurant owner to his alcoholism. If I’m not mistaken, then long-term anger like the potter experienced affects the heart. The scholar may very well have been intentionally killed, but the others could have rational explanations.”

Caleb sighed and began to rub his temples. This was all so confusing. You weren't wrong. There could be other explanations. But the timing is what was throwing him. These men had died in fairly quick succession. Something was nagging at him that this wasn’t right; he just didn't know what yet.

You could see that he was deep in thought. It was his move, but he was staring at the board blankly, not focused on it at all, his mind elsewhere. You called his name softly to get his attention. No answer. You tried again, this time laying your hand atop his where it rested on the table. His head jerked up, violet eyes meeting yours. “It’s your move,” you informed him.

“Let’s say it is murder,” he started, finally placing a stone on the board. You frowned. He was beginning to corner you. “Assuming that’s true, they would have all been killed in the same way and, taking that a step farther, by the same person.” Fuck. You were getting cornered in both Go and reality. “Do you know if any of their social circles overlapped? Could they have all made an enemy of the same man?”

You pretended to think about it. This could work for you. He’s looking for someone with a personal vendetta against all of them. Someone who doesn't exist. 

“It’s a possibility, but I can't say anyone comes to mind. After all, I didn't know any of them personally.”

You watched the way Caleb nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Much like last time, he had reached a point of not wanting to discuss the case anymore. He asked you all sorts of questions. Where you were from, how you came to be in your line of work, how long you had been there, and even your favorite food. He seemed to want to know everything. In return, you asked the same, learning that he was a childhood friend of both the emperor and empress. You got the whole story on why you suddenly had a new empire and restructured government a few years ago. You could only dream of that kind of devotion. 

You continued the games the entire time, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. You didn't have to pretend and put on an act as you did with a lot of the patrons that frequented it. It was refreshing. If only you weren't the very culprit he was assigned to find. 

The weeks flew by with regular visits from Caleb, and before you knew it, you were eagerly looking forward to the next time you would see him. Without discussing it, you had both begun keeping score of your games. So far, you led the score in Go, but he led in chess. Unfortunately, his visits never extended past a game or tea. You’d try to tempt him into spending more for the night, but no luck. He was adamant that he would not give in until the case was solved. One night together was enough to have his thoughts wandering to you when he was supposed to be cross-referencing accounts of the four men for any overlap. He could only imagine how bad it would get if he indulged in you the way you both wanted to.

But if Caleb kept holding himself back, he might never get the chance. Another week of dead ends, and all he wanted was to have tea with the pretty courtesan who had been occupying his every waking thought. Now here he was, sitting across from you, staring at you, dumbfounded.

“What?” he asked. He misheard you. It was a mean-spirited joke. Anything to make it not true.

“The madam came to talk to me earlier. There’s this man who comes from a wealthy family. He’s made a few offers to buy my contract, but no matter how many times I reject him, he always comes back with a higher offer. He just will not take “no” for an answer. According to the madam, he’s offering more than I’m worth, so she’s going to accept the offer.”

“Why can’t you just reject this offer, too?” Caleb was spiraling. He knew contract buyouts were part of the profession, but you were of a rank that it was near impossible for the average layman to afford so much as tea, much less pay your debt to the house. He didn't think he’d have to worry about you going anywhere, at least until he was able to get you out of there himself. 

“I bring in enough money for the house to have at least a little autonomy, but now he’s offering more than the madam can turn down. At the end of the day, it is her choice. I’m technically property of the house.”

Caleb clenched his jaw. He wasn't just angry; he was furious. He knew you weren't here of your own volition. The death of your father had left your family struggling for necessities. By selling you off to the brothel, your family had been given a large sum, and you had been trained in the arts.

“Who’s the man?” Caleb finally asked after getting himself in check.

“Some official’s son.” You shrugged, a small frown pulling at your lips. “He’s not much older than me, but I don’t think I’m the first courtesan he’s been interested in. From what I’ve heard, he has two other women at home but is still unmarried.”

You seemed almost unbothered by it all, and Caleb didn't know if that made it better or worse. On one hand, at least you weren’t distressed over it. On the other hand, he wanted you to care that he wouldn't see you anymore if the buyout went through. And it wouldn't. Not if he could get you to reveal a name.

“Ok, but who is he? I’m asking for a name, pretty girl.”

“Are you familiar with Magistrate Liu? His oldest son, Jian.”

Caleb nodded solemnly, the beginnings of a plan forming in his calculating mind.

Your potential suitor wasn’t nearly as difficult to get information on as the murdered men. People very readily complained about his blatant public misconduct. He was frequently intoxicated and disrespectful to his elders, starting fights with anyone he pleased just because of his father’s rank. Caleb was also helpfully informed that Jian’s father was on the brink of disowning his son altogether for the shame he was bringing to the family name. All it would take is a digression that the magistrate just couldn't ignore.

Caleb got his chance the next night. He had been told that Jian preferentially went to a particular tavern, and luck was on his side because there he was, seated at a table with a rowdy group of other young men. He entered the tavern, taking a seat at the same table without ordering anything. 

“Who the hell are you?” asked one of the younger men.

Caleb ignored him, instead addressing Jian directly. “This is how you waste your father’s hard-earned money? Drinking and buying women?”

Jian scowled as soon as the words registered in his inebriated mind. “What I do with the money my father allows me isn't any of your business,” he snarled, his infamous temper already getting the better of him.

Caleb maintained his small, polite smile as he goaded the man into an outburst. Preferably a violent one. “It’s only natural that I’m curious. Word gets around. You already have two courtesans at home and are trying to buy out a third. Is two not good enough? Are you so inadequate that you need multiple women to perform?”

“Shut up! The only reason you have any problem with me is because you can't afford a courtesan of your own!”

“That so?” Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “And pray tell, what makes you think you know anything about me? Unlike you, I don't have to pay for a woman’s company; I choose to.”

“You—!” Jian swung, his anger finally reaching a boiling point, and Caleb didn't do a thing to stop it. Jian was playing his part exactly as Caleb had hoped. Assault of a high-ranking military official, a lifelong friend of the emperor, and he was sure to ruin himself socially.

The shock of Caleb just accepting the hit and being nearly unfazed by it stopped Jian from continuing his assault. He looked around the table, gauging what they made of the situation, before fixing Caleb with a confused expression.

Caleb was rubbing his jaw, his violet eyes wild. “How would your father feel knowing his son was out starting fights with a colonel? Rumor has it that he’s already at his wits’ end with you. It would be such a shame if I had to tell him about it, wouldn't it?” Caleb was smiling now, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was menacing, promising that he meant every threat and more.

“What do you want from me?”

“Now you're catching on. I want you to withdraw your offer.”

“What offer? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That courtesan you're trying to buy out. Withdraw your offer.” Caleb wasn't asking; he was demanding, his tone leaving no room for interpretation.

“She’s just another whore—”

Caleb grabbed the man by his shirt, pulling him forward and emphasizing just how much bigger Caleb was than the other man. “Withdraw your offer. It’s not a request.”

For what was likely the first time in his pampered life, Jian looked truly afraid. His father’s influence wouldn't save him from the repercussions of both insulting and injuring a man who could likely personally report the incident to the emperor.

He scoffed, but acquiesced, trying to save face in front of the audience that the altercation had drawn. Caleb released Jian’s shirt and left without another word. If only these strange deaths were as easy to take care of as spoiled young men who had never worked a day in their lives.

Upon his next visit, he was thrilled to hear that the offer had been rescinded, not that he would directly admit to having anything to do with it.

“Did the madam tell you why it fell through?” he asked as innocently as he could.

“She said that he had changed his mind. He made so many other offers and was so determined that I can't help but wonder if someone intervened.” You gave him a knowing smirk, eyeing the fading bruise on his jaw.

He knew you knew, and he was entirely fine with that, so long as you kept looking at him like that. You were cute when you were smug. “Perhaps he realized two was already plenty,” Caleb suggested, as if he were truly clueless as to what the real reason was.

“Maybe so,” you agreed. Neither of you acknowledged it again after that, but you were certain Jian didn't just suddenly change his mind, and that a certain colonel did a little convincing. If you were being honest with yourself, you were becoming more and more fond of him with each visit, so much so that knowing he had prevented another man from claiming you was enough to fantasize about him being the one to get you out of the brothel. You wondered what it would be like for all of your evenings to be like this: having tea with a man who cared for more than just your body, who actually listened and cared when you spoke, who didn't treat conversation as a means to an end to get in your bed. As if that was even a possibility if they didn't pay for it.

You didn't realize you had gotten lost in your thoughts until Caleb was waving a hand in front of you. Heat rose to your cheeks, embarrassed that you had zoned out when technically you were working.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry, um, just got distracted.” You fumbled to apologize. Difficult though it was, you tried to remember that his visits weren't just social hour with a friend; he was a patron of the house, and here you were not paying him any attention.

“You seem flustered. Do you want to go outside and get some air?” He asked, his brows pulled into a concerned expression.

“We can go to the gardens, but I’m not allowed to actually leave the grounds unless I’m doing a house call.”

He nodded in understanding before rising from his seat and offering you his arm. “That’s fine. Any time spent with you is alright with me.”

This was dangerous, and you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself from feeling special whenever Caleb was around. He was bound to find out eventually that you were exactly who he was looking for, but until then, was it so wrong to indulge in his affection?

With your arm secured in his, you guided him to the lush courtyard. Cultivating the flowers was a hobby you and a few of the other girls were permitted when you had free time. Something to do that was just for you, not meant to impress anyone. “It’s beautiful,” Caleb reamrked.

You hummed in agreement. “The girls and I put a lot of work into it.” You were proud that all of the effort that was put into maintaining the space was getting recognition. 

Walking arm in arm with Caleb, discussing the flowers and their care, it felt peaceful, right. You were pointing out the asters and discussing how you wished you didn't have to regrow them each year when your name was called from behind you. You turned to see one of the girls still in training jogging towards you.

She was slightly breathless when she reached you. “Can you help me with my hair? The madam said it’s time to take customers myself, but…”

You hesitated, glancing over at Caleb, who released your arm from his, a silent gesture that told you he wouldn't mind your temporary absence. You smiled apologetically at him before agreeing to help her. 

While you were in her room, styling her hair into something befitting a courtesan, Caleb wandered around the garden, admiring the flowers and noting the ones he thought were prettiest to ask you about. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about plants rivaled even the most polished of swords. 

As he was walking around, he noticed an area of the garden tucked away from the rest, unkempt and wild with weeds and overgrowth. He made his way over, eyes drawn to a peculiarly shaped flower with brilliant purple blooms. He was reaching out to touch it when he heard your voice call out with an urgency he had never heard from you before. “Stop! Don’t touch those!”

He withdrew his hand quickly, eyeing the flowers suspiciously. “Why not?”

You faltered, unsure how to answer in a way that wouldn't bring suspicion to you. Might as well be honest. “They're dangerous. They used to grow in the fields back home, and sometimes the livestock would eat them. Usually resulted in death. I’m not really sure if they cause issues unless you eat them, but better safe than sorry, right?”

Caleb nodded, backing away a few steps from the tall stalks. “Why keep such a dangerous flower here?”

You turned your gaze to the patch of flowers, their petals as vibrant as ever. “They’re just too pretty not to keep.”

“I see,” he said, but he wasn't looking at the flowers anymore, his full attention instead directed to the courtesan with more to her than what was on the surface.

Two nights later, he was lying in bed, deep in the throes of denial. The pretty little courtesan he had spent so much time with, and had shared so much about the case and his theories with, had slept with was also his most likely suspect. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

After he left the brothel that day in the garden, he began sifting through the pieces of the case when it began to dawn on him: poison. They all died after having dinner with their wives. According to you, they were subpar men who were likely even worse husbands. Those flowers and your intense interest in the case…the way you always suggested that it might not be murder at all… He couldn't prove anything, but if he could make the connection between you and the wives, he could have potentially figured out the missing piece. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. And yet, what if it’s not you? Those flowers are accessible to anyone living in the brothel. If you had warned the others of toxicity, then any one of them could have been responsible. 

The next logical step was to visit the wives again and find out if they knew you. He was thorough in his questioning, searching for anything that could possibly connect you or at least someone else in the brothel. After hours of questioning, he had his answer, and everything began to fall into place.

The Liu family, the very same Lius that Jian belonged to, had hosted an event to celebrate the magistrate’s birthday. Those in attendance included all the men for various reasons. The owner of a restaurant that the magistrate was particularly fond of, to aid with food, a scholarly official with whom he worked, a potter who was a lifelong friend, and a merchant with whom he often had dealings and had begun to befriend. When he inquired about the entertainment provided for the night, he wasn’t even shocked to hear that courtesans were hired to showcase their talents and serve tea. He was even less surprised when he took that information back to the madam of the house you served to ask for a list of which courtesans were hired and found that you had indeed been there. A girl with both knowledge of and access to a deadly plant who had contact with the men and their wives. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and from what he had gathered about the men’s less-than-virtuous lifestyles being true, then who would have more motivation to kill than the women who had to live with them?

But now what? Arrest you? Given the nature of the charges you would receive, he’d have to reconcile himself to the fact that he’d probably never see you again. Not to mention what it would do to the brothel’s reputation. There were so many other ladies there that would suffer the consequences, likely being sold off to the highest bidder just to keep the doors open. That, or having to lower prices and extend contracts. It would be disastrous for everyone. Caleb sighed wearily. This was such a mess.

The next day came quickly, and the second the morning fog wore off, he made up his mind. It was a rash decision, and he would definitely have to pull some strings, but he would make it work. It was still early, and he had plenty of time to kill, so he made the short trip to the palace. This case had been a pain, but at least it was conveniently located. No need to worry about the long delivery time of letters when he could just request an audience with Sylus directly. This was definitely an abuse of his privilege, but if he was being honest with himself, he really didn't care. Not that Sylus had a leg to stand on, given he’d led a successful rebellion against the previous emperor and was now seated on his throne.

Now, standing in front of his longtime friend, he wasn't sure how to actually put his dilemma into words. At least Sylus couldn't berate him too harshly while he had his daughter seated on his lap. Thank god for small mercies. 

“What did you need to discuss with me so urgently? You’re always welcome, of course, but I’m afraid the other one isn’t sleeping, and my wife also needs me.” Ah. The new prince. Caleb could see the dark circles under his friend’s eyes, but he couldn't deny that the way he looked at his children was nothing short of adoration. If he could overthrow an empire for his wife, Caleb could only imagine what kind of force he would be for his kids.

“This case you’ve had me working on,” Caleb started. “I think they were poisonings.”

“There’s a ‘but’ to this, isn't there?” Sylsu asked knowingly.

Caleb nodded sheepishly. “So, there’s this woman.”

Sylus raised a brow, a smirk on his lips, and his voice amused. “You met a woman while investigating four deaths?” 

Caleb sent him a withering scowl. “I was stressed! She helped! Fill in the gaps yourself.”

His friend chuckled at his outburst, motioning for him to continue, and so he did. He recounted everything. How he had come to make your acquaintance (withholding the more savory details because of a little princess’ ears), how he had gone to you when he needed a new perspective, your interest in his progress in the case, the flowers, the party, and your connection, and even how he had intervened in your buyout.

Sylus listened patiently to the entire account, nodding and humming along periodically, his eyes thoughtful as he figured out what exactly it was that his friend was struggling with so much.

“You don't want to arrest her,” he said simply. Caleb’s lack of a verbal answer was enough for the emperor.

“So, you’ve grown quite fond of this woman, even went through all the trouble of making sure another man didn't take her from you, and, from the sounds of it, she did not aid in the deaths out of bloodlust. I’d be willing to turn a blind eye if you can figure out a way to ensure something like this doesn't happen again.”

For as long as it took him to figure out the deaths, Caleb wasn't actually stupid, just perhaps a little blinded by affection. He knew what Sylus was insinuating.

“Yeah, I get it. I was already planning on doing that, just wanted your opinion.” He informed Sylus.

“Good. I’ll take my leave then. You may stay as long as you’d like.” With that, he securely gathered the now-sleeping princess in his arms, presumably going to check on the empress and prince.

He mostly just wandered the grounds and joined Sylus and his family again for lunch, playing honorary uncle and conversing with both him and the empress, anything at all to kill time until the brothel opened its doors for the night.

Hours later, he stood in the entryway of the house, an obscenely heavy box in hand. The madam had been posted at the front, her eyes immediately drawn to the box in Caleb’s hands. Before she could ask questions, Caleb declared that he wished to make a purchase. He presented the box to the madam. “In full.”

“Of course,” she said, eyes wide when she opened the box to verify the contents. “Follow me, please.” She led him to a backroom that functioned as her office space. She gestured to a side table, telling Caleb he could set down his heavy load over there.

“If you wait here, I’ll go fetch her.” There was a teasing glint in both her eyes and her tone that Caleb didn't miss, and his own voice took on the same lilt when he responded.

“I didn't even say which girl.”

“Young man, you are a returning customer who has only ever requested one girl. But if there’s someone else—”

“No! No, you're right,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Thought so.”

You were seated at a table with a few of the other ladies when the madam found you.

You greeted her, and she wasted no time blindsiding you with the fact that there was a man here intending to buy out your contract. Your jaw dropped open in shock. How could she spring this on you so suddenly? Surely Jian wasn't coming back, right?

You looked around the table to see the other ladies looking just as confused as you. The madam bid you to follow her, and you rose hesitantly from your seat. She didn't answer any of your questions the entire way downstairs and to the little back office. Who was the man? Did you at least know him? Or did he just waltz in today, deciding to buy a courtesan on a whim?

She would only chuckle at you, telling you to be patient and that you’d soon see who the mystery man was. Outwardly, you were as composed as what was expected of a courtesan of your position, but inside, you were frantic. Where the hell did this come from?

She stopped in front of the door when you reached your destination, where the man was waiting. “You go on in. I’ll be right outside if you need me, but I doubt you will.” You frowned at her expression. She was absolutely keeping something from you and was incredibly smug about it. You agreed exasperatedly. Sure. Why not? Everything about this was already strange enough.

You pushed open the wooden door to see a man with his back to you, gazing out one of the windows. Even before he turned around to face you, you knew that uniform and those broad shoulders anywhere.

“Caleb?” you whispered.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

The best you could manage to respond with was half-formed words, unable to appropriately ask what the hell was going on.

“I know I’m handsome and all, but I’d have thought you were used to it by now. Still take your words away, huh?”

You scoffed. “I own a mirror. I’m used to beauty.” Nothing is more dangerous than a man who knows just how attractive he is.

“Just can’t let a man dream, can you?”

“Where’s the fun in that? I’m paid to entertain, aren’t I?”

“That you are. How would you feel about leaving that behind, though?” For maybe the first time since you met him, he seemed unsure of himself, nervous to hear your answer. He was taking a gamble, he knew. If you said no, he would still go through with it anyway. He could either keep you with him the way he wanted, or he could arrest you, and lord knows the consequences of that would be dire. If you were upset, it wouldn't be for long. You would thank him for this later.

Except all of his worrying was for naught.

“I think it would be a nice change of pace. I’ve been doing this for long enough.” Your soft, sweet smile wiped every negative thought and doubt from his mind. If you were okay with it, then he could take you home with him without feeling like Jian some creep. 

Caleb smiled back at you, a large, genuine smile that lit up his features. Oh yeah, there would definitely be some jealousy when the other girls saw who was buying you out. “Do you want to get some of your things together while I talk with the madam to get everything in order?”

“You mean go with you today? It usually takes a bit of time to pack and finalize everything.”

“Sorry, Pips, but I don't think I have the patience to wait another day. Can pack some essentials for now and collect the rest later.” God, please don't hate him after this. 

You nodded apprehensively but ultimately agreed. Pips? That's a new one. 

You turned to leave, but before you could take so much as two steps, a firm grip was pulling you back into a sturdy chest. “Thank you, and I’m so sorry,” he whispered solemnly, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

You were completely taken aback and more than a little confused now. Surprised with him showing up, offering to pay your contract, and seeming so happy to do it, but now he was both thanking and apologizing? What on earth was happening? There was something he wasn't telling you. “What for?”

He pulled away from you, turning you in his arms to face him. “I’ll tell you later. You just worry about getting some things together while I talk with the madam, alright?”

You left the room, telling the madam that Caleb was ready to talk business with her, but the whole way back to your room, your head was swimming. What was all of that? Did he know? Had he discovered what the flowers were? Or maybe one of the wives had come clean? But if any of that were the case, why not arrest you on sight? How did your life get so messy over the course of a few months?

You were folding some of your clothes into a box when Caleb waltzed in to lean on the doorframe. “Almost ready? There's a carriage waiting outside to take us back to mine.”

“Yeah, just a moment.” You gave up on folding neatly, just balling it up and tossing it in before securing the lid. Caleb walked forward to take the modest-sized chest, hoisting it into his arms. 

The walk out was both awkward and emotional, with a few of the girls stopping you to say their goodbyes and offer hugs. Caleb was patient, even when it was obvious some of them were there more for him than to say goodbye to you.

When you did finally get to the carriage, Caleb offered you a hand to help you up before climbing in himself, your chest of clothes in tow.

“What part of the city do you live in? I’ve been wondering,” you asked. 

“You’ll just have to wait and find out, won't you?”

You huffed but didn't push the matter. “Ok, so why the sudden need for a personal courtesan?”

“Patience, pretty girl. I told you I’ll tell you later. ‘Later,’ as in when we get home.” He lightly chastised you, not truly annoyed but entertained by your curiosity.

You practically pouted the entire way to his home, but it was quickly dropped when you saw the size of it. Being a colonel must pay even better than you thought.

You could see Caleb’s smug face in your periphery as you gawked at his home. Show off.

