Leena jumped back with a small, startled gasp. Maya let out a shrill yelp, clutching at her own chest. Both women froze in the doorway, their hearts hammering from the sudden shock.
A tall, broad-shouldered shadow completely blocked the dim light of the corridor, his silent presence more alarming than any sound.
"B–Bao Wen?" Leena stammered, her hand pressing against the base of her throat where her pulse fluttered wildly. "Wha–what are you doing here?" The words tumbled out, laced with the last remnants of her adrenaline.
"Y-Yeah!" Maya added, finding her voice and puffing her cheeks out in a mixture of fear and complaint. "Why would you lurk outside the door and scare us like that?! A person could die of fright!"
The soldier lowered his head in a gesture of contrition, though his face remained as stoic and carved from stone as ever. "Forgive me," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I did not intend to frighten you. I had only just arrived."
Leena took a slow, deliberate breath, willing her heart to settle back into a normal rhythm. The initial shock ebbed, replaced by curiosity.
"Then… why were you standing there? Do you need help with something? Is someone injured?"
Bao Wen hesitated, a rare show of uncertainty in a man so defined by action. His dark, perceptive eyes, which usually scanned a room for threats, softened just a little as they settled on her. "I heard…" he began, his tone measured, "…that you will become the head physician's assistant. The news travels quickly here."
Leena blinked, taken aback by the speed of the gossip. "How do you—"
"I know I cannot stop you," he interjected, his voice firm, almost heavy with resignation. It was the tone of a man who recognized a determined spirit and knew better than to stand in its way. Then, with deliberate, almost ceremonial movements, he untied a small, worn leather pouch from his belt. "But I can give you this."
He held it out to her, a simple offering in his calloused, soldier's hand.
Leena's brows furrowed as she accepted the pouch. It was light, and a faint, dry, earthy scent emanated from it. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft with confusion and budding gratitude.
Bao Wen's gaze lowered, not in submission, but in a gesture of respect, focusing on her hands holding his gift. "Herbs," he explained plainly. "A simple blend. My grandparents used them during the great plague years. If you keep them in a small cloth sachet and breathe through it when you are surrounded by the sick… it may help purify the air. It may protect you."
Leena's lips parted in a silent gasp of understanding. She looked down at the humble pouch, and her heart tightened with a profound, unexpected ache. This wasn't just a gift; it was a fragment of his own history, a piece of personal armor offered for her protection. She had never realized… how deeply and quietly he had been watching over her.
His tone grew softer, the carefully constructed walls around him crumbling just enough to reveal the genuine concern within. "At least…" he murmured, the words almost a whisper, "…with this… I'll know you are a little bit safer."
A wave of warmth spread through Leena's chest, so intense it threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the leather pouch, holding it as if it were a priceless treasure. "Bao Wen…" she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. Truly. This means more than you know."
For a single, fleeting moment, the stoic soldier's mask cracked. The hard line of his mouth relaxed, and his lips curved into the faintest, most genuine smile she had ever seen on him. It transformed his entire face, revealing the good, honest man beneath the warrior's exterior. He gave her a final, deep, respectful bow, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the shadowy corridor without another word, leaving behind the scent of leather and dried herbs.
A comfortable silence lingered in his wake, filled with the echo of his unspoken care.
Until Maya sighed dreamily, breaking the spell. She clasped her hands together under her chin, her eyes sparkling like a young girl at a spring festival. "Ohhh~!" she cooed, her voice full of delight. "That was so… so sweet! So adorable!"
"Maya…" Leena shook her head, a helpless smile finally breaking through her own emotional turmoil as she tucked the precious pouch into her own robes, right over her heart.
"I mean it!" Maya insisted, her dramatic nature taking full flight. "He's so strong and silent, but then he does something like that? Bao Wen would make such a good, reliable husband! Solid! Dependable! Don't you think, Madam?"
Leena coughed, a blush returning to her cheeks. She couldn't possibly answer that question, not with her own mind and heart still tangled in thoughts of another. So she just laughed softly, a light, airy sound that brushed away the last of the tension, and gently chided Maya for her lovestruck imagination.
POV – The Seventh Prince
Li Wei sat in the estate's temporary study, a room that smelled of dust and damp wood. The single candle on the desk cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock the stillness he was trying to impose upon himself. His fingers drummed a restless, silent rhythm against the polished wood, the only outward sign of the storm gathering within.
A travel-stained courier knelt on the rough floor before him, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the ground. The man's posture screamed of exhaustion and dread.
"Your Highness," the courier began, his voice raspy from the road. "I bear urgent news from the Imperial Palace."
Li Wei's eyes, which had been staring at a crack in the wall, sharpened and focused on the man like twin daggers. "Speak." The single word was ice.
"The Emperor…" the courier swallowed hard, "…wishes to send you to the northern front. The command is to be given as soon as the quarantine is lifted. You are to lead the campaign against the northern barbarians."
For a moment, a profound, suffocating silence fell over the room. The only sound was the sputter of the candle wick.
The northern war. A frozen, bloody conflict that had dragged on for years, a festering wound on the edge of the empire. It was a graveyard for ambitious generals and the soldiers who followed them—a place where countless men had vanished into the snow and mist, never to be seen again.
It wasn't a military assignment. It was a beautifully wrapped death sentence.
Jun, who had been standing as still as a statue against the wall, took a sharp step forward. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "Your Highness…" he said, his voice a low, furious growl. "This is no honor. It's a burial order dressed in military silk."
Li Wei's gaze darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to gather in the depths of his eyes. "I know." He had already connected the dots before the courier had finished speaking. The Emperor's eighth son—his half-brother, the child of the current Empress and the Emperor's openly favored heir. The pampered prince who had never known a day of true hardship outside the palace walls. If Li Wei, the competent and politically troublesome Seventh Prince, were to disappear on a hopeless campaign… the path to the title of Crown Prince would be swept clean for his brother.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Jun's lips. "This has nothing to do with barbarians," he spat, the disrespect in his tone a measure of his loyalty and fury. "The Emperor simply wishes to remove you. Permanently. Once and for all."
Li Wei closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the finality of the blow. When he opened them, he exhaled a long, slow breath, a man accepting the terms of a battle he had not chosen.
Jun stared at him, horrified by his calm acceptance. "Your Highness—! We can—"
But Li Wei's expression had become unreadable, a fortress sealing its gates. "I will not die so easily." The words were a vow, quiet but absolute.
Yet even as he said them, a face flashed in his mind's eye. Not the Emperor's, not his brother's. It was Leena. Her shy smile when she had found her voice. The radiant sound of her laughter. The trusting way her hand had felt in his. It was a warmth, a glimpse of a life he had never dared to imagine for himself, and it was now threatened by a cold, political decree from a father who saw him as a disposable obstacle.
His hand curled into a tight, furious fist on the desk, the knuckles straining white.
He could not. He would not let the Emperor decide his fate.
Not this time.
To be continued...(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