"I'm scared of him," Lily whispered, voice brittle like dry leaves in the wind.
Colla didn't answer, didn't need to. She was trained too well to react. But Lily still flinched. She was sure—certain—that he heard it. Yen heard everything. The very air in the palace was his. Every corner, every corridor, every quiet breath belonged to him. The shadows were not just his tools—they were him.
She slipped the folded piece of parchment into Colla's palm in passing, smooth as silk, like a whisper between fingers. The maid opened it just enough to read the message hidden beneath the sleeves of her dress:
Tea to regulate my menstruation.
No signature. Just fear disguised as a request.
Colla tucked it away without blinking and bowed like any loyal servant would. But the silent language between them carried volumes.
---
Days passed.
The palace moved in time with Yen's rhythm. People bowed deeper. Spoke quieter. Watched the empress with more pity behind their smiles.
And Yen? He always found time for her.
Whether it was dawn or dusk, he appeared like breath fogging a mirror—inevitable, intimate, invasive. He was there. Touching her hand. Brushing her hair. Whispering sweet rot into her ear.
One afternoon, just as the sun began melting over the stone towers, he appeared again—his smile as fixed and pleasant as ever, as if he hadn't been gently threatening her every day. "Let's have a walk," he said, slipping his fingers into hers before she could refuse. "You need the sun. You're too pale lately."
She followed. Of course she did.
"How was the council?" she asked as they walked.
He glanced sideways at her, adjusting his pace to match hers. Always attentive. Always just enough to make it harder to hate him. "Nothing's new. It's been peaceful lately. Almost too peaceful."
She smiled faintly. "Festivals are continuous this season... I want to attend the lantern festivities."
"Of course," he said warmly, squeezing her hand. "Let's go together."
They spoke of meaningless things until they reached the west gardens—her new cage with flowers. He sat first, stretching like a lounging lion on the marble bench, then tugged her gently until she settled into his lap.
His head rested against her chest, and for a moment she felt like a breathing statue—porcelain skin, hollow ribcage.
"You're doing good," he murmured against her heart, as if her pulse were his to command. His hand slipped to her stomach, resting there with the heavy weight of expectation. "We'll have another child soon."
Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the hem of his robe. She kept her eyes on the trembling leaves above them, lips sealed. No hope. No protest.
"You love me, right?"
She nodded.
He tilted his head up. "Use your mouth."
"Yes..." she whispered, barely audible. "I love you."
His gaze was still. Patient. Waiting.
So she kissed him—not a peck, not a hesitant brush. That wouldn't satisfy him. She opened her mouth, let him taste her, let him take. Their tongues met briefly. She pulled back with a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"That's my Lily," he said like a lullaby. His fingers wove into her hair and combed gently, his touch worshipful. "My wife. My empress. What do you want? I'm giving you everything."
"I don't want chains," she said softly, voice trembling but brave.
He paused, then chuckled—mocking. "Hm? What chains?" He caught her wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing it like a knight. Then her fingertips. Reverent. Twisted.
"You're making it worse for yourself," he murmured. "Stop fighting. It's all in your mind. You're making this harder than it is."
Before she could respond, he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. Those golden eyes. Liquid fire. They were beautiful, mesmerizing—and terrifying.
Her mouth closed.
She looked away.
That satisfied him. He smiled and carefully lifted her from his lap, setting her beside him like a cherished doll after play.
"You should nap. I'll be in my office later," he said, giving her hand one final squeeze.
"I can't sleep at night when I do," she replied flatly.
He smiled as if amused. "Fine. Then let's have dinner in our chambers. Wait for me."
Wait. Always wait.
Lily sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The sun warmed her skin but did nothing for the cold in her chest.
He was the only one she had ever known. Her first friend. Her only love. Her crown and her cage.
Even now—even when he was slowly choking the life from her with silk and lullabies—he held her like she was precious.
And maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Later that night…
They had just finished dinner—or rather, he had finished feeding her. Lily barely moved her hands, only opening her mouth when he brought the utensils to her lips, like a doll trained to obey. Colla moved silently in the background, clearing the plates with practiced grace, eyes lowered. She didn't speak. She never did during these moments.
