The room was quiet but for the soft rustle of pages.
Xu Xiaolan sat by the window, a book resting lightly in her hands, when the door suddenly burst open. She paused mid-sentence.
Jian Wushuang strode in without invitation, the corner of his lips already curved in a smile, infuriatingly familiar. He closed the door behind him with a careless push and advanced as though the room belonged solely to him.
She studied him warily.
Was he drunk again?
He stopped only a few inches from her. Then, he bent down until their faces were almost level, close enough that she could smell wine, faint, teasing, unmistakable.
Her breath hitched. Color crept into her cheeks as she blinked up at him.
"W-what are you doing?" she demanded.
The book in her hands stilled.
So did the air.
Wushuang noticed everything, the way her shoulders tensed, the instinctive calculation in her eyes, the pride that kept her from backing away further. Good.
He smiled.
Not the idle smile he wore at court, but something sharper. More intimate.
"Relax," he murmured, voice low, edged with amusement.
"If I wanted to do something improper, wife…" He paused, "You would already know."
A quiet chuckle followed. "The banquet was… enlightening."
A beat.
"Did you miss me?"
The question sounded casual. It was anything but.
The mansion outside remained silent. Inside, the space between them felt suddenly too small, charged with things neither dared to name.
Xiaolan sniffed the air, then rolled her eyes.
"You're drunk, Your Highness," she said coolly. "Has the wine finally reached your head?"
She stood abruptly, just in time to catch him as he swayed forward. Her irritation flared.
"Let me be clear," she snapped, gripping his arm. "I am not your caretaker. You come back drunk night after night and expect me to deal with you. Pathetic. Are you even a man?"
Wushuang allowed his weight to fall into her grasp as if he truly were unsteady. One hand braced against the table; the other closed loosely around her wrist.
"So harsh," he murmured, amused.
He let her words wash over him without interruption.
"If I'm pathetic," he continued softly, "then why are you catching me?"
Slowly, he straightened, removing his weight from her hands entirely.
He met her gaze, smile still present, but something cooler now lay beneath it, calm, unreadable.
"Wife," he said.
He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve and moved past her, pouring himself a cup of water instead of wine. He drank it in one smooth motion.
"I don't need a caretaker," he went on lightly.
"But I do appreciate the concern."
He set the cup down and glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting.
Two maids lingered near the corridor pillars, pretending to dust the railings. Their movements were diligent; their voices were not nearly as careful.
"Did you hear?" one whispered, snickering.
"His Highness went out again last night. Third time this week."
"Brothel?" the other asked.
"Of course. Where else would the Seventh Prince go? Ten years locked away, now he's making up for it. Drinks, women, gambling… completely shameless."
The second maid clicked her tongue.
"And here I thought marriage would tame him. Turns out he doesn't even step into his wife's quarters."
"Why would he?" the first scoffed.
"A fallen prince paired with a nobody wife, what a match."
They leaned closer, voices dropping further.
"I heard the princess consort isn't even legitimate," the second murmured.
"Minister Xu's youngest daughter. The one no one talks about."
"Exactly," the first said.
"If she were worth anything, would he have sent her?"
A soft laugh followed.
"Minister Xu must truly hate her," the second added.
"Sending her to marry a useless prince with no power, no favor… practically throwing her away."
"Poor thing," the first said with mock sympathy.
"Illegitimate daughter, useless husband. Both discarded."
"At least it suits them," the second concluded lightly.
"A wayward prince and a forgotten daughter, no one will miss either if they fade away."
Their footsteps retreated, whispers dissolving into the courtyard air, leaving behind words that lingered far longer than they should have.
Xiaolan closed the book in her hands with controlled force. She was sitting close by and had been listening. Her fingers curled slowly, knuckles whitening.
She was no stranger to the label illegitimate. It had followed her since birth, clung to her name like a shadow. But to hear palace maids speak of it so openly, so carelessly, sent a sharp pulse of anger through her chest.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, her expression was calm.
"Bold," she murmured to herself. "And foolish."
If she completed this mission, would her father finally look at her? He had promised to restore her mother's tablet to the ancestral hall. A simple thing, perhaps, but to her it was everything. Recognition. Proof that she had existed. That her mother had mattered.
The opportunity was finally within reach.
Soon, those filthy maids would never speak her name that way again.
A faint smile curved her lips.
All she had to do… was kill.
Kill the Seventh Prince.
She had fought wars. Won battles. Killed hundreds without hesitation. Feeding bone-chilling poison to an enemy should have been effortless. He was a traitor. A disgraced prince. A man the empire had already discarded.
He did not deserve to live.
…Or did he?
Her smile faded.
It was not her place to decide. Judgment was a luxury she could not afford.
She was a warrior. She acted on orders, not sentiment.
Jian Wushuang would die.
And when he did, she would be free to return to her soldiers, free to reclaim her name.
She straightened, resolve settling like steel in her spine.
Hesitation was weakness.
And weakness had never survived the battlefield.