The carriage came to a slow stop, and Caleb got out first, again offering you a hand to help. With you securely on the ground next to him, he grabbed your clothes to hand off to one of the few staff he kept on hand, instructing him to bring them to one of the empty bedrooms.

“Not your room?” 

Caleb’s face reddened at your words. “I didn't know if you would be comfortable with that. I mean, you're more than welcome to share my bed, but I thought you would appreciate your own space.”

He’s adorable. You gently placed a hand on his flaming cheek, directing his attention towards you as you pushed yourself up on the balls of your feet to press a soft kiss on his other cheek. “I do appreciate it. Thank you.”

The longer he waited, the harder it would be to confront you. But fuck, you looked so different when you weren't in the brothel, when the madam wasn't around the corner waiting to correct any mistakes. It was nice, and he was about to ruin it.

“You’re the one responsible for the murders,” he blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. “At least partially. Those flowers you were growing. You said they were toxic. You were also hired to entertain at a birthday party in which all the men and their wives were present, which would have given you ample opportunity to speak to both the men, thus your poor opinions of them, and the wives, who were likely more sick of them than anyone else.”

All the color drained from your face. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. There’s certainly no way to talk yourself out of this one.

“And so what? They were awful husbands who inflicted as much harm as they received. Seems fair to me.”

He stalked towards you, his eyes stern. You backed away from him until there wasn't anywhere else to go, your back hitting the cold wall. Caleb took the opportunity to bring his face to your level. “I never said it wasn't fair. But it can't be allowed to happen again. That’s why you're here with me, and you’ll never leave.”

There was an uncomfortable tightening in your chest. “How long have you known? Is this the only reason you visited so much?” Your voice was quiet and hesitant, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer. Not only would it be humiliating to have developed feelings for a man who was only doing his job, but it would be hurtful as well.

Caleb practically melted. He felt like such an asshole. “I only figured it out a few days ago. I was there to spend time with you. You just very conveniently turned out to be who I was looking for. And it’s because of all that time spent together, I haven't arrested you, and won’t. But I’m not doing this entirely out of goodwill. I do expect something in return.”

You weren't going to be arrested? Awfully generous of him. A little suspicious, but you weren't exactly in a position to complain. “And what is it that you want?”

“For you to stop making poison, for one.”

“It wasn't a career choice! You make me sound like a—”

“I wasn't done, Pips. It's rude to interrupt people when they're speaking.”

“You just interrupted me!”

“Because you interrupted me first.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing to keep whatever dignity you had left intact. “Any other requests?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He lowered his voice, the new sensualness of his voice making your body shiver. “I want you to give yourself to me body and soul, to be my wife one day.” He didn't wait for a response, pressing his lips against yours lightly, giving you ample time to turn your head or tell him to stop. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him. Instead, he was met with you returning his show of affection. He made a noise of protest when you pulled away, following your lips until you pressed your fingers against them.

“Why do all this? Why not just arrest me?”

You smacked into the water with such force it knocked the air from your lungs. Considering you couldn't tell up from down, the last thing you wanted was to not have an ounce of breath to even hold. The water was battering you every which way, and your lungs were already burning within seconds. You were fighting to make it to the surface, to breathe, but instinct took over and you gasped, pulling the salty water into your lungs. It burned, but, underwater like you were, it was impossible to cough it up. Black spots were beginning to swim around in your vision as your body was rapidly growing weaker, no longer wanting to obey you. Just as you were finally losing consciousness, you felt something latch onto your waist and a sharp pain where your neck met your shoulder. Even the pain did nothing to jolt you back to alertness, the need for air too great. If that bite was what you thought it was, at least your death would serve a purpose: shark food.

When you awoke, you noted a few things right off the bat. One, you weren't dead. Two, you were underwater. And three, you had a tail. Revelation three immediately cast revelation one into extreme doubt. That hadn't been there before. You took in your surroundings, and it looked like you were tucked away in a small opening in some coral, a tunnel of sorts. Your heart rate spiked, beating so hard you thought it might just burst from the force. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. 

You looked at where your legs were supposed to be. You weren't familiar with shark species outside of the well known ones, but whatever you had was a delicate-looking thing built more for maneuverability than speed. A heterocercal tail, if you remembered right. Thank you, elective marine biology course. An extreme example, definitely a type of reef shark, at least. The caudal fin was slender and rounded, the bottom of it almost nonexistent. 

You touched it experimentally, feeling the sandpaper-like texture beneath your fingertips. You were quick to jerk your hand back. You’d felt it, yeah, and not just under your hands, but it wasn't like touching the legs you were used to. In the process, you slammed your elbow into the coral behind you, causing you to yelp in pain, the sound somewhat muffled under the water but not nearly as much as you would have expected. Observation four, you guessed. Observations five and six then came in quick succession. Five, you could smell blood in alarming clarity, and six, your teeth were sharp as hell, which you had noticed the second you bit your lip to muffle your original pained cry, just to immediately cry out again.

You gripped your elbow, attempting to alleviate the pain still radiating from the impact. While you were rubbing at the scraped skin, a shadow fell over you. You froze in place, your gaze slowly drifting upwards to find out what had caused it, terrified of what you might see.

It was the worst of both worlds. Both man and shark. You didn't even have time to think before you were swimming towards the end of the tunnel. Fortunately, your new appendage didn't have a learning curve. It came intuitively. Unfortunately, the man-shark-thing’s reflexes were faster than your swimming. His arm shot out, and he grabbed a hold of your tail, right at the joint where the caudal fin was attached. He began to pull you backwards towards him, and you thrashed as you dragged your nails into the sand but ultimately found nothing to hold on to. He wasn't even using both hands and still pulled you with ease. How unfair. 

Instinct told you to kick him, but that wasn't really an option anymore, was it? When you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around your waist for better leverage. He had you completely trapped against his bare chest with your arms pinned to your side. 

“What the fuck! Let go, you freak!” You shouted, hopelessly wriggling in place.

He only tightened his grip, not paying your words any mind. “You need to eat,” he said simply, lifting one of his arms lightly, offering you the octopus in his hand.

“No way! I’m not eating that thing!” You shrieked, trying once again to squirm away but to no avail.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days. Eat. You need it.”

You managed to shimmy an arm free, using it to push against his forearm that was firmly around your waist, but he didn't so much as budge. He wasn't wrong about you needing to eat; your energy was already flagging. Adrenaline was probably the only reason you had any to begin with, and you were beginning to pant from all of your failed escape attempts. The man-shark sighed, pulling you back into the coral alcove, completely undeterred by your persistent bad attitude. 

You didn't realize just how much bigger he was than you until he was crowding the space, barely able to fit through. He tore off one of the tentacles, offering it to you. Instead of accepting it, you took the opportunity to fully take in his appearance. He had startlingly silver hair but a young face that didn't match it. A young, handsome face with gleaming red eyes and a jaw so sharp it could cut steel. And his nose was one you would happily sit on if you still had the anatomy for it.

Your eyes trailed down his broad shoulders and chiseled chest. At least if you started drooling he wouldn't really be able to tell underwater. Without even thinking about it, you reached a hand out to touch where his tail met his torso. Surprisingly, he let you. You half expected him to bite your hand off for the sheer audacity. You lightly dragged your fingers from the skin of his lower abdomen down to the seam where the skin gradually changed texture. He inhaled shakily, which you took as a cue to stop. Must be sensitive right there.

“If you're done ogling me, you should eat now.” He pushed the tentacle in your hands, and you grimaced as you finally took it from him. You examined it apprehensively, looking between it and the pushy guy who obviously was going to sit there until he actually saw you eat. You took a small, tentative bite, hoping that would be enough to appease the man. It wasn't. He made a gesture for you to continue, but otherwise didn't speak. You groaned, resigning yourself to your fate and mentally apologizing to the poor octopus.

It wasn't as bad as you were expecting, but it was definitely new. By the last bite, you were really feeling just how ravenous you actually were. Truth be told, you wanted more, but your pride outweighed your hunger. He hadn't eaten any himself, so it seemed that it was just for you, but how were you supposed to ask for more after all that fuss to not eat it?

He chuckled, very much aware of your internal dilemma. “If you’re still hungry, all you have to do is say so.”

You made a face of distaste, but he wasn't wrong. “Can I have some more?” God, this was humiliating. You felt like Oliver Twist.

It continued this way until you were full, and the man triple checked that you wouldn't eat any more before consuming the rest, leaving only the beak to float down to the sand.

“Who are you?” You asked, voice bordering on something confrontational as you tried to pretend you were more confident than you really were. “And what happened to me?”

The man raised a brow, surprised you had managed to work up the nerve. He hadn't meant to come across as threatening—it was just a byproduct of his size—but even so you were obviously wary of him at best. He was brooding over your clear aversion to getting within three feet of him. He’d bitten you. You were marked, his, so why couldn't you feel it? It didn't seem like you had even noticed the still-healing bite aside from the way you occasionally rolled your shoulder. 

“Sylus,” he grunted. “You were drowning, so I saved you.”

You thought back to that feeling of something on your waist and the sharp bite on your shoulder before everything had gone black. Had that been him? You placed a hand over the injury, feeling the indents in your flesh. It was definitely a bite, but it wasn't as ragged as you'd expect of something that had actually been trying to eat. “Saved me how?”

“You never would have made it to the surface in time, so I bit you. Now you don't need air at all.”

What the fuck does that mean? What kind of shitty werewolf-esque-shark situation had you found yourself in? He bit you and now you had a tail? You had died. Or you were still drowning and this was just your subconscious’ way of protecting you from the trauma, because there was no way this guy was for real.

“You bit me?” You asked, looking for more clarification, your voice deadpan.

“Yes, I bit you, which means you're my responsibility now.” Mate as well, but he didn't think you could handle that little tidbit just yet.

“You're still not answering what I mean.” You were growing frustrated. How in the hell could a bite change your whole species?

“Then ask what you mean, kitten, and you might get the answer you want.”

Oh, this smug bastard. If he wasn't so much bigger than you, you'd strangle him.

You all but sneered when you asked again. “You say you bit me, and now I don't need air.” He nodded. “And this—” You pointed to your spotted tail. “Was not there before. I don't have legs anymore.”

“What an observant little kitten I have,” he cut in. 

That damn pet name again. “Do you even know what a kitten is?”

You took pride in momentarily rendering him speechless, but then he grinned, a laugh spilling from his lips. “And she has claws, too. How cute.”

Great. You couldn't even be mean to him. He got off on it.

“But to answer you, yes, I know what a kitten is. Fitting, no?” He pointed to your tail, but you didn't follow what he meant. He saw your confused expression, finally offering information without you having to explicitly ask for it. “Catshark.”

A small sound of interest was all you responded with as you swished it back and forth experimentally. Sure, you had used it earlier trying to escape, but that was panic-induced and, therefore, doesn't count. Back to business, then.

“I’m obviously not human anymore, so what exactly am I?” You took in his appearance once more. Different tails, but same overall anatomy. “What are we?” You corrected yourself.

He preened inside over your use of “we,” but didn't show it. “Us specifically, lachii. Eel tails are anguills. Fish tails are osteichs. We’re categorized by tail type.” He shrugged like this was common knowledge, and, in total fairness, it probably was to him. But this information told you that the two of you weren't just freaks of nature, there was a whole society of creatures like you that your science books had never prepared you for.

“Right. Ok. And how did a bite change me into a…lachii?”

“The only reason it worked is because you were drowning. Some people change on their  own. Reborn, so to speak. Others need a little push, like you did. But most of us are just born like this.”

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. And now you were one of them. So, you were basically right earlier; it pretty much was a werewolf situation. How bad could it be? No need to worry about higher education, no bills, no taxes, just open water and a ridiculously attractive man who didn't seem like he would leave your side any time soon.

But nothing was ever that easy. Over the course of however long, you really couldn't tell since you had lost track of the days, and the ocean didn't have near as many calendars floating around as it did plastic, you and Sylus grew closer. Currently, he was trying to teach you to catch fish efficiently, sick of you hurting yourself trying to get them out from where they inevitably hid in the rough coral. It was a work in progress, but you were definitely getting better, having just caught a fish that you were proudly showing Sylus. He had softened up around the edges, his expression gentle as he praised your work, showing off his own catch. 

Most days were the same. It was an easy and oddly domestic dynamic with him that you didn't expect. But from Sylus’ point of view, this is exactly what it was supposed to be. He still hadn’t told you exactly what his bite entailed, but he had an inkling that you were beginning to get the picture, especially when a friend of his had visited and had congratulated him upon spying the mark you sported. It didn't help that he often kissed that very spot when you were sleeping and had been caught more than once when you were not, in fact, sleeping. 

But you never said anything about it, and it was beginning to stress him out. Were you avoiding it because it made you uncomfortable? Or what if you were okay with it and just waiting for him? He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't even notice when you swam up behind him to wrap your arms around over his shoulders, your face close to his. “Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Did you get enough to eat? Should I catch something else?” You rolled your eyes. He was always so worried that you weren't eating enough.

“No, I’m fine, but thank you.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, a habit you had picked up recently. Surely this meant you wouldn't mind if he came clean, right? Even so, he didn't say anything then, either.

You had picked up more little habits that further endeared him to you. Seeking him out just to be close, using him as a shield when some of the larger species still scared you, showing him the pretty shells you found. All of it was just so cute in his eyes. He liked knowing that you felt completely comfortable with him and saw him as a safe place. However, being as comfortable as you were with him, you were no longer scared to push his buttons. Hide and seek you called it. A common childhood game among humans, as you told him. His eyes scanned the swaying kelp, looking for any sign of your spotted tail. Either you were really good at this game or he needed to start worrying. He continued swimming around with no sight of you, but he did hear the tinkling sound of your laughter, carefree and uninhibited. He swam towards the sound, pushing kelp out of his way as he went. He wasn't near as agile as you were, the dense growth not very accommodating for his size.

When he finally had you in his line of sight, he was stopped in his path. You were smiling so brightly, laughing as you watched a family of otters swim and play. They were definitely cute, but his eyes were drawn to you. You hadn't yet seen him, so he took the opportunity to back into the kelp, hiding away from you to swim so that your back was to him.

With your attention firmly held by the cutest little group of animals you had seen in a long time, you were startled when a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist to pull you close.

“Found you,” he said, placing a light kiss on your shoulder, directly on the scar of his bite. You noticed he did that a lot, not that you minded. You reached behind you to cup the side of his face as he did so, your smile now entirely directed at him.

“That means it’s your turn to hide.”

“I like it better when I can see you,” he frowned.

“Is the big bad tiger shark pouting?”

He glared at you, no real heat behind it. “Start counting.”

You giggled, but did as he said, closing your eyes and beginning the count. As expected, he was nowhere in sight when you opened your eyes. You swam around leisurely, admiring the wildlife, which you guessed you were part of now.

You saw something dart around beneath you, just out of sight. You swam down, but instead of your handsome shark it was a tentacle. A very large tentacle that didn't want to let you go. You jerked and pulled, but it held strong. 

Your distressed noises carried to where Sylus was hidden away, and he immediately left his rather good (if he said so himself) hiding spot to swim to you as fast as his tail would allow. Your yelps got louder and Sylus was berating himself the whole time. If you were hurt, it was because he shouldn't have left you alone. You were still fairly new to this, after all.

When he finally reached you, he saw an octopus had latched itself onto you. You weren't hurt, just scared. But that was still enough for Sylus to intervene, helping wrench it off of you, biting the tentacles clean off as needed. They’ll grow back anyway.

When you were finally free of your boneless assailant, you launched yourself into his arms, teary eyes. He had half a mind to chase down the fiend for dinner. “No more hide and seek,” he said simply, stroking your back in a soothing manner. Distraught as you were, now wasn't the time to tell you either.

Sylus knew that the longer he waited to tell you that you were mated to each other, the harder it would be. Before he knew it, you had taken the opportunity yourself when he least expected it. You were pressed against his side laying in the sand, the water dark around you. He pressed his lips against the scar as he did every night, almost like he was reassuring himself that it was still there. “Why do you always kiss that spot?” you asked as cluelessly as you could. If your werewolf comparison was accurate, you had a fairly good guess.

He hummed, lips still pressed to your skin, the vibrations sending tingles through your body.

“Sylus?” you called out when he didn't answer.

“Because it’s what brought you to me.”

“Is that all it means to you?”

He sighed before answering. “No. It means your mine. It’s a mating mark. I should have told you from the-”

You didn't even let him finish, opting instead to press a drawn out kiss to his plush lips. You were giggling as you peppered the rest of his face in little kisses. 

“You're not mad?” he asked.

“Couldn't be happier,” you beamed at him. “Plus, I was pretty sure what it meant. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Sylus’ face reddened almost imperceptibly. “So, you let me stress over telling you when you knew the whole time?”

You nodded, all too happy when he groaned in embarrassment. “You'll have to make it up to me, then, kitten.”

“How so?”

Even before you had fallen asleep, he had hesitated to lie beside you, and, when he did, he’d kept his back turned to you, his body situated as close to the edge as possible without falling off.

You sighed heavily, throwing off the covers and rising from the soft bedding. You pulled on a robe to protect yourself from the chilly morning air. As you did so, you noticed his nightstand barren when it hadn't been the night before. His conscription notice. It was gone. Your pulse thundered in your chest as you hurried over to his wardrobe, throwing open the doors to find that most of his clothing was now gone, save for the elaborate ceremonial robes he’d worn only yesterday.

You glanced around the room once more. A glint on your own bedside table caught your eye. How you had missed it, you didn't know. But it didn't matter now, since all you felt was white hot rage coursing through your veins as you stared at the simple silver wedding band lying there, the tangible symbol of your unity as husband and wife reduced to a paperweight for the neatly folded note beneath it.

With a shaking hand, you pulled the note out from under it, allowing the ring to slide against the paper and clink back onto the wooden surface of your bedside table. You gingerly unfolded the note, resisting every urge to rip it to shreds without even reading it. His handwriting was almost clinical in its precision, as if he was practicing calligraphy and not whatever this was.

Y/n

I have volunteered my expertise to the imperial army as a medic, effective immediately. Do not attempt to contact or follow me. I leave my home in your hands and I apologize for my sudden departure.

Z. Li

You crumpled up the note in your fist, seething. How could he humiliate you like this? And with such an impersonal note, too. It was an insult. A rejection. This was not how husbands spoke to their wives. He had packed his bags, removed his ring, and left you without so much as waking you to bid you farewell, effectively abandoning you on the first day of what was intended to be the rest of your lives together. 

You wouldn't stand for it. You would not be treated like a forgotten relic, pushed aside to collect dust. He would see. You would make him see. His wife was not just some feeble woman that he could walk all over.

You moved quickly in your anger, sifting through all the clothes you had that could help you pass as a man. Out of sheer spite, you used one of Zayne’s shirts to form a cloth strip to bind your chest. It was work, but your effort was rewarded when you took in your appearance in the mirror. You looked like a man. An effeminate one, but a man nonetheless. No longer were you the refined young woman you had been raised to be.

This foolish plan may have very well gotten you killed, but it had to be better than whatever fate Zayne had tried to condemn you to. If he didn't want to see his wife, then you would give him someone else to see. 

The travel was brutal on your body, the terrain and weather unforgiving. You were accustomed to the sedentary, indoor life of a well-bred noble, not one that involved traversing jagged terrain and sleeping in public inns. At the very least, it served as study material of sorts for your disguise. You were able to listen and observe those around you, and the grime of travel that was beginning to coat your face only helped conceal you further. 

Whenever you began to flag, you pulled out the silver ring that Zayne hadn't even deemed worthy of bringing with him. The anger fueled you to keep going. Additionally, you had briefly made acquaintances with an older man traveling alone. He had taken it upon himself to instruct you when you nearly killed both of you by misidentifying a toxic fruit as an edible one. Certainly not your proudest moment, but he had been patient with you, teaching you everything he could about herbal medicine. You dutifully wrote all of it down, reading through the notes as often as possible to ensure they were committed to memory.

Of course, the day eventually came when you had to part ways. All for the best, though. You weren't far now from Zayne’s posting. After countless days of travel, you had finally reached the camp. It was more of a fortress than a camp really, what with the high, imposing walls surrounding it. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Your name was Zhi. You came from a small village in the West, and you were looking to become an apprentice in the medical sect. You checked your pack to make sure you had your forged papers before approaching the gate with as much false confidence as you could muster. 

“Name?” Demanded the armored man stationed at the gate. “Zhi,” you answered, keeping your tone level and ensuring you kept it low enough to not arouse suspicion. You willed your hands to not shake as you provided him with your forged papers. “I’m seeking an apprenticeship position to become a medic.”

Your papers must have been good enough, since he handed them back to you without comment. He squinted as he looked you up and down. “Are you sure? The medics here see blood and gore day in and day out. You look like a strong wind would snap you in half.”

“I’ll manage. I’m not as physically imposing as the other men here, but I’m dedicated and efficient.”

The man didn't seem convinced, but directed you in anyway. “The man you need to talk to is Dr. Li. He’s in the medical tent; you can’t miss it. He’s a serious sonofabitch. Never smiles and doesn't tolerate slowness.”

It seemed that was all he had to say, so you continued on inside, looking all around you for a tent that stood out from the rest. And he was right. You really couldn't miss it. You joined a queue of what looked to be about ten or so young men, commoners, if their clothes were a reliable indicator. 

It didn't take long to see Zayne, his back to you once more, only this time he was tending to the wounds of a soldier on a bloodied cot. You guessed you and the other boys were waiting on him to finish. He seemed so comfortable amidst the groans of pain and blood, completely in his element. It would be admirable if only he hadn't considered this preferable to a comfortable morning in bed with his wife. You watched the way he stitched the wound shut, his hands deft and precise, making no unnecessary movements.

