Warm flesh met her lips. The moment he leaned in, Wen Fuyue felt her mind go blank; she could only stare, stunned. In Wei Siyian’s furious eyes she saw a tiny, embarrassed mirror of herself—cheeks flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears—fragile and exposed.
Wei Siyian watched her like that for a long heartbeat. The anger in his gaze softened, then shifted into something like amusement, a satisfied tilt at the corner of his mouth. Instinctively he pulled her closer, as if to deepen the kiss.
Wen Fuyue snapped back to her senses the instant he tightened his hold. She struggled with everything she had. Wei Siyian immediately strengthened his arms, trapping her against his chest.
Outside, the market clamor carried on—voices, hawkers calling their wares—but to Wen Fuyue the world narrowed until all that remained was the frantic pounding in her ribs.
Her face burned as if she might bleed. She glared up at him; her eyes flashed hot with indignation, though a helpless shyness made the anger feel oddly fierce.
She tried to wriggle free and found his grip too firm. Encircled in his arms, she felt as if a beast were staking its claim, tasting his ownership in the way he held her.
She wanted to scream. Internally she fought a flood of words: Damn emperor! I’m going to die—what on earth—kissing me like that—help!
Wei Siyian watched her, and amusement bloomed into something almost smug. He tightened his hold again, then, as if remembering the public around them, produced two handkerchiefs from his sleeve and offered one to her. When she still stared at him, furious and speechless, he said lightly, “Yueyue, are you disgusted with me?”
She shot him another glare, grabbed the handkerchief, and wiped at her mouth without meeting his eyes.
He laughed softly and, with slow deliberation, brought the other handkerchief to his own lips. The cloth was plain, the color of deep jade. His hands—pale, long-fingered—looked almost absurdly handsome as he wiped his mouth, and he did it with a measured languor that made Wen Fuyue’s gaze hitch to him against her will. He drew the cloth away slowly, as if savoring her discomfort.
Is he doing this on purpose? Is he trying to tempt me? she thought, heat flaring through her. She paused with the handkerchief in her fingers, then turned her face away in a petulant spasm.
Wei Siyian’s pleasure deepened at the sight of her vexation. He softened his voice. “Earlier I saw you admiring the pastries in that shop, so I had Anfu bring some back to the palace. I’ll have them delivered to you later.”
Wen Fuyue said nothing.
He realized, with an inward blink, that he had pushed too far—she was sulking, refusing to speak to him. He let out a quiet sigh and, watching her small, stiff profile, began to think about what to do next.
······
“Si Jing has returned?”
The empty hall echoed with a rough-edged female voice, which made the dim chamber take on a colder air.
“Reporting to the Empress Dowager: Prince An has just arrived in the capital today.” The eunuch on his knees answered with careful formality.
“That will do.” Li Qingying had kept to the inner hall for days; the absence of light and the strain of waiting had creased her face with oldness. Hearing the news, something like a ripple passed over her eyes, followed by a chill hunger that made the lines at her mouth deepen into a smile. “Send him to meet his uncle. He will steer Si Jing in the right direction.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Anything else?”
“Be careful. Don’t let Wei Siyian smell a tail.” Her voice turned hard as a blade.
When the eunuch retreated, Wang Qiuyue’s heart, which had been galloping, slowed a little. She had stood nearby, watching the Empress Dowager with a mix of fear and awe. Li Qingying turned to the woman who had served her for decades and said, with a cold curl, “If Wei Siyian has no use for me as his mother, so be it. We can replace him. The Li family needs only obedient children—Si Jing is perfect. He was young back then and couldn’t command loyalty, but now—”
She left the last words to the shadows; the lines on her face were swallowed in gloom. Wang Qiuyue felt bile rise at the thought of the boy who might be used as a pawn. She thought of the years of peace the emperor’s rule had brought, of the people whose lives had steadied under his rule. Must everything be risked for another scramble for the throne? Her gaze drifted toward Wei Siyian’s palace, worry fogging her eyes.
······
Wen Fuyue leapt down from the carriage the moment they returned to the palace, footsteps clumsy from the long ride. Her legs nearly slipped from under her.
“Mother!” Wen Yu cried out, alarmed.
Wei Siyian’s reflexes were quicker. He caught her in one swift motion and, irritation flaring, scolded, “What, Consort, can’t you watch where you’re going?”
If she’d fallen—
Wen Fuyue, cheeks still hot, recovered her balance and, lowering her head, murmured a grateful, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He studied her placid, compliant face, drew in a long breath, and said, “Let’s go—back to your palace for now.”
“Yes.”
She hurried off toward Qiyue Palace with quick, awkward steps. Wei Siyian allowed himself a small, private smile and called to Little Fu, who hovered nearby.
“Tell the Consort I won’t come for supper tonight. I have matters to attend to. And make sure those pastries get delivered to her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
At the thought of Wei Sijing’s unexpected return, a cold light flickered through Wei Siyian’s eyes. He masked it with a smile that held no warmth. Wei Sijing had been unlucky enough to see him leaving the city, but curiously fortunate in his choice—he’d set his sights on the Consort.
The grip on Wei Siyian’s hand tightened until the skin whitened. The capital had been too calm for too long; complacency breeds schemes. Wen Fuyue, by simple happenstance, had already helped him expose several restless elements.
Time to make a move.