Chapter Three: Where the Vixen Sleeps

  I think even with my agreement to the marriage, my brother waited for some grand explosion of emotion. A tantrum, a tearful outburst—anything would have made more sense to him than my quiet acceptance. But I had agreed, and I had allowed him to choose the man he found most suitable.

  “You’ll have to step down from your position in the Medica,” he said gently. “But Zhu Zhaoming has agreed that until Aunt… passes, you both will remain in Qianhu.”

  I had never been a lucky person. This knowledge, that I wouldn’t be torn from my home immediately, was enough to satisfy me. I remained silent.

  “But I think you should no longer be in charge of Aunt’s direct care. Doctors from the Medica’s Asylum will come daily instead.”

  My heart sank.

  “But she’ll—”

  Daisheng took my hand, his eyes reflecting his own grief. “I checked with Susu. Since that first incident, Aunt has turned on you more violently than anyone else. Even I can no longer approach her. It’s time to accept that she won’t get better. You know this better than anyone.”

  My lip quivered. Tears blurred my vision. I pulled my hands from my brother’s.

  “I say this for your sake—and hers. If she harms you, truly harms you, she’ll be condemned to death. You forget yourself sometimes, Dailu. That worries me.”

  He was right. If not for myself, then for Aunt’s sake, I needed to keep my distance. Harming a member of the royal family—insanity would not save her. Not when it came to the kin of the Emperor.

  And then nothing could save our Aunt.

  My brother left quietly, but it did not stop the tears. Even in the thick summer heat, I wore long sleeves to hide the bruises from her test outburst.

  That afternoon, I met with Physician Guo and Physician Lu. Their mere presence agitated Aunt—her rage and fear fred in equal measure as servants carried her, kicking and screaming, back to her room. She called for me, voice broken, hysterical.

  I stood watching, tears falling freely. Physician Guo entered without hesitation, but Lu lingered beside me.

  "Your Highness, it is not my pce to say, but this is the right course. Do not worry—we will care for her dyship with dignity and skill."

  A fresh scream split the air.

  "Go," I said. Lu bowed and followed the path of his colleague.

  I stood trembling, Susu at my side, uncertain and quiet. Aunt called for me all afternoon, her cries echoing through the courtyard like a haunting lulby of sorrow and memory.

  While all this unfolded, the marriage between the Zhu and Hua Cns was finalized. Zhu Zhaoming signed the contract with my brother, and it was announced to the world.

  But I remained paralyzed, wrapped in guilt and fear—guilt for leaving my Aunt to strangers, fear for the ghosts her screams stirred within me.

  That night, I stepped down from my post in the Medica, to the great disappointment of my mentors. But they knew better than to protest. With new troops arriving and rumors stirring of discontent in the west, my role was now ceremonial.

  Preparations for the wedding began the next morning. With them came rules—restrictions on seeing my future husband, etiquette lessons, dress fittings, offerings to the ancestors. After three days of standing vigil in Aunt’s courtyard, Daisheng finally forbade me from entering.

  So I listened instead—from the ninth floor of the manor. I listened to Aunt's screams by day, and to the silence that followed as the sun fell beneath the horizon. Each night, I went to bed early, curled beneath the covers, hoping that sleep would silence my own memories.

  —

  Eight weeks ter, I stood cloaked in white and gold, dressed in a wedding robe so intricate it shimmered like moonlight. My mother’s headdress crowned my hair—an ornate piece heavy with jewels and memory. The streets outside roared with cheers. Lanterns bobbed in the wind, and the scent of candied lotus seeds filled the air.

  But joy? That eluded me.

  The Pagoda meant to host the wedding banquet was never finished. Its construction halted, its workers diverted to Geiseung Fortress by imperial order. My brother said little, but I knew he suspected sabotage. He’d begun watching Han Taejin closely, especially after the sudden disappearance of the Western Sea Wall—an entire wall, gone, as if swallowed by the sea itself.

  The Emperor was furious. My brother spent weeks managing the fallout, teeth gritted through every meeting. I could see the toll in the tension around his eyes.

  But I forced the thoughts away. Today was my wedding day.

  “You look beautiful,” Daisheng said behind me.