Yen stood and gently wiped the corner of Lily's mouth with a napkin, an intimate act that somehow felt more violating than a command. Then, as if on instinct, he moved behind her and began to undo the clasps of her evening robe. She didn't resist. She never did anymore.
The fabric slid from her shoulders like falling petals, pooling silently at her feet. She stood naked and still, gazing at nothing while he shrugged off his own loosened robes, his golden eyes never leaving her body. His presence wrapped around her like a second skin.
Without a word, he swept her up into his arms, cradling her as if she were breakable. Both of them bare. Both of them quiet.
He carried her to the washroom—an opulent, dim-lit sanctuary of steam and stone where the scent of florals hung thick in the air. The large marble tub was already filled, water gently rippling under the soft golden glow of enchanted lanterns.
"We'll attend a gathering soon," Yen said as he lowered her into the water, his voice calm, almost conversational.
Lily winced slightly at the temperature before adjusting. Her arms rested along the edge of the tub, her wet hair draping like ribbons behind her. "A gathering... of the high houses?" she asked. "Where all the races of nobility attend?"
"Hm." He lathered a bar of violet-scented soap in his hands. "It's a rare one. Every decade. This will be my second time attending."
She turned her face toward him slightly. Talking helped. The silence made her skin crawl. At least when he spoke, she could read between the lines. "When was your first?"
Yen's fingers spread the lather across her back, slow and methodical. "With my father," he said after a moment. "He was a prideful man. Elegant. Controlled. But he was the weakest golden-eyed heir in recorded history."
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "He died at the hands of Nyx. The warden of the spirit realm. It was humiliating. He was foolish—arrogant enough to think he could rule the dead."
Bitterness crept into his voice like ink in water. His touch on her skin didn't pause. If anything, it grew slower. Firmer.
Lily's eyes softened. "It was your father who brought me into the palace," she murmured. "He said I belonged to you. I thought…" Her voice thinned out, like she was speaking to a memory. "I thought he meant as a friend. I didn't understand what he meant until much later. I still think about it."
"I told you," Yen replied, cupping water into his palm and pouring it over her hair, smoothing the suds from her scalp. "I won't keep secrets from you. You'll learn everything soon."
The water trickled down her cheeks and neck like a baptism, but it didn't wash anything away.
-----
When they finished, Lily stepped out of the tub first. Steam curled off her skin in lazy wisps. She reached for the towels, patting herself down slowly before handing one to Yen. They dried each other in near silence—just the hush of damp cloth and the occasional flicker of firelight across their skin.
Afterward, she helped dress him for bed.
Just a silk robe tonight, dark and loose. She slid the fabric over his shoulders, smoothed it down his chest, but when she reached for the sash, he caught her hands and stopped her.
"No need," he said, smiling faintly.
He sat on the edge of their bed, watching her in the soft candlelight as she dressed herself in a sleeping gown—thin, sheer, and easily removed. Something simple. Something he'd chosen.
When she was done, he patted the mattress beside him.
"Come here."
She obeyed, crawling onto the bed and curling against his side like a trained pet, her body drawn toward his heat by instinct rather than want.
"It's almost your period," he murmured.
Her body went tense. "You're… you're counting it?"
"Hm-hm," he hummed, fingers lightly tracing the back of her thigh. "You shouldn't bleed. I've made sure of it. Every night."
Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard, heart thudding like a drum muffled under silk.
She shifted slightly, instinctively squeezing her thighs together. But it was pointless. His hands had already slipped between them—parting her open with practiced ease.
Yen lowered himself over her, pressing her into the mattress like a man worshiping his altar.
"Gentle," he whispered against her ear, voice soaked in dark tenderness. "Slow. Just like you wanted."
His hand guided her legs apart—lifting one to hook around his waist, the other resting wide across the bed.
"Y-Yen," she gasped, her voice trembling as his fingers grazed the soft folds of her cunt, stroking her with obscene familiarity.
Her nails dug into his back. Not out of passion. But desperation. Panic. Something unsaid and clawing inside her chest.
He kissed her neck, slow and warm. "Shhh," he cooed, breath hot against her skin. "I know… I know what my Lily needs."
And just like that, she vanished beneath him—beneath his weight, his hunger, his unrelenting love.