Jian didn't speak much on the walk back to his chambers, and the silence carried a weight that made Yuan's chest tight with something between worry and anticipation.
It wasn't until the door shut behind them, the bar dropped firmly into place, that the careful composure Jian had maintained through the entire audience with his father finally began to crack.
"I keep thinking about it," Jian said, his voice low, tightly controlled in a way that suggested considerable effort. "A foreign prince, believing he has some claim on you. Some right to demand things from you because of a debt you don't even remember, don't even understand the shape of. It makes me—" He stopped, jaw tightening, and turned to face Yuan directly, something raw and fierce burning behind his usually composed eyes. "It makes me want things I don't entirely recognize in myself."
"What things?" Yuan asked quietly, though some instinctive part of him already suspected the answer.