Upon finishing, he turned to survey the group of hopefuls wishing to be taught his trade. “Apprentices,” he began, voice clear and sure. “Look around. We deal with everything from lacerations, to stabbings, to broken bones. If you are squeamish, I ask that you reconsider your goals here and leave now.”

Three of the potential candidates backed out of the tent, looking like they were going to be sick. “You.” He pointed to one of the young men. “Come here.”

He tested each and every one of you individually on your knowledge of first aid and the practical skills needed to apply it. One after the other, they were dismissed for reasons such as incompetence or visible nausea. You worried you might get sent back home before even getting the chance to prove what you had set out to do.

When he got to you, there wasn't so much as a flicker of recognition on his face. He directed your attention to one of the cots. “When he got here, he had sustained substantial injuries and was bleeding heavily here, here, and here. What would you have prioritized?”

“His abdomen, sir. The limbs can be tied with a tourniquet, but the abdomen needs to be addressed immediately. Of course, it would depend on the severity of the wounds themselves, but, assuming they were equally bad, then that is my answer.”

“If his wounds were infected, how would you treat them?”

“Application of an herbal poultice.” You went on to describe exactly which plants and in which amounts, how often they were to be reapplied, and how to bandage it.

“This man here,” he said, walking over to where another medic was busy suturing a soldier wincing in pain. “He’ll finish this,” Zayne told him, nodding his head in your direction. 

You took the needle from the medic, relying on your experience with sewing cloth to help. It was certainly different, but your pride couldn't take another hit. You could not be sent back home. You had already been rejected as his wife, and you would not be rejected as his apprentice.

Zayne observed you quietly, his intimidating presence looming over you. Once you had finished, you looked to him, waiting for any sort of feedback. “Satisfactory, if not a little sloppy. You’ll start with a probationary period under my tutelage.”

Impersonal, as you expected, but all that mattered was that you got to stay. You would prove to both him and yourself that you were worth more than a cast-aside wedding ring and empty vows.

-❆-

It was brutal work. You’d been warned, but nothing could have prepared you for the relentless onslaught of neverending injuries that needed tending. Day in and day out, you were suturing and packing wounds, applying salves, running errands, and gathering more supplies for Dr. Li. He was as emotionally distant as he was during the apprentice evaluations, only ever giving short commands, his words clipped and to the point, wasting no time. 

What you had learned from the old man was just a drop in the bucket compared to what you had learned from Zayne so far. He was terrifying in his own way, his every movement swift and precise, his quick analysis of injuries allowing him to make judgement calls on a dime, treating his patients as quickly as possible. You may not have respected him as a husband, but you couldn't deny that he was a master of his trade, perfectly at home in the field hospital. There were even jokes among the soldiers that he was born with an innate knowledge of herbs. 

You were stripping two of the cots of their bloody linens when Zayne shouted for you. “Zhi! Take care of the captain’s laceration. I’ll handle the other one.” You dropped what you were doing, rushing to the man’s side. There was a deep cut down the length of his forearm, but nothing life threatening, unlike the man who had been brought in with him.

You got to work quickly, ensuring that both the skin and the needle were clean before beginning the process of sewing flesh back together. You were proud of how much you had improved, now able to work almost as quickly as Zayne himself, though you doubted you’d ever reach his level of skill. He was a prodigy, after all.

The man, who had introduced himself as Caleb, made small talk as you worked, mostly to distract himself from the stinging pain. “You're very efficient with a needle,” he remarked, watching the way your nimble fingers adeptly guided the little tool. 

“I should hope so, considering how much grief Dr. Li has put me through.”

Caleb snorted, looking over to where Dr. Li was busy with his own patient, yelling out orders to the more experienced assistants. “Yeah, I can believe it.”

He continued to watch you work, fascinated by how gentle your hands were, considering your chosen line of work. More gentle than any man’s hand typically was. His eyes narrowed as he focused more on your actual hands than what you were doing with them. Far more delicate than what would be expected of the peasant boy you had introduced yourself as. With growing suspicion, he turned his gaze to your face. You only spared him a brief, confused glance before refocusing on the task at hand. 

You were hiding it well, but Caleb had always been the observant type. He had initially assumed you were just a somewhat feminine man, but no. You weren't a man at all—he was sure of it. He didn't know your reasons or motivations for being there, but they must have been serious if you were risking imperial punishment. He didn't personally care, though. After all, a good medic is a good medic, and they sure needed all the help they could get, but the higher ups might very well kill you if you're ever discovered.

There was a part of him that was mildly concerned someone else would figure it out and actually turn you in, but another part of him found great amusement in the fact that the perfect Dr. Li hadn't even noticed despite working with you all day. When you finished tying off the thread, you dutifully wrapped his arm tightly with clean bandages, instructing him to change them as needed. Taking this as a dismissal, he stood from the cot, almost laughing at the height difference between the two of you that solidified what he already believed to be true. Dr. Li really was oblivious to anything that wasn't medicine. 

You continued to see Caleb periodically, sometimes with one of the other captains, a formidable man named Sylus who had very quickly moved up the ranks and was still making a name for himself. Rumor had it there had been some . . . odd noises from his tent one night, before his battalion had joined the camp you were working at. 

You didn't understand why, but Caleb seemed to always make it a point to acknowledge you. It was odd being observed so much, but you brushed it off, assuming he was just grateful for your help.

Though the conversations you had with Caleb were only brief exchanges whenever you happened to see each other, Zayne was quick to chastise you for it. “This is a field hospital, not a teahouse. You have work to do. Don’t waste your time on frivolous matters.” 

Truly spoken like a man who didn't care for personal feelings, always pushing them aside in favor of his work. At that point, you weren't sure if he was even capable of emotion extending past the professionalism he exhibited. Despite all the effort you had put in and your vast improvement in, well, everything, Zayne never deigned to give you so much as the slightest bit of encouragement. The closest you ever got was a simple “Good.” 

You still had no idea who Zayne actually was—you only knew him as Dr. Li.

Your chance finally came late one night when you were tasked with helping him organize his field notes and logs of injuries and the treatments he found most suitable. You knew he was meticulous, but the sheer amount of scrolls and paper he had filled with ink was more than you would have ever imagined one man capable of composing.

It was beyond tedious, but obviously long overdue, the scattered documents completely covering every inch of the table he used as a desk. He handed you a large stack, instructing you to organize by date and injury, such as laceration, arrow, burn, etc. You were thumbing through them when you mustered up the courage to break the silence that was previously filled with nothing but the sound of rustling papers and small, periodic sighs. 

“Dr. Li, where do you practice when you're not with the army as a medic?”

He answered without even looking up at you. “A moderately sized city near the capital. Why?”

“Was just curious. You don't talk about yourself much.”

“I see no reason to. Should I discuss my favorite meals or childhood memories as I’m repairing flesh?” He asked somewhat facetiously, his flat tone of voice making him sound far more critical than humorous.

“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant,” you backtracked, trying to think of how to carefully word your sentences in a way that would get him to open up without causing suspicion as to why you were asking.

“Then say what you mean.”

“I was just curious what you’re like in your free time. When you're not taking care of patients.”

Zayne sighed but didn't rebuke you. “I enjoy reading and drawing. Recently I’ve taken up carving. I hate carrots but love sweets. Is that answer satisfactory to you?”

“It’s a start.”

“A start?”

You hummed. “What about your home life? Are you married?”

He went silent, face completely blank. He looked down at his hand, thumbing the bare finger where his ring should have been. “I am,” He said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“How long have you been married? What’s she like?”

He hesitated, not particularly wanting to reveal that he was a newlywed who immediately left his wife the very next day. “We married quite recently, and, truthfully, I don't know much about her. It was an arrangement with her father for social standing. I left early in the morning the day after the ceremony to come here.”

“Oh. How did she take the news?” You asked, trying to push for more information, to find out why he would do such a thing to you.

“I didn't discuss it with her beforehand. We’re not even friends or properly acquainted all that well, so I didn't think she would care.”

“You don't have a lot of experience with women, do you?”

He looked offended for a moment, like he was going to argue with your statement, but he ultimately didn't. You weren't wrong. “What makes you say that?”

“Dr. Li, it’s very possible she’s not even waiting at home for you anymore. Think about it from her perspective. You got married and then the next day you were gone. Left her there with no warning. I can't imagine how she felt.” 

Yes you could, and it was a misery and ache that you wouldn't wish upon anyone.

“I hadn't considered her feelings in the matter. As I said, we’re practically strangers. And I did leave a note explaining my absence.”

You shook your head. “And I’ll bet it was as dull and straightforward as these patient logs.”

He again went silent, contemplating your words. Once more he could neither argue nor defend himself against your accurate assumption. “. . . Do you truly think she may have left me?”

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open slightly. You masked the expression  as quickly as it came, performatively shrugging your shoulders as if you didn't care. “I don't know her, so I can’t really answer that.”

Before the conversation could fizzle out into nothing, there was still one specific thing you wanted answers to. “If you're married, then why don't you wear a ring? Do you keep it on a necklace since you can't wear it when operating?”

Zayne grimaced. “I left my ring with the note.”

You raised your eyebrows, playing your role as concerned apprentice as best you could. “You left your ring? Why would you do that? She probably saw that and assumed you left her. As in, a divorce. That’s what an abandoned wedding ring typically means.”

Zayne was rubbing his temples now, the very picture of stress. “I didn't mean it that way. The intention was to leave something important behind, something I'd return to claim.” 

You were ready to smack your hand against your face. How could someone so intelligent be so stupid? “You said the two of you were practically strangers. Do you think she would have made that connection herself?”

For the first time since you arrived Zayne looked truly distressed. Gone was the immaculately put-together doctor, leaving only a husband who was realizing he had ruined his marriage before it truly had the chance to even begin.

“That is enough for tonight. I’ll handle the rest of the paperwork. You can go.” His voice was audibly strained, the muscles in his jaw tight.

You left without another word, casting a quick glance over your shoulder as you ducked through the tent flap to see Zayne hunched over his desk with his head propped in his palms.

From that point on, Zayne made it very clear that he wouldn't discuss anything more with you than the usual orders for more bandages or clean linen. Somehow, he was even more distant than he had been before. But when a soldier came in with a shattered femur and every other medic was already occupied, he had no choice but to work side by side with you. Despite his emotional avoidance, he was still teaching you new things, such as how the anaesthesia was made and how much to administer. 

Flesh and tissue was one thing, but you quickly found that bone was not your strong suit. As expected of a man of his caliber, Zayne was entirely unfazed as he directed you to help him realign the bone and gather the materials to make a splint. 

As always, he was efficient, but he couldn't help but get distracted by your hands. You had never worked so closely before, and only now was he able to see that your hands were much smaller than those of the average adult male. He wondered if you had been malnourished as a child. And yet, something about them was familiar. 

As soon as the splint was in place, he allowed himself to be as distracted as he wished in order to analyze your hands. Why did they look so familiar? It was irritating that he was struggling so much to think of a reason behind his own recognition. 

“Dr. Li? Is everything alright?” You asked, breaking him of his intense focus. He turned his head to look at you, but his attention was captured by something else. The tunic you’d worn that day was too large, the fabric practically swallowing you. It left just enough space for Zayne to see that the braided cord you always wore wasn't empty. 

There, looped onto the cord, were two silver rings, the larger of which was startlingly familiar. 

His ring.

The one he had left at home. 

You didn't understand why Zayne had suddenly stopped moving, glancing down to see what he was so focused on. You knew you hadn’t  forgotten your wraps so—the ring. He could see the ring! You knew you should have left it in your tent with your things, but you didn't want to risk losing it or it getting stolen. 

“Dr. Li—”

“Come with me,” he snarled, grabbing your wrist in an almost painful grip. He pulled you after him, not heeding your pleas to slow down or caring how much attention he was drawing. He was beyond furious. What were you thinking? No wonder your hands looked familiar; they were the same ones he had held at the altar, the same ones that he had slipped a ring onto. 

As soon as you were in his tent and out of sight, he turned to face you. “What are you doing here? What were you thinking?” he hissed at you, just barely holding onto his composure. 

You only glared back at him. How were you supposed to say that the way he’d left had ignited such a fiery rage that you couldn't even think straight? 

He took both of your shoulders in his grasp, his anger giving way to a borderline frantic concern. “Answer me, please.” His voice had dropped down to a pleading whisper. “Yn, please, why are you here? You could be put to death for this.” 

“So what? It’s not like you wanted a wife anyway,” you grumbled, pushing his hands away. You crossed your arms across your chest, staring at him expectantly.

He made an exasperated noise. Why did you have to be so stubborn? What kind of foolish thinking had even led you here? “Is it so hard to believe that I don't want my wife to be murdered?” He was hurt that you truly thought so little of him, but it’s not like he’d given you much to work with. 

You faltered, his heartbroken expression pulling on your own heartstrings. “I just didn't think you'd care at all,” you answered honestly.

Zayne inhaled deeply, calming the storm of emotions that had started as soon as he saw his ring. “Of course I care. You can't let anyone know.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You weren't binding your chest everyday for fun. “Of course not. I don't want to be executed either.”

Zayne began to speak again, but faltered, trying to find the right words without coming across as too coarse. “It’s more than that. Yes, potential execution. But it would make you the only woman in a camp full of men. You already are, but they don't know that.”

You grimaced. It seemed you hadn't quite considered everything. “Understood. I’ll be even more careful from now on.”

He said your name so softly you almost weren't sure he said it at all. “I’m not trying to lecture you. I’m just concerned for your safety. Surely you can see this was a foolish plan.”

For someone not trying to lecture it sure sounded like he was doing just that, and you told him as much. “I wouldn't expect you to understand. We’ll continue our duties as normal and we won't acknowledge this again. Does that sound acceptable?”

From the look on his face, you would guess, no, it was not good enough, and that this was far from over. Ideally, he wanted you back home, but for now he guessed this was all that was possible. “Fine. But you work with no one else but me. And don't wear such loose shirts. You're not as tall as these men, and, if they're able to see down your shirt as I did, they may see the bindings.” Though he had spoken so matter-of-factly, his face was tinged an endearing shade of red.

You brought a hand up to clutch at the collar of your shirt. “Noted.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but today had been enough of a catastrophe already, so you took your leave before Zayne could continue. He watched you go, mind swirling with all the horrible possibilities of what would happen to you both if you were found out.

True to his word, Zayne did not permit you to work with any other medic. He kept you at his side as much as he could, and when he didn't truly need your help he had you running to and fro, completing menial tasks such as cleaning bed linens or fetching water to boil. You were exhausted by the end of each day, but the work was so fulfilling that you didn't even mind. 

One particular day had been so hectic you hadn't even had time to eat lunch, and by the time you finally did have the chance to put any food in your mouth, you were so tired that you barely even had the energy to make it to your tent before collapsing into your cot.

You don't know how long you slept, but you woke to the feeling of someone gently shaking you. You opened your bleary eyes and could barely make out Zayne’s figure standing beside your bed. He had brought a lantern with him, illuminating your small space and casting shadows across his sharp features.

“Zayne? What are you doing here?” You mumbled, brain still sluggish from sleep.

“Sit up. I didn't see you at supper, so I brought you food.”

You grumbled as you rubbed at your eyes, still adjusting to the light. “C’mon,” he urged. You couldn't see it, but there was a small smile tugging the corner of his lips as he watched you struggle to rouse yourself. A part of him felt bad for waking you from what was clearly much needed sleep, but he couldn't let you go hungry either.

Zayne handed you a bowl of food when you finally made it into a sitting position. You took it from him gratefully. The longer you were awake, the more aware of your empty stomach you became. Between the lack of sleep and hunger, you didn't even bother putting all of those etiquette classes to use. You ate like you were scared Zayne might take it away from you despite him being the one to have brought it in the first place.

“Slow down before you choke” was his only commentary. It wasn't until the ache in your stomach had calmed that you actually heeded his advice, finally remembering to thank him for going out of his way for you.

“It's a husband’s job to take care of his wife, no?”

You were here to prove a point, but somehow it seemed that Zayne was determined to undermine the image you had of him, but it would take more than one meal to undo the damage he’d inflicted. “Did you only do this because we’re married and you felt obligated or because you actually wanted to?”

“Why are you so intent on seeing the worst in me? I am concerned for you as a person, first and foremost. Your body needs food. But I can't lie and say that you being my wife has nothing to do with it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, digesting his words, pretending you weren't even a little bit touched by his concern. It was hardly anything. Nothing to have your cheeks warming, which they definitely weren't. 

The silence lulled between you, not uncomfortable, just an air of calm that settled over you both as you finished your food. “You can sit on the bed, if you’d like,” you offered quietly. “I’m sure the ground isn't comfortable, and you've been on your feet all day.”

He looked at you thoughtfully before ultimately deciding to take you up on your offer. He stood slowly, his full height towering over you until he sat back down, this time at the foot of your bed, obviously making a conscious effort not to touch you in any way. “Thank you. This is better.”

“So, you said you like carving right? What do you carve?” You inquired around a mouth full of food.

“Jade, mostly. It’s an expensive hobby, so I don't indulge in it as much as I’d like.”

“Would you show me some of your pieces when we return home?”

His eyes widened momentarily, shocked you were actually interested, and then his face melted into something much warmer. “Of course.”

When all he could hear was the clinking of your chopsticks in the now-empty bowl, he asked, “Are you still hungry? Would you like some more?”

You shook your head. “No, this was plenty, thank you.”

He stood up and offered his hand out to take the now-empty bowl from you. “You should get some rest, then.” Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, turning around and exiting before you could see the spreading flush on his face. 

You watched him leave, wondering where the sudden affection came from, but certainly not hating it either.

As Zayne was returning to his own bed for the night after returning your bowl, he was stopped by the soldier that he often saw stopping by to talk to you. “Can I help you?”

The soldier nodded. “Yes, but we need to speak somewhere more private. Too  many ears out here.”

Zayne narrowed his eyes, suspicious. This was unusual. No one ever stopped him for anything other than someone needing urgent medical assistance. “Follow me,” he said, continuing on his way to his quarters, listening for the footsteps of the soldier behind him that verified he was indeed following. 

Once safely tucked away, Caleb wasted no time getting to the point. “That apprentice of yours, Zhi,” he started.

The mention of your “name” immediately caught Zayne’s full attention. “What about him?” He asked sternly, his tone frigid and his eyes razor-sharp, analyzing every microexpression on Caleb’s face.

“Delicate guy, isn't he? Shorter than you'd expect for his age. Of course, I’m not a doctor, but someone of his disposition doesn't really belong in a harsh place like this. He stitched my arm up. Did a damn good job of it, too. But his hands are soft, no scars or callouses.” As he spoke, he had an easy, knowing grin, almost smug.

He didn't say it outright, but his expression, in addition to his veiled words, was enough to tip Zayne off: he knew. Zayne nodded slowly, apprehensively. “And what about it?”

Caleb shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just figured you’d like to know that you’re training him well, but that delicacy might draw some unwanted attention. It's not fitting for someone in the army, medic or otherwise. You’d be wise to keep him safe near you.”

Zayne clenched his jaw, loathing the fact that this soldier had probably known that you were a woman before he had recognized you as his own wife, and even then it was only because you had his ring. He recognized a ring before his wife. What kind of worthless husband was he?

“Noted,” he told the soldier shortly. “I don't intend to let my apprentice suffer the consequences of my oversight.”

Caleb’s rigid posture relaxed slightly, the tension he’d been carrying since realizing what kind of position you were in alleviated knowing that Zayne was also keeping your secret. “I’ll take my leave then, Doctor.”

The second that Zayne was alone, he all but collapsed onto his bed, staring up but focused on nothing. How had it all become so complicated? When he was young, all he had ever wanted was to be a doctor. He had worked and studied hard to get where he was now. He used to wonder what it would be like to have a marriage like his parents, but had eventually written off such dreams as just that—dreams. His busy lifestyle wouldn't allow for him to be the doting husband his father was. That was one thing about Zayne. He had always struggled to draw a clear line between work and his personal life, with work often eating into what should have been his time to relax and recuperate from the day.

And yet, there you were. The daughter of one of his father’s friends. A young woman who needed a husband, and him, a successful young man who stood to gain social capital if he had a wife at his side. Somehow, that simple arrangement had devolved into this masquerade with potentially deadly consequences. He dragged a hand down his face, sighing like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Might as well be, considering his wife’s very life was hanging in the balance, not to mention his own.

Try as he might to fall asleep, his thoughts would not allow him peace. All the grief he gave you about taking care of yourself and yet there he was, unable to take his own advice. Toss and turn as he might, sleep would not take him. 

By the next morning, after only a few hours of fitful rest, he woke up feeling like death itself. Everything ached, and he was sweating and shivering at the same time. He tried to sit up but it felt like his head was trying to split itself in two. He lay back down, admitting defeat. Even if he did manage to make it to his feet, there was no guarantee he would stay on them. The stress and exertion of the past few weeks had finally taken their toll on him.

When you arrived at the medical center, you immediately noticed a certain doctor’s absence. Odd, you thought, he was always the first to arrive. You asked one of the other medics if they had seen him that morning, but the answer was negative, as it was with everyone else you asked afterwards. 

You took it upon yourself to go check on him, informing one of the other doctors of your intentions. You strode quickly across the camp, which was still slowly waking, soldiers walking around only half awake as the early morning light shone upon them.

Zayne’s tent was quiet, even when you called for him. You peeled the flap back, peaking your head in to see him still sound asleep in bed. You entered quietly, and, the closer you got, the more you were able to see the flush across his cheekbones and the sweat beading on his forehead. Your brows scrunched together in concern, and you reached a hand out to feel his forehead. You gasped at the heat emanating from his skin. He was burning up.

“Dr. Li?” you called again, lightly shaking his shoulder. He grumbled something unintelligible as his eyes slowly opened. He started to sit up, but you pushed him back down. “You're sick. The others will take over your duties until you're better, so you focus on getting your own health back.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered thickly. 

