Silence.
A silence so deep it swallowed the entire courtyard.
Mouths hung open. Eyes stretched wide.
The nobleman who had been demanding an answer? Speechless.
The officials who had been murmuring in suspicion? Frozen.
The ladies who had been gossiping moments ago? Completely pale.
Because in front of them, standing boldly in the center of it all—
The Seventh Consort was locked in an intimate embrace with the Crown Prince.
Zhao Yan held Hua Jing so tightly, so possessively, that there was no space between them.
One hand gripped her waist as if he was afraid she would disappear.
The other cupped the back of her neck, tilting her face upward.
And their lips—
Were sealed together.
Neither of them pulling away.
Neither of them breaking apart.
As if this was the most natural thing in the world.
A sharp inhale cut through the still air.
Someone gasped.
Another stumbled back.
The realization hit them all at once.
They were kissing.
The prince was kissing the consort.
