The emperor could be terrifying. If Xue’er accepted Princess Kaiyun as a godmother, the princess would become half family to the little girl—and would His Majesty grow stricter with Xue’er as a result?
Lan Miao felt the prick of fear at the thought of the emperor, but she found a scrap of courage and met Jingxiang Emperor’s dark gaze. “Your Majesty,” she said, voice small but steady, “if Xue’er doesn’t want to, then let it go.”
Yuya glanced from Lan Miao to Princess Kaiyun, pleading silently with her eyes.
“Mother, stop adopting daughters left and right,” the young Lord Li muttered, half annoyed, half amused. “There are already so many sisters in the mansion—you can’t even keep track of them…”
He hadn’t finished when Princess Kaiyun reached over and pinched his cheek, silencing him with a sharp, affectionate scolding. “You little fool. If you talk nonsense again I’ll sew your mouth shut.”
The guests laughed in unison, the tension broken. The emperor did not laugh; instead he watched Princess Kaiyun with a look that meant more than amusement.
The small embarrassment at the banquet passed, and the matter of Xue’er’s godmother was quietly set aside.
After the guests dispersed, Lan Miao, who had planned to sip politely and leave, found herself drinking more than she intended. With the emperor present she dared neither move freely nor speak frankly; the wine became a polite cushion against awkward silences. Her cheeks were flushed—warmer than usual—and for the first time since coming to court she felt an unfamiliar, languid softness in her movements.
“Lan Miao,” Princess Kaiyun said, “the hot spring has been prepared. My attendants will take Xue’er and Yuya to nap. You should go soak—get the alcohol out of your head.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Lan Miao answered, voice light but a little unsteady. She let the servants guide her to the bathing chamber.
A hush of water sounds greeted her when the door closed and the attendants slipped away. The room smelled of steam and warm stone, the furnishings simple but elegant. A strip of clean clothing hung from a rack, swaying in a faint breeze. As she walked deeper, the dimness gave way to the glow of a small open roof where late evening light bled orange across the steam. A single waist-high screen separated the room from the spring.
A navy robe had been draped over the screen. Lan Miao’s footsteps slowed. Her heart thudded with an odd mix of anticipation and dread.
A low laugh drifted from beyond the screen. “Come here, my lady,” the emperor called.
Heat rushed to her face. Of all the days—he was here. Escape was not an option. She was no longer bound to the Marquis’s household; she was free in name, but in this place, with him in power, what did freedom mean?
Her feet felt heavy, yet she moved, each step measured as if stepping on ice.
Beyond the screen, the spring shimmered. The emperor lounged half-submerged, the steam curling around his broad shoulders. He had shed his outer robes; the sight of him was casual and intimate, his body loose against the stone, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile that made Lan Miao forget—momentarily—how to breathe.
He reached for her with one hand, dark eyes intent. “I missed you,” he said simply.
“I thought… perhaps Your Majesty had forgotten me.” Her voice was a whisper; she let her outer robe fall away. The thin white gauze clung to her damp skin, ethereal in the lantern light. She stepped into the pool, bare feet cool against the stone, and the water accepted her like a second skin.
The heat of the spring chased the wine from her head. The steam softened the edges of everything; her eyes, brighter than usual, met his. Emperor Jingxiang’s composure slipped. He rose, closed the small distance between them, and took her into his arms.
Their bodies came together with a private, insistent gravity. He kissed her, first gently, then with a hunger that startled her; the scent of wine lingered on her lips. Lan Miao responded after the first uncertain breaths, letting herself be held. He cupped the back of her head—not with force, but with a firm, possessive tenderness—and she yielded rather than fought.
The water misted around them, making their movements soft and blurred. He eased the damp fabric from her shoulders, his hands careful, as if memorizing the curve of her collarbones. Warmth spread through them both in a hush of shared heat.
She floated in his arms, the world narrowed to the rhythm of breath and the gentle slap of water. Their kisses deepened; he mapped the hollow of her throat with feather-light teeth and murmured her name until the syllables seemed to pull at something in her chest. The night lengthened and folded in on itself until time felt malleable—stretched and intimate.
When exhaustion came, it was gentle as sleep. He carried her from the spring to the bed—soft sheets a pale island in the room—and there, pressed close, she drifted off with his arms curled around her.
Dawn found her weighed down by a pleasant languor. She rolled to move and found the emperor drawing her back into his embrace, a lazy smile twitching at his mouth. “It’s still early. Let us sleep a while longer,” he murmured.
“You made me work so hard last night,” she protested weakly, a heat of embarrassment staining her cheeks.
“You thought I’d let you go that easily?” His voice was low and amused as he brushed a fingertip along her collarbone. “Tell me now—what was your answer?”
She had the odd sensation that nothing she could say now would change what had passed; she was already his in a way that made words redundant. Still, she moved close, whispered a few syllables into his ear—soft, tentative—and the sound of them must have hit some chord in him. He rolled over atop her with a grin that was half mischief, half triumph, and they sank into another round of slow intimacy.
Lan Miao lay there, thinking that perhaps the emperor was not as spent as appearances might suggest. She’d assumed a man nearing thirty would be less tireless; the night disproved her. But as the morning light pooled on the floor, she let the feeling of being held—of being chosen—settle over her, complicated and oddly comforting all at once.