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He was more married to his work than he was you. “No, you're not, and you know it. You can’t help anyone like this. What if you get the injured sick? Their bodies are already struggling enough as is.”

His displeasure was written all over his face, and truthfully it would be cute if you weren't so focused on how high his fever was. You told him that you were going get some supplies and that you would be right back.

For three days you provided round-the-clock care for the head doctor after getting permission from the medic whose head it fell on if Zayne was otherwise unavailable. His fever had only continued to rise despite the constant replacement of the cold compresses on his forehead. You were applying a new one yet again when he reached out and tugged your sleeve. “Zhi?”

You halted what you were doing, locking eyes with his pretty green gaze. “Do you need something?” You asked him with a tone as gentle as his tug on your tunic.

He didn't acknowledge your question, instead carrying on like you hadn't spoken at all. “Have I ever told you I’m married?”

Your eyebrows were practically in your hairline, lips briefly forming a perfect ‘o’. You hid your smile behind your hand, trying to contain the giggles that were involuntarily bubbling up. It seems his fever had made him slightly delirious. 

“No, I don't think you have. Why do you ask?” Evidently, he had also forgotten that you had, in fact, had this conversation already. But who were you to correct the sick? You were already doing everything you could for his physical health as Zhi, so you might as well do what you could for his emotional health as his wife.

“I was mean to her. We got married, and I left the next morning before she even woke up. Didn't even say goodbye.” He mumbled. You had to lean closer to his face to hear him properly. “I should have at least taken my ring with me.”

“You left your ring there?” You asked as though you weren't already well aware.

“I hope you don't think less of me. You're doing really well, and I don't want my own apprentice to think I’m not a worthy role model.”

With the way he was looking at you, you would almost think he cared more for Zhi than you, despite you being the same person. “I don't think less of you as a doctor. As a husband though, you do leave much to be desired.”

Zayne groaned, turning his feverish head and burying his face in his pillow, the compress you’d just given him sliding right off. “What am I to do when I go home? She’ll surely hate me.”

At least you had confirmation he cared about resolving your relationship. He didn't know it, incoherent as he was, but he was already well on his way to getting back in his wife’s good graces. “You’ll have a lot of groveling to do. Do you know her favorite flowers? Or her favorite foods? Something to maybe prevent her from smacking you silly the second you show your face.” You knew he didn't, but perhaps he’d remember just who he was talking to when the fever finally broke. You were outright telling him things that you would appreciate. “The best thing you could do is explain yourself and make up for any lost time.”

He nodded, taking every word to heart. He looked utterly miserable, and clearly not just from his illness. “When I get home, I’ll tell her.”

“Tell her what?” You probed. It was probably wrong not to correct him at such a vulnerable point, but under the influence of the fever, his higher cognitive functions weren't able to step in and cause him to harbor a second guess. Once he recovered, he likely wouldn't remember much of this, and, if he did, it was even less likely that he would tell you.

“That I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “That I should have considered her more. That I should have talked to her and not assumed she wouldn't care.”

You nodded along to his words, a small smile on your face. “She knows you're sorry.”

He looked at you with wide, unguarded eyes. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, Dr. Li.” You said assuredly, fixing the compress on his head once more. You wondered what this whole exchange was like for him, a man who kept his emotions so in check. Would he remember any of this when the fever broke? 

“You know,” he spoke up once again, looking right at you as your hands pulled away from him. “It’s kind of funny . . . you almost look a bit like her. In the face. Your smiles are the same.” It took everything in you not to start outright laughing this time, but you just barely suppressed it, that aforementioned smile of yours widening a bit as a direct result.

“. . . That probably sounds odd of me to say. I apologize,” he was quick to add, clearly at least thinking straight enough to recognize that much.

“No, no, you’re alright. I’m flattered,” you told him, letting a bit of your laugh seep through to lighten the mood.

“. . . Flattered?”

Ah. Maybe that was the wrong choice of words. Well, it was a bit late to go back on what you said. “By which I mean,” you started, trying to make sense of your own comment, “your wife sounds like a lovely woman. Perhaps, with a face like hers, I could find myself a wife of my own someday.” A good enough cover. Probably. At least with him being in the state he was in, anyway.

“Ah, right. You're still young aren't you, Zhi? I'm sure you'll meet a fine woman of your own in the near future. Hopefully you'll treat her better than I’ve treated my own.”

God, he was making it so difficult to keep it together. But, in addition to being humored, you also felt your heart swell a bit at that last part. His remorse was so genuine and tangible, you could tell it was eating away at him enough to escape his mind in this conversation like it was.

You could tell his fatigue was starting to return from the look in his eyes, so you decided you ought to let him rest for a while so his fever could properly dissipate. Plus, you needed some quiet time to think about this entire interaction all over again. “Get yourself some more rest, Doctor. I’ll be right here if you need anything.

He nodded slightly, letting his eyes fall shut as he shifted a bit under the sheet. Admittedly, he looked somewhat cute like this, and you couldn't resist reaching out to brush a lock of stray hair from his forehead. A part of you hoped he’d remember everything so that you could bring it up later. But, for the time being, you simply hoped he’d feel better soon.

You guessed you had fallen asleep still seated at Zayne’s bedside, because when you woke you were being lifted from the floor. You were vaguely aware of being pressed against a solid, warm surface that eventually registered as Zayne’s chest. You squirmed in his hold, beginning to protest. “You should be resting.”

“I’m feeling much better. You’ve taken great care of me, so let me take care of you now.” He placed you gently in his cot, lying behind you and pulling you into his chest, one of his arms slung across your waist. It was cramped, but not altogether unpleasant. It was the safest you'd felt since arriving at the camp, and the warmth radiating from him was so comforting you didn't even have it in you to argue anymore. You relaxed in his hold, relishing in the physical intimacy he was showing for the very first time.

You were awoken the next morning by the raucous sounds of soldiers shouting and rushing to and fro. You jolted up from bed, not failing to notice your husband’s absence once again, likely already back to work, his admirable (albeit somewhat unhealthy) work ethic pushing him to return to his duties. You rushed to get ready. Judging from all the noise outside, you had definitely overslept. You made your way out of Zayne’s quarters as inconspicuously as you could, but there wasn't any need.

The camp was a riot of sound and movement. At first, you thought that the worst had happened, that they had suffered immense casualties and severe injuries, but, upon closer inspection, most seemed to be in good spirits. 

You raced to the medical unit anyway, hoping someone there would give you answers. Every cot was full when you got there, and you wasted no time joining the others in your duties. You gathered from snippets of overheard conversations that it was over—the invading forces had been defeated. 

It took hours for the commotion to die down, and only then were you able to speak to Zayne properly. “It’s over?” You asked in disbelief. It had been so long that being at the camp felt normal. What would happen when you returned home? Would you be able to continue learning and training under Zayne, or would he expect you to take up wifely responsibilities and nothing more? Admittedly, you had somewhat enjoyed your time spent as an apprentice, and a part of you didn’t want it to come completely to an end

“It is. I’ve spoken with Captain Sylus. We’ll likely be dismissed as soon as there are less wounded that need care.”

“Why didn't you wake me this morning? I could have been of more help.”

“You're a remarkably deep sleeper, and I thought you could use the sleep. We had it well under control here.”

You frowned. “But—”

He cut you off. “You needed rest. It’s as simple as that. Consider it doctor’s orders.” He wore a small grin as he spoke, as if your tardiness was very amusing to him. You scowled as you watched him walk away, making his rounds and checking on patients. 

Zayne was right. A few days later, when the camp was back to its normal rhythm, you were notified that you were being relieved of duty and allowed to return home. You were truthfully a little disappointed it had all ended so quickly, but you couldn't deny that it would be nice to return to a proper bed and not have to worry about concealing your gender. 

You were still gathering the few things you had brought with you when you heard someone clearing their throat behind you. You turned around and saw Zayne standing there with his own pack slung over his shoulder. “We can leave together once you finish. I’ve told some of the others that you’ll return with me and continue your training at my own clinic, so there won't be any suspicion from us leaving together.”

He took a seat at the end of your cot, which had since been stripped of its linens, and watched as you packed up the handful of remaining things. He observed you quietly, offering to take your bag from you, which you declined on the grounds that anyone who saw would likely get the wrong idea. “Once we’re far enough away then.” Dare you say he was . . . pouting?

True to his word, the second you had reached the next town, he deemed that sufficient enough distance to gingerly remove your bag from your shoulder and place it over his own.

“You really don't have to, y’know? I can carry it fine by myself.”

He looked down at you, genuinely confused. “I know you can, but you shouldn't have to while I’m around. I wasn't the husband you deserved, and I’ll spend the rest of our marriage making up for that mistake.”

“Even if I’ve already forgiven you?”

“Especially then. I want to be the reason you have high standards for a man, and not just someone you’ve settled for.”

His earnest declaration moved something in you, causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

By nightfall, you were both worn out from walking. Seeing that you were beginning to fall behind, Zayne suggested finding an inn for the night, to which you readily agreed, in dire need of a good night's sleep. You imagined it was worse for Zayne, who refused to take so much as a modicum of a break and insisted on carrying both packs.

As much as you wanted to collapse onto the bed, Zayne grabbed your hand, preventing you from doing so. “I know you're tired, but there’s a bathhouse down the street. We should get cleaned up.” You almost sobbed at being so close to sleep but still so far, but he was right. A proper cleanse was long overdue.

You released his hand, and a hurt expression flashed across his face. “I’m just removing my bindings,” you laughed.

His face went scarlet as he rushed to turn his back to you. Such respect for your modesty despite the fact that he’d see it sooner or later. When you gave him the ok to turn around again, his eyes zeroed in on the wraps you had been using. “Was that one of my shirts?”

You laughed unabashedly. You had completely forgotten that in your anger you had used his clothing to make strips of cloth. “Maybe,” was all you said, but Zayne was a smart man who knew that “maybe” meant he was absolutely right. You almost felt bad now that the anger and embarrassment had mostly abated, but now you knew what his face looked like when he was at least mildly offended, so it was worth it in your book. “Why my shirt? Was no other cloth available?”

You walked past him, ignoring the question. As expected, he followed you out, shutting the door behind him. “So, we got married, and then the next morning you were gone and all I had was a note that said don't contact you. I can't imagine why your shirt became the victim of choice.”

Zayne scoffed, but ultimately couldn't defend himself. “You’ve made your point. I was awful. Should I expect any more damage when we get home? More ruined clothes? Broken kitchenware, perhaps?”

You shrugged. “You might sleep in an empty bed forever if that counts as damage. There’s another bedroom I would be more than happy to claim.”

“Need I remind you that you were in my bed just a few nights ago?”

“Only because you picked me up and then trapped me there.”

“You snuggled into me, so you obviously didn't hate it.”

He wasn't wrong, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. Your silence was just as well, though, if his smug expression was anything to go by. 

It was some hours later before you were both returning to your room for the night. The heated water had done wonders for your aching muscles, and it was such a relief to get the last of your makeup off. You were still dressed in men’s clothing, but that aside at least you no longer looked like one. 

Now, laying in bed with your husband, properly clean and so comfortable, you were eager to sleep. Zayne, however, was clearly not quite there yet. He was lying down facing you, fingering the cord around your neck, still securely looped through both of your rings.

“We should wear our rings properly,” he stated.

You looked at him with tired eyes. “Won’t leave it behind again, will you?”

“Never, and that's a promise,” he responded solemnly, talking about more than just the ring. You sat up to untie the cord, letting both rings slip off into your waiting palm. Rather than pick his own of the two, he plucked yours between two of his fingers and took your left hand into his, slipping on the ring just as he had done all those weeks ago at the altar. 

Once your ring was snugly back in its rightful place, he wordlessly offered you his own hand. You got the message and returned the gesture, slipping his ring back on his finger. While you were paying attention to your movements, Zayne was paying attention to you; the shape of your lips, the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you blinked. You were beautiful, there was no denying it. That immaculate self control he had always prided himself on dissipated like smoke in the wind the second you looked at him.

You were already sitting so close, so it was nothing to lean forward just a bit, pressing his lips onto your own. It was little more than a chaste peck, but when he pulled away you both had dreamy expressions that mirrored each other. Neither of you said anything, but this time you both leaned in. His lips moved softly against yours, a small sigh exhaled from his nose as he deepened the kiss, his tongue licking the seam of your lips. You opened your mouth, letting his tongue intertwine with your own. He gripped your hips as he continued to kiss you, reluctant to part for even a moment, and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him.

In your surprise, you gasped and pushed away from him, bracing your hands on his shoulders to regain stability. From your new position, you could feel the way he was hardening beneath you and see that pretty flush on his cheeks in perfect clarity. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound so loud you could barely hear the sound of Zayne’s shuddered breathing.

“Is this okay?” He asked you tenderly as his thumbs rubbed comforting circles where they still gripped your hips.

You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you. Do you want more?”

“I do, but I’ve never . . .” you trailed off, turning your head shyly.

“I haven't either. We can go slow. We don't have to do anything at all if you don't want to.”

“No, I do, but can we stay like this?” you asked timidly, still having trouble actually looking at him. He wasn't having that, though. His pretty wife was seated in his lap, but she couldn't even look at him. He turned your head to face him once more, his lips so close to yours but not quite touching, his breath ghosting over them and his nose brushing against yours.

“Like what? Like this?” He thrusted his hips upward, grinding into your covered pussy. You mewled at the delicious friction. “Haah—yeah, just like that.”

The room filled with the sound of your gasps and moans as he continued to grind your hips against his. But it wasn't enough for either of you. “Keep moving, my love.” He instructed, nuzzling his face into your throat to suckle at the soft skin as his newly-freed hands groped and squeezed at your breasts. Your back arched, pushing you further into your husband's hands. 

Without warning, he flipped you onto your back, pulling one of your legs over his hip for more access to continue grinding into you. He kissed up from your throat that was now covered in blooming bruises, across your jaw, and back to your lips, suckling your tongue and nipping at your lips.

His hard length was throbbing in his pants, precum soaking through the fabric. It was too much and not enough at the same time. “I’m so close, darling.” The steady rhythm he had set faltered, his raw, primal need completely taking over.

You could only whine in response, your mind completely void of anything other than your husband on top of you and his hard cock thrusting against you. He wasn’t faring any better, babbling about how good it all felt. “Say my name. Scream your husband’s name when he makes you cum.”

You were gasping and panting, struggling to say the singular syllable of his name, but it was enough. Enough for him to bite down on the groove between your neck and shoulder, muffling the sounds of his ecstasy and bringing you over the edge with him.

Empty. Again. You were beginning to think Zayne was incapable of staying in bed past sunrise. You sat up and looked around the room, finding him sitting by the window, curtains drawn back just enough for him to have enough light to read his log books by. “How long have you been up?” You asked groggily, squinting even in the minimal amount of sunlight.

He looked up from the pages of his meticulously taken notes to see you staring at him curiously, hair still mussed from bed. “Not long. I couldn't fall back asleep, so I figured I’d be productive.”

“You should take breaks sometimes. You’ll burn out.” you remarked, a frown pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’d consider last night a break, wouldn't you? If it was more of a stress relief for me than it was for you then I’ll have to remedy that when we get home.”

Your cheeks flamed at his insinuation, and he chuckled at your obvious embarrassment. Truth be told, he had only been able to read a few lines before his mind wandered back to the way you had writhed beneath him, how the sounds of your pleasure had almost been his undoing. He wanted more. Wanted to know what you look like under those clothes, how you'd scream when you truly felt him for the first time, how warm and wet you would feel around him. By the time you woke up, the book was just to hide how aroused he was from imagining you in various positions on his bed.

But his efforts were for naught when you climbed out of bed and instead walked over to curl into his lap instead. You didn't miss what he had been trying to hide. “Are you—”

“Hush,” he snapped. 

“Do you want help, or should I step out and let you handle it yourself?” You minx. You’d been awake for all of ten minutes and were already teasing him. In lieu of a verbal response, he led your hand to cup his hardened length through his pants, and you squeezed lightly, making him hiss.

You trailed your hand up to the waistband of his pants, hooking your fingers into it to pull it down and allow his twitching cock to spring free. Your eyes widened. He was so much bigger than you had anticipated, even after feeling him through his pants, but actually seeing it was different than using your imagination to guess based on feeling alone.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, your movements unsure. He groaned, urging you to please move your hand. His words emboldened you, and you began to slowly stroke up and down, causing his breaths to come in quick pants. He bit his bottom lip to muffle the sound when you stroked the tip, his hips thrusting into your hand involuntarily.

His voice was strained when he choked out, “Like that, baby, just like that—oh—yes!”

He watched the way your hand pumped up and down his leaking cock, his own precum being used to slicken his length. You slunk down onto your knees between his legs, and he looked down at you in something between shock and adoration, his jaw slack and eyes begging for everything you were willing to give so long as you didn't stop.

You gave an experimental lick to his weeping tip, eliciting the most pathetic sound you had ever heard Zayne make. You took even more of him in your mouth, hoping to get even more sinful sounds from him. “Slow—Ngh! S-slow down, I’m gonna—”

He wanted to cum. He didn't want it to end. He wanted to push your head further down. He didn't want to hurt you. It was all so overwhelming. He was so consumed with pleasure he couldn't focus on anything but the silky sensation of your mouth licking and suckling at the most sensitive part of him, using your hand to stroke whatever didn't quite fit.

Your glossy eyes looking up at him between his legs is what pushed him over the edge, his cum spurting hot and thick rivulets into your mouth and moans of your name spilling freely from his bitten lips. You swallowed his spend, and he stared at you, awestruck and still panting. “That was . . . You were . . .” He tried to get out some deliverance of praise, but his words were failing him. There was no adequate way to describe the sheer bliss you had bestowed upon him.

You were rubbing your thighs together, desperately seeking any sort of friction by that point. This, of course, didn't escape Zayne’s notice. His eyes sparkled, mischief dancing in his beautiful green gaze. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He asked with mock sympathy. “All you have to do is ask, my sweet wife.”

So you did. And he delighted in telling you “No.” Your face fell at his words, distressed that he wouldn't lift a finger to quell the burning ache in your core. He continued speaking, explaining exactly what he meant. “And not because I don't want you. I do. But when I take you for the first time, I want it to be in our marital bed, the way it should have been from the very beginning.” 

You whined at his words, the beginnings of either an argument or begging on the tip of your tongue, your pride and neediness warring against each other. He bent down, face close enough that it was all you could focus on. “Consider it a punishment for risking your life with that foolish plan of yours.”

And a punishment it certainly was. The trip back was miserable, your soaked undergarments glued to your skin keeping you all too aware of the need that Zayne had built and then promptly left to simmer for the remainder of the trek home.

Your punishment quickly turned into his own. He should have known that you wouldn't just accept the situation. You got under his skin like no woman ever had, relentlessly teasing him and pretending you weren't intentionally doing anything. By the time you were finally crossing the threshold of your shared home, he couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore. The bags had barely hit the floor before Zayne was scooping you into his arms, his lips colliding with yours with urgency, insistently parting them with prods of his tongue. He carried you to your shared bedroom, dropping you onto the bed and hurriedly pulling off his shirt, revealing muscle you truly hadn't expected the doctor to have. 

Unable to hold himself back, your clothes quickly followed, discarded with his own on the floor. He groaned, your bare form beneath him the very picture of perfection. The heavens themselves could not hold a candle to the divinity you radiated in his eyes. 

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, eyes roving over every inch of exposed skin. His hands kneaded and groped at your flesh with a mind of their own. He was transfixed on the way you squirmed and writhed, urging him to touch you properly, where you needed him most. He hadn't done anything yet and already your breaths were coming in quick pants from the anticipation.

He had spent hours between your thighs, using both his hot tongue and long fingers before he was finally swiping the head of his cock through your dripping folds. He pushed in slowly, the stretch of accommodating his girth burning even after all the prep he had done. He hissed through his teeth. “You're so tight, my love.”

Zayne pushed in slowly until his hips were flush with yours, filling you up so completely you felt like you would split in two. He groaned as he took in the sight of you taking him all the way to the base, your tight cunt clamping around him. “Please, Zayne,” you pleaded. “More.”

Who was he to deny his pretty wife what she was asking for? He pulled out, thrusting back in roughly and setting a nearly animalistic pace almost instantly. His professional precision translated remarkably well to the bedroom, hitting your deepest spots that made you see stars. 

He gripped both of your thighs, pushing your legs up over his shoulders, allowing him to reach even deeper. You moaned loudly, your voice joining the symphony of skin on skin. His hips pistoned in and out of you furiously, burying his cock into your gummy walls repeatedly.

His guttural moans and praises stimulated you just as much as the mind-numbing sensation of his length stuffing your needy hole. “So pretty, so perfect, and all mine.” Zayne was babbling, not even thinking about the words that spewed from his lips. “You’re clenching so— Hng—! So tight around me. Cum for me. Cum for me, my sweet wife.”

His cockhead nudging insistently your cervix, his desperate pleas for you to cum, his flushed skin, him—it was all too much. Your back arched as much as the position he had folded you in allowed, your cunt  spasming around him as he pushed you over the edge. “Th-there she is. Ah—yes—!”

He abruptly pulled out, his chest heaving. “We’re not done. Roll over, my love.”

You did as he said, your knees propped up on the bed with your hands supporting your weight. He tsked behind you, placing his large hand between your shoulderblades and pushing down until your face was in the pillows. “Just like that, perfect.” 

He positioned himself behind you and dragged his fingers through the slick that was leaking down your thighs. “Such a messy girl. All this for me?” The pleasurable sensation of his fingers was replaced with a stinging on your ass, quickly soothed by his warm palm rubbing the now lightly-throbbing skin. Your sharp cry sent heat shooting through his abdomen. He lined himself up with your quivering hole, swiping the weeping head of his cock through your soaked folds before pushing in again in one swift thrust.

