An Yao panicked. For a moment she didn’t know what to do—then Bingtu’s eyes snapped open and he sat up.
Relief flooded her. “Bingtu? You’re awake—oh, thank the heavens!”
By then Ba’er and the others had burst into the room. At the sight of the heir stirring, everyone’s faces lit up... and then, as if the spark had been snuffed, Bingtu slumped back onto the bed and lost consciousness again. It was the kind of heartbeat of life that made the skin crawl.
“Quick—fetch the imperial physician!” Si Hongxi barked, sending someone off at once.
Ba’er shoved An Yao aside and saw what she’d done: the bandages were undone, and Bingtu’s whole body was a map of bruises and lacerations. His chest clenched with a pain that went beyond pity. What had been done to him?
“What did you do to him?” Ba’er demanded, fury in his voice.
An Yao, already feeling helpless and wrongly accused, broke down. Tears spilled over. “I didn’t—I didn’t! I only treated his wounds. I don’t know what happened. Please believe me!”
Wanruo folded An Yao into her arms and soothed her. “We know, it’s not your fault. It’s all right. Really, it’s all right.”
“Ba’er,” Si Hongxi snapped, equally angry, “keep your temper until the facts are clear. If you continue, don’t blame me for answering you back.”
The room held its breath until the physician arrived, hurried and professional. He examined Bingtu and then reported to the prince. “Your Grace, the young master most likely had too strong an anaesthetic. When it wears off it can make the pain feel more intense—what you saw was a normal reaction. His waking was only a reflex. He survived last night; his life is not in danger. He’s strong. These external wounds will heal.”
Hearing that, Ba’er’s anger dissolved into shame. Si Hongxi’s voice cut through sharply. “You heard him. Apologize to the lady.”
Grudging but honorable, Ba’er stepped forward. “I was too rash. I owe you an apology, Princess An Yao. I’m sorry.”
An Yao managed a shaky smile. “It’s fine. I understand—you were worried. It’s okay.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Ba’er said, relieved. Wanruo watched him and couldn’t help admiring his manner—for better or worse, a man matched to his station.
“All right. Now settle down. Ba’er, get to the letter—we need it sent immediately. I’ll see it delivered,” Si Hongxi ordered.
Ba’er cast one reluctant glance at Bingtu, then went with Si Hongxi to write the dispatch.
That evening, a messenger reported to the prince: “My lord, the letter has reached the vassal prince.”
“Good. Keep spies watching his every move,” Si Hongxi said, eyes sharpening. Now to see the reaction.
Wanruo sat alone in the courtyard, staring at the dark sky. Si Hongxi came up beside her and settled quietly. “Moon-gazing?” he offered. “Funny, I don’t see a moon tonight.”
“You always know how to joke,” Wanruo said, exhaling a bitter little laugh. Of all times, when she had every reason to be heavyhearted, he thought it fit to tease.
“Did you and... him—did you two have a falling out?” Si Hongxi ventured.
Wanruo turned to him with a small, polite smile and shook her head.
“And... do I still stand a chance?” he asked casually, as if testing the air.
Wanruo frowned, then smiled—a smile that shut the question down without cruelty.
“Good,” Si Hongxi said with a resigned huff. He reached out to pat her head in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “Don’t read too much into it.” Then he rose and left.
Wanruo stood to go back to her rooms. She opened the door—and a cold, large hand clamped over her mouth. Panic flared.
She was shoved inside and the door slammed. A candle flared and filled the small room with light. Taking advantage of the moment, she bit down on the hand over her mouth. The man gave a muffled curse of pain.
“It’s me,” a familiar voice said, low and amused.
Wanruo’s eyes flew open. That voice—she knew it instantly. She turned slowly. It was Bai Chen. Before she could flee he grabbed her collar and pulled her back into his arms.
“You bite and then try to run?” he murmured against her ear with a wicked smile.
“My god—let go!” Wanruo tried to wrench free, cheeks flaming. “What are you doing here?”
Bai Chen closed the distance, stepping closer with a teasing air. “I was afraid if I didn’t come, someone else might steal my bride.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, baffled and irritated.
“You listened at the wall?” Wanruo accused, pointing an accusing finger.
He caught her hand and held it, but his tone turned cool and dangerous. “Tell me, you bit my hand—what should your punishment be?”
She yanked her hand back and protested, indignant. “You scared me first. If anyone’s to blame—it's you.”
He waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine anyway. A little wound won’t hurt.” He lifted his hand. The pale skin bore a deep bite-mark, blood still fresh at the edges.
Seeing the blood prickled something protective in Wanruo. Despite herself she took the wounded hand, sat him down, and went to fetch gauze and salve. Her face wore concern as she carefully cleaned and bandaged the injury.
Bai Chen watched her with a grin as if the sight of her concentration were a private victory. “If I’d known, I should’ve let you bite me more,” he said with a lazy flourish. “Anywhere you like.”
He unbuttoned his collar with a casual hand and exposed the curve of his clavicle. Wanruo’s breath hitched. The sight was too intimate, too deliberate—her face flamed crimson and she averted her eyes.
“You’re insane. Put your shirt back on!” she snapped.
“Is this not tempting enough?” Bai Chen peered down at himself with mock seriousness, then pretended to inspect his chest.
Wanruo scowled, fed up. She yanked her hand from him and turned to leave. Bai Chen, ignoring the sting in his bandaged palm, caught her wrist and tugged her back into his embrace. His pull was firm and sudden; she ended up pressed against his chest, their faces inches apart.
They froze, eyes locked, the small room suddenly tight with everything unsaid.