Whispers in the Moonlight (1)
The palace was steeped in an unsettling quiet, the flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows that seemed to breathe with secrets. Nightfall had brought no peace—only the lingering echoes of the Mad Concubine's warnings and Han Sheng's cold laughter, twisting like knives in my chest.
I sought refuge in the imperial gardens, hoping the crisp night air might steady my thoughts. The wind carried the scent of chrysanthemums and damp earth, but did nothing to soothe the restlessness coiled tight within me.
Then—a footfall on gravel.
My breath caught.
There, by the scholar's rock, stood the Crown Prince. Moonlight sculpted his sharp features into something both regal and untouchable, the silver glow catching the threads of his dark robes. That familiar ache bloomed in my ribs—this pull between us, equal parts magnetic and dangerous.
"You're out late." His voice was winter frost over steel.
I forced my shoulders to relax. "The night seemed... restless."
He stepped closer, and I swore the air between us crackled. "Still troubled by today's affairs?" A deceptively casual question, but his gaze—oh, his gaze stripped me bare, tracing every hesitation I'd tried to bury.
I turned toward the koi pond, watching moonlight fracture on the water's surface. "Just palace matters. Nothing worth your concern."
A beat of silence. Then—
Warm fingers brushed my wrist.
I nearly gasped at the contact, his touch searing through the thin silk of my sleeve. When I dared look up, his expression was unreadable, but his thumb traced slow circles over my pulse point.
"You mistake me," he murmured, voice lower now, intimate in the way shadows are intimate with light. "I've always concerned myself with you."
The words lodged in my throat. This wasn't the detached prince who played courtly chess with lives—this was the man who'd once pressed a handkerchief to my bleeding palm after I'd shattered a teacup, his hands unexpectedly gentle.
"Then tell me," I whispered, "why warn me now? After all your games?"
His smile was a blade's edge. "Because the game changes tonight." Leaning in, his breath warmed the shell of my ear as he confessed: "And I find I'd rather keep you close than watch you fall with the others."
When he pulled back, his eyes held something new—something that made my knees weaken. Not calculation.
Hunger.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the weeping willows, leaving me clutching the jade pendant at my throat—the one he'd gifted me last winter, now burning like a brand against my skin.
The gardens were silent again.
But nothing would ever be the same.
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