“Ohhh! Oh my god!” You squealed, your hands gripping tightly at the sheets beneath you. Zayne’s grunts filled the room, his eyes transfixed on the way the muscles in your back moved and flexed when you arched oh so perfectly just for him. It wasn't enough to just look.

He halted his movements, adjusting your legs to straighten out, allowing him to lay his weight on top of you, your back pressed to his chest. He mouthed at your neck, rutting his hips into you once more. This new position felt infinitely more intimate, so much of his bare skin in contact with yours. He overlaid his left hand with your own to intertwine your fingers, your twin wedding bands glinting in the low light.

He wormed his hand beneath your body to rub circles on your sensitive clit, the rush of euphoria almost immediately bringing you to climax. You chanted his name like a mantra, like it was the only thing that mattered, and, in that moment, it was. He sucked dark marks onto your neck and shoulders, nipping and kissing every inch he could reach. 

His groans were morphing into breathy, whiny exhalations as he neared his own peak. “You take it so well. My little wife was made for her husband, weren't you? F-fuck! Cum with me. Ngh—! Cum for me!”

He sped up, completely unrestrained, pummeling your insides until your muscles were clenching and your cunt was spasming and creaming around his cock so deep inside you. “That’s it, yes, yes! Oh, I’m, I’m gonna—!”

Hot ropes of cum spilled inside you, and he worked you through both of your orgasms with short, shallow thrusts, unwilling to pull out of your squelching heat for even a moment until he was sure that he had given you all he could offer. He stilled on top of you, keeping you plugged full of his seed.

You were both gasping for breath, and you whimpered when he finally pulled out, his thick spend leaking out onto the bedsheets below. He rolled over next to you, pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. He kissed the top of your head where you were nuzzled into him, a tender sign of his affection just after his unbridled show of lust. “Would you prefer to rest or bathe?”

“Bathe. We’re sweaty, and the sheets are gross.” You made a face of distaste, eliciting a light laugh from Zayne.

“Bathe it is then. Wait here. I’ll prepare everything.” He rose from the bed, the chill of the room replacing the warmth of his skin. He donned a robe, your eyes lingering on his beautifully built figure.

When he returned, you were halfway asleep, exhausted from the night's rigorous activities. He scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bath, lowering you in gently before climbing in behind you. Somehow, you felt even more vulnerable like this than when he was literally inside you. You relished in the way his hands skimmed your wet skin and lathered your hair, massaging your scalp as he did so. 

You returned the favor afterwards, switching places so that you could run your hands through his dark hair. He hummed at the way your nimble fingers felt running through the soft strands and across his skin. He stayed like that for some time, almost falling asleep himself, more relaxed than he had been in a very long time, the combination of your attention and the warmth of the water offering unparalleled comfort.

He had to practically force himself out of the bath before he truly did fall asleep. Now, dried and dressed, he was preparing the bed with fresh sheets, aided by you in smoothing it across the surface of the bed. The sullied ones were discarded to the floor, joining the day’s clothing to be dealt with tomorrow. Where Zayne had put as much distance between you that very first day as he could, he was now loath to not have you as near to him as possible, safe in his arms.

The breaths from your nose fanned across his bare chest, your body pulled as close to him as he could have you. He thought you were already asleep, but you took him by surprise, raising your face to press a small kiss to his chin, a whispered, barely audible, “I love you,” slipping past your lips and trickling into his ears like sweet honey.

Zayne’s breath stuttered, his heart almost stopping its steady beat in his chest. He mirrored your actions with a chaste kiss to your forehead and a confession that, prior to you, he never thought he would find himself uttering. “I love you, too, my sweet wife.” 

There, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you both drifted off to sleep.

Regardless of what you thought, Sylus had never been blind to your presence in his life. He still remembered when you were 10 years old and had climbed a tree too high and subsequently became too frightened to climb down. He’d had to climb into the tree with you to help you down, and he had done it without a second’s hesitation. He remembered when you proudly showed him your first piece of needlework at 12, the flowers slightly misshapen and lopsided, but he’d praised it nonetheless. He remembered when you were standing next to him in front of both of your parents at 14, nervously twiddling your fingers as the two of you were told you’d been promised to each other as eventual spouses. He remembered when you were 17 and Caleb had made a passing comment to him about how pretty you were becoming and Sylus had shot him a look so quickly he nearly snapped his own neck. He remembered the first time he kissed you at 19, how soft your lips had been and how your hands felt cupping his jaw and how worth it it was to risk the scandal. But what he remembered most vividly was the way your face crumpled when you’d told him that you’d been chosen as a candidate for concubinage to the emperor. He’d never forget the raw grief and anger he felt the day you left for the interior palace.

Sylus would stand against God if it meant taking his rightful place at your side, so who was an emperor to stand in his way? But he waited. Plotted. Planned. He’d be yours and you would be his, even if he had to burn the whole palace to the ground. 

----------

You weren’t sure how it had happened, but during one of your outings you had been noticed by a eunuch sent to your town with the express purpose of scouting potential companions for the emperor. It all happened in the blink of an eye. The eunuch visiting your family home. Discussing what this meant with your parents. Informing Sylus, whose face would be seared into your memory forever. You may as well have ripped his heart from his chest. But the wants of the emperor superseded all else. What you had thought to be fated, written in stone, was ripped from you before you could truly fight for it. Your bags were packed by the maids, your tears wiped clean by your mother, and your heart still held securely in Sylus’ hands, even as you were loaded into the carriage tasked with taking you far away from all that you had known and loved.

You didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then you did so in as few words as possible. The trip was long and tiresome, but you did eventually arrive at the gates of the Forbidden City, the grandeur of the palace stealing the breath from your lungs. You tried to remain positive. You really did. Thousands of girls were chosen for this process and the vast majority of them were sent back to their parents. So, in all likelihood, you would be back home within the week. Surely.

Upon arrival, you were sorted into a group of other girls your age. Everything about you was assessed: your height, weight, skin, face, hair—even the way you spoke. By the end of it all, the number of girls had drastically decreased, and yet still you remained. One month, you were told. You would remain for one month as an entry-level concubine under the observance of other court women. It was a terribly long month, as you were not allowed contact with anyone outside of the palace. Your entire world had shrunk to just the inner court.

As luck would have it, it was your inquiry about the possibility of sending letters that exposed you as literate, a valued quality. You had always considered your family’s noble background a privilege, but it was unfortunately that very privilege that gave you all the traits desired in a concubine. 

50. There were only 50 of you left. Again and again you were needled about your knowledge of literature and the arts. You had always been studious, and it showed when you were ranked highly amongst the remaining girls. You had considered lying and making yourself seem far more uneducated than you actually were, but dishonesty towards the emperor was not taken lightly. You’d be flirting with severe capital punishment, possibly even execution. It wasn’t worth the risk of never going home again. Of breaking the hearts of your family—of Sylus—more than they already were.

So, you persevered. But marked were your words—the emperor would never touch you. You could abide being chosen, as much as you loathed the thought, but you would die before allowing him in your bed. Should that ever happen, you would never be permitted to leave, a fate worse than death.

In the end, no matter how much you wished to kick and scream and cry, you were chosen to remain in the inner court. Whether your family was notified or not was not disclosed to you. You hoped they were, and you hoped Sylus would not completely give up on you. In the meantime, you decided, you would keep your head low and not draw attention to yourself. An unnoticed concubine is an untouched concubine.

------------

After a month of your absence, Sylus joined the imperial army. If he remained idle waiting for your return, which grew more and more unlikely by the day, he was apt to completely fall apart. Caleb chose to join as well, and he had been the one to inform Sylus that it wasn’t unheard of for generals and high ranking military officials to be rewarded for valor with a concubine of their choosing. If he could swallow his pride and serve the man who had taken you from him in the first place, he could potentially win you back.

The training was grueling. The two men had already built quite the physiques with the training they had already done, but the army honed and polished their skills to their fullest potential. If they were intimidating before, they were downright formidable now. But that was only training. Sylus had yet to see battle. He had yet to earn any merit that could allow him to move up the considerable ranks it would take to garner any favor or notice from the emperor.

But he would do it. Would follow orders to a T, would shoulder every task, would cut down anyone who opposed him until the emperor himself was felled by his sword if that was what it took. Though for now, he would settle with helping quash the small insurgence that was causing trouble in the south.

------------

While Sylus was risking life and limb to make a name for himself in the army, you were navigating the complexities of the inner court’s social hierarchy.  Though discouraged, there was much jealousy among the concubines, something you had come to know after witnessing an unfortunate interaction between two others. 

Jingshu, the name one of your ladies whispered to you, was a high-ranked concubine, a favorite of the emperor. You caught ear of her berating Xinyue, whom you were surprised to recognize as one of the girls who had been evaluated in your group. 

“Why would he go to you and not me?!” Jingshu’s face was red from anger, the stark white makeup not enough to hide the deep flush on her cheeks.

You witnessed how Xinyue did a remarkable job of not letting the injustice of such a public confrontation allow her to lose her composure. In a sure and steady voice, she responded, “Perhaps the emperor simply has no use for a concubine who is already pregnant.” 

A sly grin slid over her face as her eyes drifted downwards to the slight bulge of Jingshu’s abdomen. That grin was enough to tell you that she knew exactly what she was doing, antagonizing Jingshu and very skillfully getting under her skin. You suppressed the small smile that would have turned Lady Jingshu’s wrath on you should she have seen it. It was unlikely through the audience that had gathered around the spectacle, but it was not a risk you thought worth taking. Xinyue had nerve, you’d give her that.

As entertaining as you found it, Jinghsu found it equally infuriating. “You—!” she reeled her hand back, prepared to strike Xinyue. The crowd stirred and a eunuch pushed his way through. He’d likely be punished for this later, but he wrapped a hand around Jinshu’s wrist, effectively preventing her from harming the other concubine. Jinshu looked at him incredulously, likely having never been opposed before due to her social standing within the inner court.

Jingshu yanked her arm from his grip, ready to rage at the poor eunuch who clearly only wanted to deescalate the volatile situation. Before she could get a word out, he sputtered, “Lady Jingshu, you should not be exerting yourself so much!” He gave a meaningful glance to her abdomen. Her words were arrested in her throat, a grimace on her face as she took in the implication. She lowered her arm and the eunuch released her, a clear expression of relief painted on his face.

With one last sneer towards Xinyue, JIngshu stormed off, her ladies in tow. The eunuch turned towards Xinyue, seemingly to ask if she was okay. Now that the yelling had stopped, you couldn’t hear as well as before from your spot at the edge of the courtyard, so you assumed that was what he was saying anyway, especially since Xinyue gave him a small smile and nod of affirmation. With your entertainment clearly having come to an end, you continued on your way.

That had been nearly two weeks ago, with no sign of Jingshu since, the concubine presumably staying cooped up in her room to be doted on by her ladies during her pregnancy. That, or she was rightfully embarrassed by the show she put on and was waiting for some other drama for people to gossip about. Xinyue, on the other hand, you saw quite often. The first time you had spoken was when you saw her painting in one of the open-air pavilions in the imperial garden. Your curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself wandering closer, trying to peer over her shoulder to see what she was painting. Unfortunately, your curiosity led you a bit too close, and she noticed your presence creeping up behind her.

She turned to you, somewhat surprised that anyone other than her attendants had been watching. Recognition shone in her eyes when she took in your face, sheepish expression and all. “I know you! We came here in the same group!”

You were shocked she remembered you, but pleased nonetheless that she seemed friendly despite what had occurred with Jingshu. You returned her smile before answering. “Yes, we did,” you said with a small laugh. “Truthfully, I’m surprised you remember me. There were so many girls.”

She acknowledged your words with a nod. “True, but you stood out so much it was hard not to notice you.”

Stood out? You had done your best just to blend in, what could possibly have made you stand out so much that Xinyue remembered you? “Did I really?” You asked.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, debating how best to word her thoughts. “You always seemed so sad. Never talked to anyone, never smiled…” she trailed off, her brows somewhat raised and eyes wide, concern practically radiating off of her.

Of course you had been sad. You still were. You didn’t want to be there. You should have been at home, helping your mother with the household tasks or having tea with your father. More than anything else, you should have been preparing for your wedding. 

Xinyue could see the swirl of emotions in your eyes, and she gestured to an empty seat at the table where she was seated. “Would you like to join me? You could share whatever is bothering you. Might make you feel better. Or we could request more supplies and you can paint with me?” She asked hopefully.

You eagerly accepted the offer to join her, having spent most of your time in the palace alone, save for your ladies who didn’t seem to have the extra time to socialize with you in between their daily tasks. It wasn’t even proper for them to walk next to you on your walks around the gardens, always keeping at least two steps behind you at all times. Xinyue requested that one of her ladies bring more supplies, and you gladly took a seat beside her.

“Not to be too forward, but do you want to talk about whatever is making you sad? It seems like more than just not wanting to be here.” You hesitated and she picked up on it immediately. Waving her arms in front of her, she quickly backpedaled. “Of course, you don't have to if you're uncomfortable!”

You laughed at her franticness, the feeling almost foreign as it had been so long. You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I think it would make me feel better to share with someone.”

You picked up the paintbrush one of the ladies had brought out to you, and Xinyue followed your lead, resuming her painting while glancing your way and waiting for you to begin your story.

You took a deep breath, trying to briefly collect your thoughts before finally speaking. “I was promised in marriage before coming here. We were going to marry next spring. I’ve known him my whole life. Our parents are close friends and business partners, so they thought that by arranging their children to marry they could ensure joint prosperity. It wasn’t just an arranged marriage for me.”

Xinyue had a soft, sympathetic look on her face. She knew exactly where this was going. You continued. “I really did want to marry him.” Your voice cracked and your throat was becoming painful with the effort to not cry. “It was a palace eunuch that thought I would be a good candidate. So now I’m here, and I’ll likely never see him again. He’ll marry someone else and I will still be trapped here.” The tears spilled then, against your wishes and best efforts to keep them at bay. You rushed to wipe them from your face, but she placed a gentle hand on your forearm.

“It’s okay to cry, y’know? I won’t judge you for being upset.”

You only shook your head, not quite ready to be that vulnerable with a woman you had only just made the acquaintance of, no matter how kind she’d been so far. When you had sufficiently pulled yourself back together you turned your full attention to her, unfinished painting left abandoned in front of you. “How did you come to be here?”

Xinyue flushed, somewhat ashamed at her circumstances after hearing yours. “I come from a noble family. My parents wanted to elevate their political and social standing.” She didn’t elaborate further. She didn't need to; hers was a common story. Many noble families sent their daughters as candidates to directly tie their family to the imperial line, especially if their daughter happened to bear a son.

From there, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Discussing books you had both read, complimenting each other’s painting skill, even arranging to meet again the next day since you’d both found the other could play an instrument—why not play together? At some point, she leaned in to whisper to you if you had heard anything about the skirmishes in the poorer regions of the country. She seemed almost shocked. Apparently, it was a great hubbub where she was from, though you had heard of no such civil unrest.

Xinyue, sweet as she could be, was more than happy to fill you in. The emperor, and the government as a whole, really, wasn’t following through with their promises to send food to struggling townships. Some of the people took it upon themselves to attack traveling merchants, making the roads dangerous. You took in her words with rapt attention. 

Though you didn’t know it, as you were learning about the strife that apparently riddled the nation, your beloved was actively fighting on behalf of the empire. 

------------

One after the other they fell by his sword. Old, young, it didn’t matter. He had his orders and he would follow them. He would ride through the ranks, he would be recognized by the emperor, and he would have you as his. You were the one single point on which all of his drive and motivation was hinged. How the slaughter of bandits and petty thieves would get him there, he didn’t know, but he didn’t need to. He just knew that his tasks were important to his commanders, so he would complete them without fail or hesitation. 

However, it didn’t escape his notice how frail some of the men looked. They were far too weak to fight imperial soldiers, but still they fought with the desperation of men that had everything to fight for. But so did he. 

Still, he thought it odd that these men, who clearly were not equipped for this lifestyle, were so determined to condemn themselves. He never got the chance to ask them himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to question his senior officers. It wasn’t until he was promoted to captain that he finally got an answer. An answer for their desperation. Their frailness. Their hopeless yet unrelenting pursuits. Simply put, they were starving. Each time Sylus had fought what he was led to believe were petty bandits, he was really fighting ordinary citizens like himself, albeit much worse off financially than the Qin family.

It was only after he had made it to the rank of commander, the highest rank sent out on what the empire considered small, inconsequential skirmishes, that he was able to give the order to interrogate rather than kill on sight. From one of the countrymen he learned that a recent drought had decimated their crops, leaving the people in dire need of food. He turned to the men in his troop. “These men will not be harmed.”

The man who had been made to kneel before Sylus looked up in shock. Before he could say anything, Sylus continued, now addressing the man. “Hunger is not a crime. But thievery is. I may understand your motivations, but the emperor does not have a tolerance for such a crime. In return for sparing your life, I expect the theft to stop and for each of those involved to await further word from me.”

Sylus was playing with fire and he knew it. That night, with his men gathered around the campfire, he explained to them that not a word of this was to be spoken of. It wouldn't matter if Sylus took full responsibility—the entire regiment would be punished. It took some convincing, but none of them could deny that he had a point earlier. It wasn’t a crime to be hungry. As the men discussed how on board with this they actually were, Sylus stared into the fire, contemplating how he’d be able to tell Caleb about the development without anyone overhearing.

His opportunity came quicker than he anticipated. Caleb had found him first, leading him into the woods surrounding camp. “And what could you possibly have to show me?” Questioned Sylus.

“Oh, shut up and just follow me.”

Sylus rolled his eyes but continued anyway until the pair came to a pier that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “Ta-da!” Caleb said in a sing-song voice, arms extended dramatically. He wasted no time stripping his outer layers and jumped right in. Sylus opted to sit on the edge of the old pier, his legs dangling in the water. Caleb groaned, “Man, I thought you were going to swim with me. And let's face it, you could use a bath.”

“Apologies for not wanting to strip down to my underwear in the presence of those young ladies,” Sylus chuckled, pointing to a pair of girls on the opposite bank giggling to each other, each with a basket of clothes in their arms.

Caleb looked horrified and almost made to get out of the water before thinking better of it. As long as he was mostly submerged, the murky water would keep him concealed. “Bet it wouldn’t have been a problem if it was Y/n over there,” Caleb mumbled.

Sylus shot him a pointed glare only to be rewarded with his friend’s self-satisfied smirk, pleased to have gotten under his skin. “If it was Y/n you’d have a black eye for undressing in front of her.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, she’s off limits, I know. Wouldn't dream of taking your girl.”

The conversation lulled, and it wasn’t until the girls across the water left with their now-clean laundry that Sylus spoke up about what had been bothering him. “Those bandits they’ve been having us fight,” he started. “Do you know why there has been such an increase in merchant attacks?”

“Can’t say I do, why?”

“Has it not struck you as odd how weak they are?” Sylus raised a brow at his companion. 

“In what sense? I mean, we are imperial soldiers, so of course average citizens would seem weak.”

Sylus sighed, exasperated. “No, not like that. Weak in the sense that they’re frail. The other day I spoke to one of them. Their villages are starving and the empire is doing nothing to help them. They rob the merchants and travelers to either take whatever food they have or anything of value they can sell.”

As Sylus was speaking, he’d been staring into the water, watching the ripples formed by Caleb’s movements. He didn’t return his gaze to his friend until he’d finished, finding a stormy expression in place of his usual carefree one. 

Caleb huffed and pulled himself out of the water, seating himself next to Sylus and drawing one leg up, his arm propped on his knee. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to say. After a few moments’ thought, he asked, “So what did you do?”

Sylus gave Caleb a full debrief of what had transpired. “Y’know, if any higher ups find out what you did, you’ll get killed for treason.”

Sylus growled. “Which is why they won’t find out. Are you really going to continue to punish these people who are only trying to survive? To keep their families fed?”

A sigh of resignation. “No, I guess not. But what instead?”

“Talk to your men. Let them know we’ve all intentionally been kept in the dark. The generals know that most of the army come from the same types of villages and towns as these people. They would sympathize. But they’ve painted them as thieves and criminals. Of course there’s the threat of execution as well for not following orders.”

Sylus told Caleb of how, in return for sparing the lives of the bandits, the thievery would stop, else it would be all of their heads. It took time and convincing, but he and Caleb came to an agreement: have the men in their regiments spare the citizen’s lives, and convince the citizens that they’re on their side and are genuinely trying to help. 

------------

Music floated through the open windows of the room you and Xinyue occupied. As agreed the last time you’d spent time together, you were playing your respective instruments to create a beautiful melody that caught the attention of any passerby within earshot. It had been many days of practice, and your piece was finally perfected.

As the last note faded away, Xinyue took the opportunity to tell you of her latest encounter with the emperor, sans the savory details. “I told him that I was practicing my music with another girl, and he seemed really interested. He wants to hear us play the piece once we have it down.”

Your face paled. She meant well. She did. But you had done your absolute best to not draw attention to yourself, to not stand out in any way. You knew you couldn’t outright refuse the emperor, but every cell in your body was screaming to stay far, far away from him.

You smoothed the fabric of your dress (the beautiful garment likely costing more money than you could fathom) in an attempt to soothe yourself and gather your thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence.

Still, Xinyue was nothing if not observant, as you’d come to find out when you first met her. Her brows pinched together. “You look upset. Should I have not said anything?”

You sighed, resigned to the fact that you would probably have to intentionally make a fool of yourself to tarnish your image in the emperor's eyes. “I don’t want the emperor's attention on me,” you finally confided. “Whether I’m here or at home my heart still belongs to Sylus. None that lie with the emperor are ever permitted to leave, and I simply can’t allow that to happen.”