  I turned, offering him a small smile. A servant stepped forward carrying a cquered wooden box. Inside was a veil—the one my mother wore on her wedding day.

  “I thought it burned in the fire.”

  “It did. But I had it remade from memory. I know she promised it to you.”

  He stepped forward to drape it over me.

  Downstairs, the announcement was made: the bride leaves her chambers. Slow and deliberate, step by step, I was led to the ceremonial sedan. Crowds filled the streets. Their cheers blurred into a distant roar.

  Zhu Zhaoming waited at the altar. Even through my veil, he was an imposing figure. Broad-shouldered and quiet, he stood like a man carved from obsidian. His robe was bck, the embroidered dragon coiled across it, golden eyes glinting with red pupils. I wore its counterpart—the white fox.

  Daisheng pced my hand into Zhaoming’s. His grip was firm and warm.

  The ceremony was swift, each rite performed with fwless execution. Before I could fully register it, I was swept away to the bridal chamber.

  According to Susu, it wasn’t truly a bridal chamber at all—but the General’s. He had chosen not to separate the space, as tradition dictated.

  Nerves coiled tight in my belly. My palms were damp beneath my sleeves.

  As the night deepened and the festivities quieted, I heard the door open. I turned just in time to see my husband enter.

  He walked toward me, lifted my veil, and smiled.

  “You shouldn’t have worn the headdress so long. Doesn’t your neck ache?”

  I was silent as he stepped behind me, unpinning each hair ornament with gentle fingers, letting them fall to the side table. My hair tumbled down in waves.

  I felt suddenly exposed, silly even, in such finery with my hair loose and unstyled.

  But his eyes lingered, appreciating me not as a princess but as a woman.

  I rose and moved behind the screen where Susu helped me undress. When I emerged, he had changed as well, reclining on the bed, arms behind his head, stretching leisurely. He shifted to make room for me in the corner of the bed.

  I y there, silent. My nerves fluttered.

  Zhaoming turned to his side, his gaze sweeping over me. My breath caught.

  _

  Her eyes, wide and uncertain, met his. Like a kitten unsure of the fire, trembling with instinct yet drawn to warmth.

  He remembered her as a girl—fierce, wild, always chasing after Han Taejin with soft eyes and stubborn hope. But she’d always treated Zhaoming with unexpected kindness. She’d defended him once, her fists balled tight, after he returned home bruised from training. She’d patched him up, scolded the boys who teased him.

  Before the war, before duty hardened them all, he had wished—prayed even—that one day he could marry Hua Dailu.

  But Han Taejin had captured her gaze.

  It was the only dishonorable act of Zhaoming’s life—the courtesan he sent to the Pagoda. He had merely pulled back the veil on Han Taejin’s secret indulgences. But when the woman arrived at the Pagoda, belly round with child, begging for acceptance into Taejin’s household, the illusion shattered.

  And now, here she y in his bed.

  Zhaoming reached for her gently, fingers brushing her cheek. She didn’t flinch. Her breath caught. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw.

  He leaned in, kissing her—slowly, deliberately. Her lips were soft but tense.

  He deepened the kiss, and she let go.

  Their hands met, uncertain at first, but then seeking. Her body yielded under his touch, and his restraint frayed as he undressed her with reverence. Her skin was warm silk, her breath hot against his throat. When she trembled, he steadied her.

  Zhaoming was a patient man.

  But tonight, he could not bear to be patient any longer.

  Their mouths met again and again, kisses that deepened, that devoured. When he entered her, she gasped—tight, unaccustomed. Her nails dug into his back, a gasp caught in her throat.

  He stopped, brushing her damp hair from her forehead, letting her adjust. Then, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he began to move.

  Each thrust was measured at first, until her breath hitched with pleasure and he knew her pain had faded.

  He was not gentle then. He cimed her with all the years of longing and hunger buried deep in his soul.

  She cried his name once—soft, disbelieving.

  When they were finally spent, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand in her hair, he stared up at the bed’s carved canopy, his heart too full to sleep.

  Zhaoming was a soldier, a dragon by blood, a man of command and strength.

  But in this moment, with her warmth tucked beside him, he felt something dangerously close to happiness.

  He would never tell her what he had done to win her.

  If he was to earn her love, truly earn it, then that secret would die with him.