Xinyue’s eyes widened, her lips forming a perfect O-shape. “I didn’t even think what it could mean for you. I was just talking—“

You cut her off quickly. “No! It’s not your fault!”

She looked ashamed for a moment at having brought such distress to her friend, but it was quickly replaced with a stern, determined expression, an idea forming in her head. “He likes graceful and confident women. Trip on your dress. Stutter when you speak and do so quietly. Keep your head down and twiddle with your fingers. I can’t undo my words and I can’t prevent him from coming, but I can help you be as unappealing as possible to him.”

Though you were still anxious that you were to be thrust into the spotlight before the emperor, you were thankful that Xinyue was there to help, even if she was the reason for the mess in the first place. 

------------

Later that night, after you had gotten ready for bed, you found yourself unable to sleep. You just couldn’t get comfortable, and every sound was amplified in the stillness of the night. Clearly you weren’t getting any sleep, so you huffed and sat up, contemplating what to do with your newfound free time. Your eyes wandered to the small desk you had been provided with in your room, untouched stationary sitting atop it just waiting to be used. You hummed to yourself, thinking as you frowned at the lantern you had already blown out with no way of relighting it. You eyed the wooden brushes scattered on the desk. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work without having to wake someone.

You chose one brush at random and exited your room with it, on the lookout for the nearest lantern that still had a candle burning. You found one and scurried back to your room as soon as the wooden end of the paintbrush was lit. You probably looked like some kind of fool, but that could work in your favor given the circumstances, so you weren’t particularly bothered. 

Now with an appropriate light source, you could start what you’d wanted to from the beginning. Even if you couldn’t send letters outside of the palace, you could still write them. You opted to use the paintbrush you’d sacrificed, almost as an apology for using it for anything other than its intended purpose. 

My beloved Sylus,

The palace is a terribly dull place. It’s beautiful, but I find myself doing the same things every day. There was one instance when I witnessed an argument between two other girls. Jingshu, who has an ego larger than the palace itself, and Xinyue, with whom I am now friends. It was entertaining, short lived as it was. But now that I’m friends with Xinyue it’s not something I want to see repeated. With another girl perhaps. 

Lately, Xinyue and I have taken to playing music together. She’s a lovely erhu player, but today she told me that the emperor wishes to hear us play. I haven’t met him and it worries me to be in his presence. Xinyue said she’d help me be less appealing to his tastes, so hopefully all will be well. 

Life here is so boring there’s not much else for me to share. I’m well taken care of and never go without anything. Much of my copious free time is spent wondering what you’re doing at that exact moment. I hope you’re well. 

Yours always,

Y/n

Not a literary masterpiece by any means, but it’s not as if you’d be able to send it anyway. You sighed, eyes downcast on the drying ink. When you were certain the ink would no longer smear, you folded the letter and placed it in one of the drawers. Couldn’t afford anyone reading that, could you?

With nothing left to occupy yourself, you decided to at least try to get some sleep tonight. You left the lantern lit this time, having learned your lesson the first time. If the candle burned out, then so be it. The palace could afford more. You settled into the sheets, and, thankfully, sleep found you quickly this time. 

------------

“You mean, you’re not punishing us?” The man asked timidly from his knees, Sylus’ imposing figure standing over him. 

“Consider the fear of being killed itself your punishment. I’d like to speak with you privately if I may?”

The man nodded quickly, more than willing to do whatever was asked of him if it meant his head remained attached to his shoulders. Sylus followed him to what he assumed was the man’s private residence. Upon entering, Sylus was greeted with the sight of two young children chasing each other around the home. The thinness of their arms did not escape his notice. He frowned, a small furrow forming between his brows. 

“Do you see why—“

Sylus held up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know. It’s the same all across this region. It’s also why I want to speak to you.”

Sylus explained everything to the man. How he was on the cusp of being promoted again, how, if he could earn that sway with the emperor, then he could personally implore the government to help its people. It was asking a lot, he knew, but he needed to be able to tell his superiors that the thievery would not continue, and for that to work he needed the man’s cooperation, and that of his accomplices as well. The man was hesitant to agree, for obvious reasons, but acquiesced. Sylus informed him that he would be in touch. 

Time and time again it was the same thing. Truth be told, he was tired of giving the same talk over and over again, but it would all be worth it in the end. 

It was during one of these routine raids that Sylus came across a pair of young men. He had given them and the other men the spiel and deal he’d given everyone else. Instead of slinking back home like he’d expected them to, however, the two approached him. As they neared, Sylus couldn’t help but glance between the two. Twins, they had to be. 

“We want to work for you,” declared one of them boldly, the other nodding his head in affirmation. 

Sylus’ eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, shocked. He had been expecting to be confronted, argued with, or even fought, but certainly not this. 

“Are you saying you wish to join the army?”

“No,” said the one who had nodded. “We want to work for you, specifically.”

Sylus’ initial shock morphed into confusion. These two couldn’t possibly be serious. He decided to gloss over it for the time being. “What are your names?” He asked, addressing the one who had first spoken so boldly. 

“Luke,” he responded. Sylus looked to the other one. 

“Kieran.”. 

“Right, and why would you want to take orders from me, specifically?” His confusion was mounting every second he didn’t get an answer or know for sure that these two were genuine. Although, in the event that they were, he already had a task in mind. 

“Because there’s nothing for us here. We don’t have a purpose of our own right now, but you seem like you do, so let us fight for your cause until we find our own.”

Sylus was taken aback. He pondered how best to go forth. On one hand, they could be advantageous to have in his service, on the other, they could get killed in the process, and Sylus wasn’t sure if that was a weight he wanted on his conscience. Still though…

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “Can the two of you pose as eunuchs in the Forbidden City?”

Initially, they had begun to smile, excited at the prospect of having a mission. But then the words actually registered.  “We wouldn't have to actually become eunuchs, right?”

“Of course not. That is why I said ‘pose’ as eunuchs.”

Their relief was practically palpable. It was Kieran who pressed for more details. “Why do you want us to go there?”

“There’s a woman there I need to get in contact with. Her name is Y/n L/n.”

“We can do that, but why do you need our help with that?”

“Because she’s not a servant; she’s a concubine. They’re not permitted to contact anyone outside of the palace. So I need you two to relay messages.”

The twins nodded solemnly. “How will we know where to address our letters back to you once we’re there?”

Sylus raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his chin in thought. “There’s a depot nearby. Send your messages there. I should be in this region for a while, so I’ll be able to stop by and collect anything you send.”

Luke and Kieran nodded in understanding. “We’ll set out first thing tomorrow morning.”

With that settled, they each went their separate ways: Sylus back to his horse to return to camp, and the twins to their home to prepare for the long journey ahead of them. 

------------

You were going to be sick. You could feel the bile rising in your throat as your nerves wreaked havoc on your body. With Xinyue’s coaching, you knew exactly how to behave to ensure the emperor took no interest in you now or, even better, ever. 

The servant girls were scrambling around, ensuring that tea and snacks were prepared and the instruments set up and ready to be played with skill befitting a personal companion of the emperor. 

You knew when he had arrived not because you saw him, but because the maids went deathly quiet. The idle chatter that had previously filled the ornately decorated room had come to a complete halt. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst with the intensity of its beats. You and Xinyue rose from your seats and turned to greet him.

Nervous as you were, perhaps you didn’t even need Xinyue’s help to make a fool of yourself. You felt more than capable of doing that all on your own. 

The emperor returned the greeting to each of you, his eyes lingering on Xinyue in a way that made your skin crawl. You knew the purpose of having so many women at his fingertips, just waiting to be graced with his favor, but you could not imagine your entire life being dedicated to a man who may not ever so much as spare you a glance, much less love you. You thought of Sylus. He had looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the axis on which his whole world spun. The emperor did not look at you in such a way. 

When his attention shifted to you, his eyes roved over your figure, almost analytical in the way he scanned up and down. He was younger than you had anticipated, but still clearly older than you and most of the other court ladies.

Once the emperor was fully settled in his seat, indulging in the steaming cup of tea that had been carefully poured for him, you and Xinyue took your respective seats. She got into position to play and looked over at you, ensuring you were ready as well, your fingers hovering over the strings. 

You counted off together and began to play in sync, the long draw of her bow across the erhu creating a melody perfectly completed by the plucking of your guqin. It was a lovely piece, truly, just such a shame to be played for a man you harbored such animosity and fear towards. 

He had a small smile on his face as he watched the two of you in silence. As the music continued, his attention drifted from Xinyue to you with a contemplative expression. You didn’t like that. Not one bit. 

He likes confident women, you remembered Xinyue telling you. You plucked the wrong string, the sharp note ringing harshly in the air. It was a jarring sound, immediately disrupting the gentle melody that had been permeating the space. You spared a glance at the emperor, who seemed somewhat disgruntled. You also didn’t miss the sideways glance from Xinyue, who knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was intentional.

After your small error, you played up the act of a nervous woman. Of course, you truly were nervous, but not for the reasons you needed the emperor to think. You hunched your shoulders more and tucked your head lower than it needed to be. But this wasn’t the last of your little “mistakes”. 

When the piece had come to its conclusion, you both waited for the emperor’s remarks.

“The music was lovely, though I falsely believed I gave you ample time to perfect it. It seems as though more practice time would have been beneficial.” He didn’t outright say if, but that was most assuredly directed at you. Even still, he didn’t seem as disinterested as you wanted him to be. You’d have to try harder. 

As the emperor rose to take his leave, you and Xinyue did so as well to see him out, presenting you with the perfect opportunity to ensure that the emperor would never so much as look twice at you. When you went to step forward, you hooked your foot around the leg of the table that supported your guqin. You went sprawling to the floor, and, for a brief moment of horror, you thought the now-teetering table would come down with you, guqin and all. Thankfully, the table stabilized and your instrument was unharmed, but your reputation in the eyes of the emperor was certainly not. He looked down at you with mild disdain, the corners of his lips turned down slightly in a small frown.

Your little performance was made even better by Xinyue’s presence. She was regal and poised throughout the entire affair, the perfect contrast to the bumbling fool you had made yourself out to be. 

Still, the show must go on. You scrambled to your feet, the servant girls having rushed forward to help you up. You hurriedly glanced at the emperor and plastered a panicked look on your face, ready to further tarnish his view of you with words (You should stutter when he speaks to you) instead of just actions. But he wasn’t even looking at you. No, he was thanking Xinyue again for the evening, and then he made his leave.

You walked forward to stand next to Xinyue, watching the emperor until he was out of sight. The moment you could no longer see him, Xinyue dismissed the servants. Upon their exit, she turned to you with all the excitement and giddiness of someone whose wildest dreams had come true. “It worked! It worked!” She lunged herself at you, her arms wrapped around your shoulders. She pulled back before you could return the gesture. Your own broad smile mirrored hers. Tears welled up in your eyes from sheer relief.

Even if you could not be with him, you would remain loyal to Sylus until the grave.

The remainder of your day was spent in the company of Xinyue. It wasn’t like either of you had any other important matters to attend to. Your only function in the inner palace was to be pretty and produce children. You were thrilled that you had been able to make such a good friend. It was also to your great amusement that she was very well informed about the happenings of the palace. She was quite the gossip. Apparently, Jingshu had caused a ruckus again, this time directed at a laundry girl who had been unable to remove a stain from one of her outfits. You rolled your eyes at the story. As if Jingshu wasn’t extremely pampered in the court and wouldn’t have a replacement by the end of the day.

Interestingly, there were also rumors of a new eunuch who was seemingly everywhere all at once.

“From what I’ve gathered from my ladies, one person might see him in one area, but someone else will say that they just saw him in a completely different part of the palace. It’s strange. Perhaps he runs everywhere he goes.”

The conversation naturally drifted towards other topics until, before either of you knew it, the sun was setting. “Oh my, it got late quickly,” giggled Xinyue.

“Indeed it did. We should both ready for bed. Would you like to visit the bathhouse tomorrow?” You offered, thoroughly enjoying the time spent with her and already looking forward to more chances to hang out.

She nodded eagerly. “But only if we look for that new eunuch first.” You recognized that familiar glint in her eye. You laughed lightly, your curiosity admittedly piqued as well. Palace life had been so boring that even this small mystery was enough to have you intrigued. You bid each other good night, and you made your way back to your own quarters.

During your walk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed. You quickened your steps, eager to return to your room. You tried to reason with yourself that you could simply be paranoid, or that those faint rustling sounds were from the trees and not the fabric of one’s clothes. Either way, you surely weren’t going to turn around.

When you made it back, you double checked that every door and window was firmly shut and locked. Your heart was racing, but for what? You didn’t even have proof, or reasonable suspicion for that matter, that you had been in any danger. You shook your head to clear the thoughts. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on it, and you would only make yourself even more paranoid.

With a sigh, you plopped down at your desk, intending to write another letter to Sylus. It had become a nightly ritual of sorts, though it was more like writing in a diary than letters meant to be sent to someone. They were mostly short, telling him about your day and asking questions about his that you so desperately wanted the answers to. How were your families? Was he faring well helping his father’s business? Are your peonies still blooming? 

And, the one that you could never bring yourself to write for fear that you would write it into existence—

Has a new bride been chosen for him?

Again, you chose not to dwell on it. There was nothing you could do if your worst nightmare had actually come to pass, and it would only serve to upset you. As far as you were currently aware, it was only a hypothetical situation that deserved no more consideration than the dirt that kisses the bottom of one’s shoes. You took a deep breath to gather your scattered thoughts as you pulled out the appropriate materials to begin your nightly letter.

My beloved Sylus,

Today Xinyue and I played music for the emperor, and I made a right fool of myself. Intentionally, mind you. Plucked the wrong strings, refused eye contact, and even tripped over a table leg. I really thought I had overdone it and would take the table down with me, but it was fine. It would have been a shame to damage the guqin I was supplied with. It is of extraordinary craftsmanship. It was embarrassing having to pretend I’m less than what I am, but entirely worth it since I do believe that the emperor will not seek my company.

After that, I spent my day with Xinyue. Jingshu has been causing trouble again. It’s always something with her. This time it was a laundry girl who was victim to Jingshu’s anger. Something about a stain she couldn’t remove. Xinyue also told me about this new eunuch who seemingly has a knack for being in two places at once, so those are our plans tomorrow. Finding him, that is. 

Also, while I was returning from Xinyue’s quarters I could have sworn I was being followed. Truthfully, I was too scared to turn around so I walked faster. I’m writing from the desk in the safety of my room now.”

A sharp rap sounded on the window. Your pen stilled and your breathing practically stopped as well. Your room was now dead silent as you sat motionless in your chair, waiting to see if the sound would come again or if your brain was just playing tricks on you. You were waiting on another knock, but instead you heard the whispers of a hushed argument from outside your window.

You took a deep breath and rose from your seat as silently as you could. You listened intently, only making out snippets here and there. Small phrases such as “right room” or “sleeping.” The occasional insult, as well.

You swallowed thickly and reached out a hand towards the window. With your grasp now firmly on the frame, you yanked it open, revealing two young eunuchs. In their startled state, they both jumped back a step.

“What are you doing?” You asked bluntly. Seeing that it was just some palace eunuchs, you calmed down somewhat, but you were still concerned about why they were there at all.

“Ah, well,” started one.

“We were just, um,” continued the other one.

“Just spit it out, please. What reason do you have to lurk outside of my bedroom at this time of night?” You were growing frustrated. Just who were these two? Granted, there were many eunuchs employed on the palace grounds, but in your few months there you had never seen these two.

“Are you F/n L/n?” Asked one suddenly.

“I am. Why?”

Their faces brightened and they turned to look at each other, ecstatic over something you didn’t understand.

“Mr. Sylus sent us!” Exclaimed one.

You immediately focused all of your attention on the one who had spoken. “Sylus sent you? Who are you and how do you know him?”

“I’m Luke, and this is Kieran. We were part of a not-so-legal group and Sylus was the captain of the—”

You cut him off. “Captain? Do you mean he’s joined the army?”

“Oh, did you not know that?” Asked Luke, his head tilted to the side.

You didn't answer, lost in thought about what could have possibly made him join. Somehow, you knew Caleb was involved.

“No, I didn’t,” you answered, your brows arching up in surprise. Sylus had never had any interest in military pursuits, so why now?

“Anyways,” continued one of the—whom you assumed to be, at least—twins. 

. . .Twins.

It hit you just then, and you had to fight off the smile your lips so desperately wanted to form. Who could be in two places at once if not twins? 

“Mr. Sylus took us on as his employees of sorts. We were sent here to find you.”

“He seems to care a lot about you,” chimed the other one. “Who are you to each other? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“We grew up together. We were even supposed to get married, until I got sent here.” Your voice took on a wistful tone as you spoke. 

For a brief moment, the twins looked as if they regretted asking. With some hesitation, Kieran asked, “Why haven’t you written to him?”

Luke elbowed him. “Because she’s not allowed to, duh. Mr. Sylus told us this.”

Kieran had the proper sense to look embarrassed, his face flushing red. “Oh, yeah.”

Luke continued, “If there’s anything you want to send him, we can take care of it. It’s why we’re here.”

You were skeptical, you had to admit. You knew the rules about correspondence outside the palace walls, but these two knew Sylus by name. You were uncertain, but your eyes slowly drifted to the unfinished letter, and then to the drawer that housed every other you’d written with the belief that he’d never read them. 

You turned back to the twins, ready to ask the question that had weighed heavily on your mind since your arrival in this horrid place. “How is Sylus? Is he well?” The deep care and concern you held for the man in question was written all over your face as you anxiously awaited their response. 

“Uhhhh,” was the collective response of the two boys. “Sorry, but truthfully we don’t know him well enough to answer that.”

You nodded in understanding, disappointed but ultimately not surprised. “So, if I give you two something, you can get it to Sylus?”

Their previously apologetic expressions immediately morphed into ones of excitement. “That’s why we’re here! Give us what you’ve got and we’ll handle the rest!”

You chuckled at their enthusiasm, quickly becoming enamored with their amusing attitudes. While gathering all the letters you had written over the months, your eyes landed on the unfinished one at your desk. You looked to the window where the twins were waiting patiently, whispering amongst themselves. “Could you give me a few minutes to finish this?” You asked, holding up the letter. 

With their somewhat overeager approval, you picked up where you had been interrupted, drawing a line under your last sentence. 

“Shortly after writing the above portion, there was a knock on my window. Scared me half to death but I had nothing to worry about. Just two identical admirers. 

P.S. The army? That has Caleb written all over it. Please be safe. 

Yours always,

Y/n

The second the ink was sufficiently dry, you folded it and added it to the stack. It struck you then, that there was in fact something else you wanted Sylus to receive. You dug through your pockets and pulled out a small square of cloth. It was always on your person, but you rarely found actual need for it. You placed it within the stack and began to dig through your desk drawers. You could have sworn you had some string somewhere. Pulling the drawer out completely, you finally found it tucked away at the very back. Of course. You should have known the second you needed it it would practically be hiding. 

With the string now in hand you wrapped the letters securely, using a small knife helpfully supplied by one of the twins to sever the material to a reasonable length. 

Upon handing over the stack to Kieran, it was safely stashed away in his robes, hidden completely out of sight. “We’ll have these sent out first thing tomorrow, miss.”

With that, they were gone. No sign that they had ever been there. Certain you wouldn’t be writing any more letters tonight, you blew out the lamp and crawled into bed with a warm smile on your face, your mind filled with thoughts of ruby red eyes and silky silver hair. 

------------

Letters. Filled with your handwriting. Your thoughts. Even your tears, if the small blotchy smudges were any indication. This was the closest Sylus had been to you in so long it was like having a tiny piece of his soul restored from when it had shattered all those months ago.

Overcome with the sheer relief that you were okay, he withdrew to his tent to pour over every letter like it was sacred text. He was meant to lead these men, not show them a side of himself they were never meant to see—the side that was only for you. As he read through them, he noticed that a “Xinyue” was mentioned frequently. You’d made a friend. Even if he couldn’t be there with you, it was comforting to know you had someone there who cared. There was also a Jingshu, whom Sylus couldn’t help but roll his eyes at with her every appearance in the day-to-day chronicles you wrote for him. 

However, all the amusement of the palace gossip was washed away immediately when he read that the emperor would be visiting you. Not bothering to read the rest, he flipped through the mess of paper on his cot, looking for the appropriate date that followed what he had just read. He’d kill the man personally if he had forced anything. 

The second he found what he was looking for, his hand shot out to take it from the pile, his overzealousness causing the fragile paper to crinkle in his grip, his lips a thin line and brows pulled into a deep furrow. 

A table leg. You’d tripped over a table leg to intentionally make yourself undesirable. A deep chuckle erupted from Sylus’ chest, his nerves releasing themselves in the form of laughter. As his laughter abated and he looked over your letters fondly, still scattered around him, he realized that they all began and ended the same way. He was still your beloved, and you were still his. His heart clenched in his chest. Oh, how he missed you. Your laugh, your voice, your jokes, the way your hands fit in his, the way your lips had molded to his, how your waist had felt under his hands. 

His thoughts were running away with him and he made no effort to stop them. You consumed his every waking thought and he didn’t even care. With every fantasy that gripped his imagination Sylus slipped further and further away from reality. He was no longer on his cot in a tent, he was home with you. It wasn’t his hands impatiently freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his pants. They weren’t his own fingers wrapping around the shaft, stroking up and down slowly with single-minded intent. He pictured you in front of him, on your knees with his legs on either side of your head, your warm breath blowing over his sensitive tip right before you took him in your mouth. 

Sylus stifled a groan as the image morphed into you with teary eyes, struggling to take the full length of him into your mouth. Barely able to remain sitting upright, he collapsed onto his cot, your letters with their immaculate penmanship that had been so neatly tied together now spread beneath his large figure. He continued his ministrations, using every ounce of his self control to keep the pace steady, to make the fantasy last longer. 

He thumbed his leaking slit, using his own precum as lubricant. This time, there was nothing he could do to stop the deep moan that pushed past his lips. The pleasure was overwhelming. The mental fantasy changed again. You’d look so pretty on top of him, taking what you wanted, what you needed from him. God, you could use him however you wanted and he’d say thank you.

Would you cry and wail for more? Would your nails scrape over his back as he pounded into you? Would you scream his name as he made you cum over and over again?

His hand shot out to grip the bedding, his fingers digging into a fabric much too soft to possibly be the military-supplied cloth. Your handkerchief. He’d completely forgotten about it. Without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, he snatched the small square of fabric and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head from the intensity of it all. The fantasy had just taken on a more real element now that he was able to smell the perfume you always wore. 

It fully immersed him in the image of you riding his cock, your breasts bouncing every time your hips met his. His hands squeezing your hips, guiding your movements. Your tight cunt fluttering around him as he thrusted upwards from beneath you. He gave in to the unbearable need to quicken his hand, his orgasm so close he could practically taste it. He was panting heavily into the cloth still held over his face, the tight grip on his cock as unforgiving as he imagined your pretty pussy would be. With one last pump, he unraveled, his sticky cum splattering over his bare abdomen and the hand over his face pressing tighter, a pitiful attempt to muffle the obscene noises he couldn’t quite hold in, only succeeding in pushing your sweet floral scent further into his nose. It was all too much, and he all but whimpered into the palm of his hand, still riding out his high. 

When he was finally thinking clearly, albeit still out of breath, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had ever indulged yourself to thoughts of him in the same manner. Even so, there was still a part of him that felt bad for sullying the letters, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, only thinking about the day you would be his again, in the flesh and not just his imagination. 

He’d only barely gotten himself cleaned up and presentable when he heard his name being called from outside the tent. 

He ducked through the flap, seeing a young soldier waiting anxiously. As soon as he saw that Sylus had exited, he straightened his spine and nearly shouted the message he had been sent to deliver. “There’s an invasion at the border! You and your troops have been ordered to move out!”

Sylus nodded. “Understood.” He hated taking orders, but it was a necessary evil for his end goal. And this was the perfect opportunity to see if Caleb’s words had any truth to them. He just had to follow through and ensure he earned glory for himself. 

------------

Easier said than done, Sylus thought bitterly as he wiped the long-dried blood from his armor. It had been a difficult battle, but one that would hopefully award him with bountiful military prestige.

“Man, you’ve looked better,” said a joking voice off to Sylus’s right. He turned to see Caleb, who certainly had no room to talk, and Sylus told him as much.

“Fine, I guess you don’t want to hear that we’ve been summoned to the palace. And that the emperor himself is requesting an audience with the two captains that earned him victory. But whatever. I’ll let him know you can’t make it.” Caleb shrugged, making to walk away. 

“Come back here,” Sylus called after him. Caleb turned to look at him, an amused grin on his handsome face. “Are you serious?”

“Yup,” he answered, popping the p. 

Sylus immediately retreated into his thoughts, dirty armor completely forgotten where it lay in his lap. Caleb could see that his friend was no longer paying him any attention. As much as he poked fun at Sylus for his infatuation, there was a part of Caleb that was jealous. He longed to have that sort of relationship, where you would do anything for the other person. It seemed like everyone around him had a lover. Even the medic had a girl of his own (though Caleb wasn’t supposed to know that). She had done an impressive job of disguising herself as a man. He didn’t know her motivations to go to such lengths just to be on a battlefield, of all places, but he figured he’d find out sooner or later. In the meantime, he was waiting on Dr. Zayne to finally notice that his dear little apprentice wasn’t just an effeminate man. 

------------

When the day came, and both Sylus and Caleb were standing before the emperor, you would never know from appearances that Sylus was equal parts nervous and excited.

“You have both proven yourselves more than worthy of advancement. Captain Xia, you will assume the rank of colonel. And Captain Qin, you will assume the rank of general, for your instrumental role in subduing the invaders and in keeping the peace in our great nation’s southern regions. I would like to reward each of you with a gift, as acknowledgement for your great deeds. Other than just the extra responsibility of your new positions!” The emperor chuckled heartily at his own joke. 

Caleb was right. A reward for military valor. Maybe all of this strife and bloodshed would finally be worth it. 

“Well, boys? Any requests? It’s not everyday you get to personally ask for something from me. Land? Money? A title?” He looked at them expectantly. 

Caleb answered first. “Money. I’m not sure about anything in particular, but when I figure it out I’ll already have the funds on hand. 

The emperor nodded, accepting the request.

When it was Sylus’ turn, he spoke smoothly and confidently. “There is a woman amongst your harem that I would like returned to me.”

The emperor was shocked at first, entirely taken back that someone had made such a bold request of him. His shock faded into incredulousness and then to mirth. It was laughable. He guffawed, but Sylus’ determined expression did not waver. This was not a joke. 

“My dear boy, I am the only one permitted to pick the flowers of my garden. Their scent and petals are for my enjoyment alone.”

Sylus wasn’t stupid. He got the innuendo and he was absolutely seething. Even if you were still untouched by this man’s disgusting hands, you were still at his mercy in the palace. He had to choke back a snarl. 

The emperor’s cocky grin dropped momentarily, the phrasing of the request only just now registering. “You said ‘returned’ to you. Elaborate.”

Sylus swallowed thickly. “There is a girl here that I have known since my youth. We were betrothed to each other, only months from marriage, when she was called to the selection process here at the palace. She never returned.”

The emperor nodded with faux sympathy, but he was all too eager to again inform his new general that, no, none of his girls would be leaving the palace grounds. A muscle in Sylus’ jaw twitched, but he gave no other indication of the rage and anguish he felt. He saw Caleb glance at him from his peripherals, his friend’s face practically screaming “don't you dare lose control.”

“So, again, I ask you, is there anything else I can reward you with? I’m nothing if not generous, even if I’m not quite as generous as you had been hoping.”

Sylus pursed his lips in thought. “The reason the people of the South are causing the empire so much trouble is because they're desperate. Could I use my favor on their behalf? To have food sent to the villages?”

For a second time in just a few minutes, the emperor was well and truly shocked. Most of the requests he’d received were about money or a title. Never this. There was no room for a bleeding heart in his military. Especially not one coveting after something that didn't belong to him. He exhaled heavily from his nose, at least pretending to think about it. 

“Rice to the south. Done.” Those fools didn't deserve so much as a second of consideration as far as the emperor was concerned, but it was clear that Sylus wasn’t going to waver in his ideals.

It wasn’t as though he had to specify how much rice, anyway.

“Well, that was unproductive,” Caleb remarked as they were being escorted to the gate that would lead them back into the city. “For you, anyway. Why didn't you just ask for land or something? You know there’s no way he’s going to follow through on what you asked, right?”

“He declined the only thing I wanted from him. Nothing I asked for could make up for it,” Sylus answered. His posture was rigid and his jaw was clenched. Everything about him screamed frustration. Why Caleb even bothered trying to talk to him in this state was beyond him. Sylus fumed the entire journey back to camp, and for days after. He was harsher with his subordinates than he ever had been, not tolerating even a single infraction.

Caleb could see the impending snap in his friend’s reasoning abilities creeping closer by the day, and the thing that finally broke him was another letter that Sylus received from you. The emperor was having the eunuchs question all of the women of the palace—concubines of all ranks, servant girls, and court ladies—if any of them had been engaged to a man named Sylus Qin. He was looking for you. That greedy bastard was actively trying to find the most cherished love of his general. And Sylus wouldn’t stand for it. With both his and Caleb’s promotion, they had each been allotted a much larger battalion. And, unfortunately for the emperor, it’s not hard to radicalize men who see firsthand the suffering caused by the man they're supposed to be loyal to. Also unfortunately for the emperor, he was so dead set on making an example of the South that the ratio of soldiers was skewed in Sylus’ favor.

Additionally, the villages he had been to were eager for a chance to show the emperor just how much of an error he made in abandoning his people. With such influence and ability, it wasn’t shocking when Sylus had a detailed plan put together and delivered to the men within the same week of receiving your letter. The twins had made sure to give Sylus their own updates when you were unable, informing him that you had denied knowing him and that the emperor was losing his patience more easily these days. It seemed it was really getting under his skin. 

If only such effort had been given to the people he was supposed to care for.

The weeks passed quickly, and, once again, Sylus found his armor covered in the blood of others. Screams rang out through the city, and he hoped it was from soldiers that were stationed here in the capital still upholding their sworn duty and not from the innocent civilians. Either way, he didn't have time to dwell on it. There was only one person he cared for at this moment; the person he was committing treason for in the first place and who kept him up at night well into the early hours of the morning.

Caleb, who he had lost track of early in the chaos, sidled up next to him. “There you are. Was starting to think you were worm food. The city is pretty much occupied, and they just got the palace gates open. Ready to head that way?”

Sylus nodded grimly, following his friend to the imposing structure that had been your beautiful prison. But not for much longer.

------------

Maids and eunuchs were rushing to and fro all around you, screams emanating from the surrounding city, but no one would take the time to tell you what was going on. You were near hysterical at this point, scared beyond anything you had ever experienced. You didn't know what was happening, but you knew something was wrong. So terribly wrong. 

“Y/n!” You heard your name yelled from behind you. You whirled around, finding Xinyue in the doorway looking every bit as frightened as you felt. You embraced tightly, relieved to see the other unharmed.

“What’s happening, what do we do?” you asked frantically.

“I don’t know! I heard one of the eunuchs say something about the army, so whatever it is is already being handled.” She tugged your arm. “C’mon, we shouldn’t stay out in the open like this.” She was right. The entire way back to her quarters all either of you saw was panicking staff and other concubines. No one seemed to truly know what had started all this. When you reached her room, she made sure to lock the door behind you both. You could still hear the shouts of people in the halls, but were only able to catch snippets. From what you gathered, the army wasn't here to help like Xinyue had assumed, but rather, they were the ones invading in the first place. And from the sounds of it, had already made it to the inner court.

------------

“Inform the eunuchs that if they stand down they will not be harmed. And I want every single concubine gathered here in the inner courtyard,” Sylus commanded the first soldier he happened to lay eyes on. “Unharmed!” He added.

“Yes, sir,” responded the soldier with widened eyes, clearly downright terrified to be addressed by the imposing general.

Sylus and Caleb stood side by side, looking up at the emperor’s personal palace. As desperately as Sylus wanted to look for you himself, the emperor was still breathing, and that was a problem that needed to be dealt with swiftly.

“Want me to go with you or look for Yn?” Caleb asked, not particularly bothered with what he was tasked to do so long as he wasn't standing around doing nothing.

Sylus thought about it for a moment. “Find her. And if you see some identical eunuchs, send them my way,” he answered.

Caleb obviously had no idea who Sylus could possibly be talking about. Twin eunuchs? How does Sylus even know any of the palace eunuchs? But whatever. It wasn’t really his concern anyhow. He briefly watched the broad back of his friend ascend the stairs before redirecting his attention to his surroundings. There were pavilions in all directions. Had to start somewhere, he guessed, before picking the left side.

All around him, Caleb saw cornered eunuchs cooperating with the soldiers and helping escort the women to the courtyard. Still, no sign of you. Room after room after empty room.

“Miss Yn, Miss Yn!” He heard someone calling. His head jerked to where he heard your name. It wasn't just one eunuch. It was two. And they looked exactly the same. What luck.

“Hey! You two!”

They both screeched to a halt. “What!” Shouted one of them.

“Who are you?” Shouted the other.

“I’m Colonel Caleb with the imperial army and a personal friend of Sylus Qin. He asked me to look for two identical eunuchs. I’m guessing that's you two?

They looked much less wary now that Caleb had introduced himself as a friend of Sylus’. “Yeah, why? We really have to look for someone, so we gotta keep moving.”

“Yn, right? Sylus already asked me to do that. He wants you both to meet him in the emperor’s personal palace.”

They looked at each other and nodded, about to run off again before Caleb stopped them for a second time. “Wait! Where might I find her?”

“Well,” started one of them, “you were actually going in the right direction towards her room, but we already checked and she wasn't in there.” Caleb frowned at that. “So we were  going to see Lady Xinyue, since she and Miss Yn are close.” They quickly explained to Caleb how to get there before both parties set off to fulfill their orders.

Caleb ran at full speed towards where he hoped to find you, but when he reached the room, the doors were already wide open and the room devoid of any presence. He swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair while glancing around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He hoped at least some other soldier had found you and taken you to the courtyard as had been ordered. Otherwise it would take their full numbers to search the whole palace, massive as it is.

------------

Sylus couldn't believe that the sniveling man in front of him was the man who ran the entire country. After discovering the emperor holed up in his bedchambers, Sylus had Luke and Kieran restrain the poor excuse of a sovereign to a chair that likely cost more than what the average citizen made in a year.

“I made you a general, and this is how you repay me? Treason? What more do you want?”

Sylus leaned down, close enough for the emperor to see the pure unadulterated hatred swimming in Sylus’ ruby eyes. “I want my bride,” he growled, the sharp edge in his voice leaving no room for doubt that he was entirely serious.

The emperor blanched. “You spilled all of this blood, defied heaven, for a woman?” He exclaimed incredulously. 

Without answering, Sylus straightened his back and strode out of the room, leaving the emperor where he was in the meantime. “Luke, Kieran. Stay with him.”

“Right, boss!”

Standing just outside the doors, Sylus could see the women of the palace gathered as he had instructed. Hell, even the eunuchs were accounted for. He made his way down the stairs quickly, all the while scanning through the crowd of immaculately dressed women, about one hundred in all, for one face in particular. His frustration and anxiety grew when he realized he probably couldn't even make out his own mother’s face at this distance, so he switched tactics. Now looking for Caleb’s imposing frame which would surely stand out in a crowd, he figured you’d be sticking by a familiar presence that you knew to be safe. By the time he made it to the bottom of the staircase, he still hadn't found you nor Caleb.

------------

You had been with Xinyue in her room when someone forced the door open. It was a soldier you didn't recognize.

“I need you two to come with me. All of the women are to be gathered in the courtyard by order of the general,” he demanded. You and Xinyue glanced at each other worriedly, but ultimately rose from your cowered positions, grasping each other’s hand for comfort. The soldier, for whatever it was worth, held the door open and gestured for the both of you to exit first.

He guided you towards the center of the inner court, where you saw many of the other women already gathered. He directed both you and Xinyue to join them. Still, no one had bothered to clarify the situation. All you knew was that the army was acting against the empire. The ladies around you were of even less help, unable to offer a modicum of new information.

“Look!” Xinyue whispered. “Someone is coming downstairs!”

You glanced at the staircase, seeing a tall figure descend the steps just as Xinyue had said. But what caught your attention was the silver hair that framed his face. His eyes were scanning the gathered crowd, but they didn't seem to linger anywhere in particular. Your breath caught in your throat. Could it actually be him? As he got closer and closer, still not stopping his obsessive search, his features grew clearer. There was no mistaking him.

He had only barely stepped off the last step when he heard it.

“Sylus!”

And there you were. Running towards him every bit as desperate to be in his arms as he was to have you there.

It felt like his heart and his breath stopped at the exact moment he saw your lovely face for the first time in what felt like millenia. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. But the second you threw your arms around his neck it felt like every broken piece of himself had never been broken in the first place. Without a second’s hesitation or thought, he wrapped one arm around your waist and placed his other hand on your upper back, pulling you into his sturdy frame as much as he could without hurting you.

There was no word for the euphoria you felt at being back in your lover’s arms, no word that could adequately describe the rush of emotions you were currently experiencing. “You came,” you sobbed into his chest.

“Darling, there is no force on this earth that could have even hoped to stand in my way,” he murmured solemnly, lips brushing against the top of your head.

He didn't even consider loosening his firm hold on you until you were pulling away to look up at him, eyes watery and ringed with a puffy red. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words quickly died in your throat. You had so many questions that you didn't even know where to start. Eventually, you settled on simply asking, “How?”

Sylus exhaled through his nose. It was now his turn to be unsure just where to start his tale. “The current emperor is unfit to rule, and these men bore witness to the proof. They were easily convinced. Will that satisfy you for now? I promise to answer every question you have for me, but right now I would like you to come with me.”

The last thing you expected to see when you walked into the room after Sylus was the emperor restrained to a chair with Luke and Kieran flanking either side of him.

“Sylus?” You started hesitantly, unsure what to make of the scene.

When the emperor saw who it was his oh-so-loyal general had brought with him, he couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of him. He recognized you as the pretty young thing his favored Xinyue often spent time with. A shame your other qualities weren't up to his standards.

“I recognize you. You're Xinyue’s friend,” he said, addressing you directly and opting to ignore his captor for the time being. He watched with narrowed eyes as Sylus stood directly behind you, arms winding around your waist, but continued speaking without commenting on it. “Yn, right?”

You swallowed thickly. Not trusting your voice, you only nodded.

“How does it feel,” began Sylus, the rumble of his voice sending vibrations through where his chest connected with your back. “To watch helplessly while I take what you consider yours?” His hands massaged your waist with sensual strokes as he spoke.

The emperor finally looked at Sylus, a deep scowl disfiguring his already relatively unpleasant face. “Arrogant, aren't you? You ought to know your place.”

“And you ought to know when to hold your tongue,” Sylus responded smoothly. He motioned to Kieran, who was already two steps ahead of Sylus with a strip of cloth in hand, wrapping it around the emperor’s jaw, forcing him to bite down on it. Satisfied, Sylus looked between the twins and the door. They took the hint, leaving you with Sylus and the still-struggling emperor.

When the door was again firmly shut after the twins’ exit, Sylus had to practically pry himself away from you so that he could maneuver you to face him. He exhaled softly when his eyes met yours, wide with uncertainty, but trusting him fully nonetheless.

He cupped one side of your face, his large hand cradling your cheek as he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “Are you ok?” He asked. It was a vague question that held a thousand more. He knew that this was a lot to take in, especially over the course of just a few hours.

You laid your own hand on top of his, nuzzling your cheek further into his palm. “I’m fine,” you answered, smiling softly. “Just really happy you’re here.” Sylus mirrored your smile with one of his own, his gaze glancing between your eyes and your lips. With slow, bated breath, he leaned in slowly. It was just a small peck, hardly even a kiss, but he hadn't even fully pulled away when he dove in for more, and you eagerly reciprocated. His lips were all that you knew in that moment—all that you could focus on—and nothing else mattered.

His arms again wound tightly around you, pulling you in close while he devoured your lips as though they were a fine delicacy he’d been deprived of his whole life. It wasn’t enough for Sylus, though. He needed more. He needed everything you were willing to give. His mouth trailed lines of fire down your jaw and neck until he reached a spot that had you gasping. He redoubled his attention to it, biting and sucking and leaving his claim on you for all to see.

“Sy,” you whined, the sensation of his tongue on your throat sending heat directly to your core. He hummed, but he didn't stop, not until you couldn’t  speak again, unable to form a coherent thought.

He finally pulled away to look at your face. “Have you already had enough, kitten?” he asked mockingly. “Or is it that you need more?”

You answered without hesitation. “More. Please.”

He chuckled. “As my princess wishes.” Without any warning, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he plopped you onto the emperor’s extravagant bed. You were the very picture of perfection to Sylus, your legs spread just for him and your shallow breaths bordering on needy whines.

He leaned in, recapturing your lips with his. He swiped his tongue across the seam, urging you to open up for him. He groaned into your mouth when you did, tongues tangling together. He slid a hand across your front, settling on your breast and squeezing gently.

You pushed your hips up, hoping to relieve the ache that had quickly settled into your body. He tutted, pulling away from your lips once again and placing a hand on your hips, keeping you firmly in place. “Patience is a virtue,” he said, a teasing smirk that showed you just how much he enjoyed teasing you.

“We’ve been apart for so long I don't have any patience or restraint left,” you said shamelessly, taking it upon yourself to pull him back down, crashing your lips back onto his. He laughed into the kiss, eagerly reciprocating. As much as he enjoyed teasing you, he was no less desperate. This time, he hooked his fingers into your clothes. “Let’s remove these then, shall we?” He whispered against your skin, already pulling the layers of fabric away from your body to reveal your skin to his hungry eyes. He drank in the sight, marveling at every curve and committing it to memory.

“You're so perfect,” he murmured, more to himself than directly to you.

You tugged on the armor he still donned. “This is hardly fair,” you stated. “That I’m the only one naked.”

He chuckled. “You're right, so why don't I fix that?” He climbed from the bed and stripped himself of both armor and undergarments before resuming his position on top of you. “Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn't even hear him, too busy admiring the physique he had surely worked hard on. Your gaze trailed from his solid shoulders to his defined chest and abs, and then it drifted even further to see his hard cock, swollen and dripping with precum.

“It’s rude to stare, you know. But if it’s you I guess I’ll make an exception.”

Before you could retort, his head swept downwards, his lips wrapping around your nipple and his tongue swirling around the bud, sucking lightly. Whatever you were going to say died in your throat, an unbidden moan escaping in its place. You felt the huff he exhaled from his nose, but he remained intent on his ministrations, using his other hand to give the same treatment to the other bud, tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger. You wound your hand through his silky hair, crying out his name and pulling him closer. Your heavy breathing and soft moans spurred him on as he switched sides, his teeth occasionally grazing the delicate skin in his fervor. Your poor, neglected cunt twitched desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. You clenched your thighs together, a pitiful attempt to produce even a little friction, a little relief.

With a soft pop, Sylus released your nipple, blowing cool air onto the wet skin. You shuddered, a soft sigh passing through your kiss-swollen lips. He began to trail open mouthed kisses down your torso, slowly, methodically, savoring the taste of your skin. Only when his head was snugly between your thighs did he look up at you, crimson eyes boring into yours. “Is this okay? Can I keep going?”

You didn't even think twice before giving him an eager nod of approval. A chaste kiss to your dripping folds was all the warning you were given before Sylus dropped all pretense of having any self control. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, gripping them tightly and preventing you from even attempting to close your legs. He licked a broad stripe from your clenching hole to your clit, which he eagerly laved in attention.

“Sy!” you squealed, writhing with pleasure in his iron hold, unable to move away from the overwhelming ecstasy. He moaned into your hot cunt, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. He released one of your legs to push a finger into you, curling the digit and providing the delicious friction you had been craving. He grew more and more fervent in his ministrations, his own hips grinding onto the bed. “Cum for me,” he growled, voice muffled from between your legs as he added another finger. “Give me everything.” With every lap and suck of his tongue and with every curl of his fingers you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You were panting for air, nearly coming apart at the seams as Sylus brought you right to heaven’s doorstep with just his sinful mouth and hand. WIth a final suck on your clit, you were pushed over the edge, your vision going white as you called his name.

Sylus pulled his fingers out slowly and repositioned himself on top of you. He pressed his fingers to your lips, urging you to part them. You obliged, taking them into your mouth and sucking your own juices off of his fingers as you watched him slowly lick his bottom lip. Satisfied, he freed his fingers from your mouth, using the same hand to slowly stroke his cock. He teased your entrance with the head, muttering a small curse under his breath when he finally pushed forwards. The burn of the stretch was almost completely overshadowed by the sheer euphoria he was making you feel. He filled you so fully you could practically feel him in your throat.

He groaned as soon as his hips were flush with yours, his cock fully sheathed inside you. “You feel so fucking good, sweetie,” he rasped, trying to get ahold of himself to allow you however much time you needed to adjust to his size, but that was easier said than done. The walls of your pussy were clamping down on him and he hadn't even started moving yet. At this rate, he would cum before he got the chance to feel your sweet cunt spasm around him as he brought you to another orgasm. 

He mouthed at your neck and collarbones as he waited for any indication from you that you were ready for more. The very second that your plea hit his ears, he was pulling out almost completely just to thrust back into you all at once. You gasped, raking your nails down his back.

He set a brutal pace and you were certain he’d have scratch marks down his muscled back, not that he cared. As far as Sylus was concerned, those scratches marked him as yours. The way you said his name like a mantra spurred him on further, and he found himself reaching down to thumb your clit.

“Wait, Sy—ah—it’s too much—!” You wailed, tears beginning to well up in the corners of your eyes from the intense pleasure.

“You can take it. I know you can, so be a good girl and cum on my cock.” His voice was strained, arousal making it hard to even think straight, much less speak.

Your back was arching off the bed, your peak so close you felt like you might shatter at any moment. “You're so pretty,” Sylus panted from above you. “Even prettier when you're underneath me like this.” If his face and stuttering hips were any indication, he was just as close as you were. And you were just as enamoured with him as he was with you. His silky silver hair was unkempt, lips parted and gasping for air with each thrust into your sopping cunt.

When it finally hit you, all you could manage to do was cry out his name, your poor abused cunny spasming around his hard length. Your own pleasure was all it took for Sylus’ to overtake him. He buried himself to the hilt, hands gripping your hips with a bruising strength, holding you in place as he filled you with hot spurts of cum. 

Spent, he collapsed on top of you, head nestled on your breasts and the both of you still breathing heavily. From over his shoulder, you could see the emperor seething from where he was still restrained in the chair. You noticed with wicked amusement that, as angry as he was, he was still aroused, the tent in his robes giving him away.

“What’s so funny?” Asked Sylus, tilting his head to look up at you.

“Nothing,” you answered lightly.

“I don't believe that for one second,” he mumbled into your skin. “Just as long as it’s not me you're laughing at.” He pushed himself up to pull out of you slowly, his cum dripping from your slit. He stared for a beat too long, captivated at the sight of himself leaking out of you. Giving no mind to the mess, he pulled you into his arms, your back flush to his chest, safe against him like it should have always been. As he situated himself, he briefly glanced at the emperor, noticing exactly what had probably amused you so much. He laughed. A real, true laugh. “That’s pathetic,” he scoffed.

Your lover settled behind you, stroking your skin gently. As much as he wanted to fall asleep with you, there were many things to be handled before he could relax. The highest priority of which was right there in the room with the two of you.

------------

When you woke, you were still warm and snug in your husband’s arms. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest from behind you. Still asleep. You knew firsthand how seriously he took his responsibilities as emperor, staying up well into the night pouring over documents and ensuring his people were taken care of. Not wanting to disturb his much-needed rest, you intended to go back to sleep, but a certain little one had other plans. You rested a hand on top of your rounded belly, the kicks more persistent than usual. Sylus, the light sleeper that he was, must have noticed your stirring.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, voice groggy with sleep and more gravelly than usual. 

You turned slightly to look at him and raised a hand to his cheek. You didn’t think you'd ever get used to the sight of his handsome face first thing in the morning. “Morning,” you responded with a broad grin. You took his hand in yours, placing it where yours had been just moments prior. “Little one is active this morning,” you said. Sylus chuckled when he felt it under his palms, his eyes softer than even the finest of silks.

In true sibling fashion, you couldn’t give just one your attention. You heard the little patter of bare feet seconds before the bedroom door was pushed open, your 3 year old daughter rushing into the room. Mama! Papa!” She giggled, pulling herself up the foot of the bed. 

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” said Sylus, sitting up to pull her onto his lap. You sat up as well, leaning over as best you could to kiss her chubby little cheek.

It was a peaceful morning, spent mostly sitting in bed and entertaining your daughter. But duty will always call, and Sylus eventually had to leave to meet with his advisors. They were a tedious affair, especially since Caleb no longer attended. He had chosen to remain in the military and had since been given another assignment. Most of the time, the advisors didn’t dare question Sylus’ choices, but it seemed that today one of them had a death wish.

“There is still the matter of heirs. Have you considered reinstating the imperial harem, Your Majesty?” One of them asked timidly. 

The glare Sylus fixed upon him was almost enough to convince him to resign his position right then and there just to escape the red eyes that promised unimaginable pain if he failed to tread lightly.

“And why would I do such a thing?” Sylus asked coldly. “Is Her Majesty the Empress not good enough for you?” 

“No! No, of course that’s not what I meant! I just—” he faltered under the stare of not just Sylus but the two intimidating masked men that stood on either side of his chair. 

“You just what?” Pressed Sylus, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Well, Her Majesty has only provided you with a daughter, so there is concern for the security of the lineage.”

Sylus snarled at the careless comment. “I have no intention of ever bedding a woman that isn’t my wife. Who, since you’re clearly so concerned about it, is carrying our second child. And if you ever speak about my wife or daughter like that ever again, I’ll have your head, do you understand?”

The color drained from the advisor’s face. He nodded, but didn’t dare risk speaking again.

“Good. Then we’re done here.”

“Chiho!” You exclaimed, bending down to hug her back as best you could given the considerable height difference.

She pulled away from you to grab your hand and lead you into the living room. “Momma, Aunt Yn is here!” She called out. You could hear the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, presumably Ami. “Come on come on come!” Chiho goaded, pulling harder at your hand to encourage you to move faster. 

“Chiho!” You heard from behind you. The two of you stopped and turned to see Ami standing in the kitchen doorway, a hand on her hip. “What have I told you about answering the door?” She scolded. 

“It's just Aunt Yn,” Chiho whined. 

Ami sighed exasperatedly. “But what if it wasn’t? It’s dangerous for you to answer the door without knowing who’s there.”

Chiho’s only response was a small “hmph”, her bottom lip jutting out as she crossed her arms petulantly. 

Ami shook her head at the little girl’s dramatics before turning her attention to you. “Lunch will be ready in a bit. My mom’s in the living room and if Chiho isn’t too busy pouting I think she has something to show you.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice as she mentioned Chiho’s surprise. Said Chiho only huffed. You saw what Ami was attempting to do and played along. 

“I guess I'll help out with lunch since Chiho doesn’t want to show me anymore,” you mused, starting to follow Ami to the kitchen, but a small hand grasping onto yours stopped you from going any farther.

“No!” She cried. “I still wanna show you!”

“Apologize to your mom first and then you can show me whatever you want, ok?”

Chiho immediately did as asked, running back out of the kitchen almost as soon as she had run in, clearly eager to share whatever it was she was so excited about. As you were following the young girl to the living room, you felt a buzz in your pocket. You pulled out your phone to see a text from Kenji.

Kenji: i should have asked this earlier but what's ami’s address?

You scoffed lightly before quickly typing out the address for him. As soon as it was sent, you put your phone back in your pocket and returned all of your attention to Chiho. The first thing you noticed when you walked into the living room was that it looked like a hurricane had gone through it, courtesy of Chiho, no doubt. The second thing you noticed was that the hurricane debris was primarily composed of countless drawings. Most were of Ultraman, but you spotted a few kaiju as well.

“Well, hello! Ami said you would be over today,” greeted Ms. Wakita from her seat on the couch. You grinned at the old woman, a small laugh bubbling from your lips. “Yes ma’am, and there's one more person coming. He just asked for the address a few minutes ago though, so he'll likely be a bit late.”

She shook her head, mumbling something about today’s youth.

You noticed that she had a basket of yarn at her feet, and you gestured to it, asking if she was crafting something. “I am, but it’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait until it’s finished to find out what it is.”

You frowned a bit, having always enjoyed sharing your old-woman-like hobbies with her. Whether it was crocheting or cross-stitching, she always had excellent tips for you, so you were slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t tell you what she was making this time.

You were about to speak again when a box of crayons was being shoved at you from below. “Draw with me!” Chiho demanded. You took the crayons from her and sat criss-cross at the coffee table next to her. She pushed a piece of blank paper towards you. “What should we draw?” She asked.

You hummed. “What about Neronga?”

Chihi shook her head. “Already drew him.”

“Gigantron?”

“Nope. Her too.”

You wracked your brain, conveniently forgetting the name of every kaiju that had ever terrorized the city. “Oh! What about Bemular?”

Her eyes brightened at the idea as she accepted your suggestion with an enthusiastic yes. You chuckled as you pulled up a picture on your phone, and you and Chiho set to work, the sound of Ms. Wakita counting her stitches and the delicious smells wafting in from the kitchen fading into the background as you focused on drawing the kaiju.

You were just finishing the outline when there was a knock on the door. From the corner of your eye, you could see Chiho ready to stand, but a contemplative look crossed her features and she settled back into her seated position shortly after. You had to suppress a laugh, knowing she had remembered her scolding from earlier.

You could hear the door being opened as Ami greeted Ken, who had finally arrived. She led him into the living room, and he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch where Ms. Wakita was sitting. Chiho looked at him curiously before recognition set in. “You're that guy from the restaurant!” She exclaimed, her finger pointed at him in an accusatory manner.

Ken chuckled, “Ah, you remember me. You’re Chiho, right?”

She hummed before deciding that her unfinished drawing was more important than Kenji and returning her attention to the piece of paper in front of her. 

“Hey, Kenji,” You greeted warmly, briefly glancing away from your own drawing to see he was already looking at you.

“Hey, Yn,” he replied. He jerked his chin towards you, asking, “What are you drawing?”

“Kaiju,” you replied simply, focus already diverted from him in favor of your Bemular sketch. 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he tried to get a better look. 

He hummed as he took in the sight of the rough sketch you had on your paper. Looking to Chiho, he asked, “Can I draw too?”

Chiho nodded, dropping her crayon onto the coffee table as she reached for another sheet of paper and slid it over to him. “We can share the crayons. Just don’t color too hard or they’ll break.”

Kenji laughed, “Thank you, Chiho. I promise I won't break them.”

“Good,” she responded definitively with a curt nod.

As you were coloring, Kenji decided to broach the subject of his manager’s suggestion, hoping against hope that you were open to the idea given that he had basically already agreed for you. “So, Yn,” he started nervously, swallowing thickly when you fixed your gaze on him. “Like I texted you, I was talking to my manager earlier and he came up with a plan. I agreed without asking you and I'm so sorry for that, but please keep an open mind?”

The serious tone in his voice reached Ms. Wakita’s ears, and she set her crochet down on the couch. “Chiho, dear, why don’t we go play in your room and let Aunt Yn talk to her friend?”

Chiho looked doubtful at first, wanting to stay and color, but did as her grandma asked anyway. As the two were walking out, Ms. Wakita gave you a sly wink. You were certain that Ami had already filled her in on the situation, and you were grateful that she had proactively given you and Kenji privacy for what would surely be a sensitive conversation.

It was only when they were safely out of earshot that you spoke up. “So, what’s the plan? And why does it require ‘acting on our part’?”

Kenji hesitated for a moment, contemplating his words. “He proposed that we tell the public that we’re married. A baby from a one night stand is considered a scandal, but to a married couple it’s a blessing.”

You blanched at his words, disbelief flooding through you. “Why would you agree to that? Look, you’re very kind and all, but we don’t know each other well enough to pull off being married. Plus, you have so many girls that would love to be your wife, which means they’re all going to hate me, and—”

“Woah, woah, hey, slow down. You are the mother of my future child. Not them. Ok? No matter what they say, you are part of my life now.”

You practically melted at his sweet words, which admittedly did help ease your mind. If he didn't care what his fans thought, then why should you?

Before you were able to reply, Ami popped in from the kitchen to tell you that lunch was ready. Thirty minutes later, after everyone had eaten and Chiho had excitedly shown everyone her now-completed Kaiju drawing, it was just you, Ken, and Ami in the living room.

“Ok, so just to make sure I have this right: Ken, your PR manager is putting out word that you and Yn are married? And, Yn, you’re okay with this? Because I haven’t gotten any word about it which means it hasn’t been released yet, so it’s not too late to think of something else.”

“No, I think it’s the best way to ensure the least amount of damage to his reputation. But,” you said pointedly, redirecting your attention to Kenji, “we need to come up with a story. Like, where and how we met, how long we’ve been together—stuff like that.”

Kenji nodded in agreement, as did Ami. The three of you deliberated with each other, your fake relationship with Kenji slowly but surely becoming a full-fledged story. By the end of it, you felt like you would both be prepared to answer any questions about your dating history and marriage.

“How long have you been together?” Quizzed Ami.

“3 years, but we only got married this year.”

“When is your anniversary?”

“June 26th.”

“How did you two meet?”

“We first met when Kenji was still a Dodgers player in LA. He bumped into me on the street and caused me to spill my coffee on myself. So he took me out for coffee to make up for it, and the rest is history.”

Ami continued to quiz the both of you until there was no doubt that you and Kenji had the story memorized. Any inconsistencies would ruin the whole plot. Ami was still fake interrogating you both when Kenji was distracted by the buzzing of his phone. He flipped the device over to see a message from Muramatsu, opening the message to be greeted by an article link. “Well, that was fast,” he mumbled under his breath. You and Ami looked at him curiously, and he turned his phone so that you could see the article which stated in no uncertain terms that Kenji was a married man.

“Ah,” was all that you were able to muster. There was officially no going back.

-❀-

Later that night, when Kenji was home and thought he would finally get a reprieve from all the phone calls, he received yet another one. He groaned, considering ignoring the call, but a glance at the caller ID revealed that it was his dad calling. He didn't usually call at such a late hour, which immediately spiked concern in Kenji. He accepted the call and was instantly met with a barrage of questions. 

“What are all these rumors that you’re married? 

“Are you really having a baby? 

“How could you have gotten married in secret and not at least invited your father?

“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend.”

Kenji couldn't believe he had forgotten to update his father on all the recent drama surrounding him. After thoroughly explaining the situation in excruciating detail, Professor Sato was satisfied and insisted that Kenji introduce his pretend daughter-in-law as soon as possible. After all—as he had stated—she would be the woman to make him a grandfather. 

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next

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Kenji blinked slowly on the other side of the phone, taking in the rush of information you had spewed at him first thing in the morning. “Uh, no. Haven’t even told my dad yet. You?”

You were about to deny having told anyone, but then you remembered. Ami. But she wouldn’t do that to you, right? “Ami knows.”

Kenji sucked in a breath through his teeth, grimacing. “Do you think she’d . . .” he trailed off, not wanting to make any outright accusations. He knew Ami personally, and that she was a good friend, but he also knew that scandals meant more money for reporters and that Ami has her own child to take care of. 

“I don't want to believe she would,” you started. “But I'm not sure how anyone else could have possibly found out so quickly.”

Kenji hummed. “You should talk to her today. Or I can, if you’d prefer?”

You sighed. “I'll do it. It’s just not going to be an easy conversation.”

“Call me with an update later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You ended your call with Kenji and wasted no time dialing Ami’s number, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you listened to the ringing. No answer. You tried again. And again.

 “Are you ok?” was the first thing she asked when she picked up. “It's not like you to call so many times.”

“Did you tell anyone about Kenji and me?”

She fumbled over her words for a moment, not expecting to be interrogated as soon as she answered your call. “Of course not. Has something happened?” she asked worriedly. You must have had a very good reason to sound so frantic. 

“There's an article,” you explained simply. “About Kenji and I. Are you sure you didn’t say something to anyone else? Even the smallest detail that might have been figured out?”

“Yn, I swear to you that I would never. I don't know how it got revealed so quickly, but I promise it wasn’t me.”

You sighed for the umpteenth time. “If not you then who?” You asked despondently, not truly expecting an answer from her but lamenting your misfortune all the same. 

“I don't know,” she answered softly, her voice laced with concern. 

Meanwhile, not even twenty minutes after you had called him, Kenji received yet another phone call. This time, it was his PR manager, Muramatsu. He groaned, knowing he was in for an earful. He answered the phone with all the false bravado he could muster, pretending he was none the wiser to the current state of his reputation. 

“Is it true‽” His manager demanded.

“Is what true?” Kenji asked, deciding to play stupid. 

“Did you or did you not get a girl pregnant?” 

“Straight to the point as always, Muramatsu,” Kenji chuckled, throwing off his covers when he decided to finally get out of bed since it seemed he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep this morning. 

“I'm serious, Ken. We need to get in front of this ASAP. Your reputation is on the line which means so are your brand deals.”

Kenji paled. He hadn’t thought of that little consequence. “Look, it was an accident, ok.”

“Dammit, Ken! What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

“I was drunk! I didn't intend to do it, it just happened!”

Muramatsu was pinching the bridge of his nose in his office, wishing at this moment that he’d been hired by any other celebrity other than Ken Sato. “Is she a girlfriend we didn’t know about? Because we can work with that.”

Kenji remained silent, biting his lip while trying to think of a way to gently break the news that on top of accidentally knocking up a girl because he was drunk, she was also a woman he had never met prior to taking her home. “Picked her up at a bar,” Kenji mumbled. 

“What? Can you repeat that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“She was a random girl from the bar and I thought she was pretty and now she’s going to be the mother of my firstborn!” Kenji all but shouted into the phone, his stress levels rising rapidly as he paced the wooden floor of his bedroom. From the other side of the call he could hear something slam into Muramatsu’s desk, presumably his fist. 

“Give me the full story. Your team won the championship, you celebrated with drinks, you met this girl at the bar and took her home, yada yada. I know the first half now tell me the second.”

“Well, I got a call from a friend of mine. Turns out she’s a mutual friend of Yn—“

“Yn?”

“My . . . baby momma?” He clarified tentatively,hesitant to use the term. It was accurate, but friend wasn’t enough and girlfriend was too much. For now, anyway. 

His manager hummed, signaling for him to continue. “So Ami told me we need to meet immediately and I went to the cafe I suggested but it wasn’t Ami that met me it was Yn and that’s when I found out,” he said in a rush of words, not taking a single breath. 

His manager sat at his desk, stunned. “And the pictures?” He dared to ask. 

“We talked, and I told her I would be there every step of the way. Every appointment, every craving, every mood swing. All of it. I want to take responsibility and be a good dad to this baby.”

“Would she be open to pretending to be in a relationship?”

“Might not need to pretend at all. We have a date planned.”

“Good good,” his manager said. “And what if we took it a step further? If we present the two of you as a married couple, then it turns a scandal into regular celebrity gossip and your reputation—and your girl’s—is spared the judgment of having a child out of wedlock. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

Kenji positively preened at hearing you referred to as his girl. He was so taken with the thought that he agreed to Muramatsu’s proposition without even bothering to ask what you thought of it. But it wasn’t like you had a boyfriend that would object, right?

“Great!” His manager said. “I'll talk with the team and we’ll have this sorted out by nightfall. Now, let’s backtrack. You said it was Ami that called you to meet. Ami Wakita? That reporter who interviewed you?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“So let me get this straight. You knock up a girl and one of the very first people to know is a reporter, and now suddenly there’s gossip rags talking about your promiscuity?”

“We’ll talk to Ami. She’s a friend to us both and I just can’t believe she’d actually cross both of us just for a story.”

“You’re gonna give me grey hair, kid,” his manager groaned. “We'll give her the benefit of the doubt for now, but find out if she’s the leak. We’ll talk later.”

It wasn’t until he heard the click of the call ending that it sunk in what he’d agreed to. He’d made a decision all on his own without consulting you that would deeply impact your life even more than it already had been. He sat on the edge of his bed and sunk his head into his hands, groaning at him having dug himself in an even deeper hole. In the last 48 hours, you two have gone from a hookup to eventual co-parents to make-believe spouses. How was he supposed to explain this to you?

The buzzing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He checked the screen to see a message from you and swiftly unlocked his phone. 

yn: are you free later? ami wants the three of us to talk

yea, where at?

yn: her place for lunch? around noon?

sounds good. just got off the phone with my

PR manager. he’s working on damage

control but it will require some acting on

our part 

yn: ???

i’ll explain when i see you later

see you soon :)

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next

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