Xia Lin bowed with a flurry of movement—part grace, part chaos. "Y-Yes, Your Highness."
But Zhao Yan wasn't finished. He added, "After that, you may retire for the night."
There was a small hitch in her breath. But she bowed once more and disappeared down the corridor without another word, her slippers softly pattering across the stone as she hurried to fulfill his request.
He crossed the threshold of Hua Jing's chamber alone now, the doors closing behind him with a sigh. The silence that filled the room was weighty but calm, like the last exhale before sleep claims a soul. The low light from the lanterns on the wall flickered, casting golden halos across the polished wood floor, the walls, the silks that adorned her canopy bed.
He walked toward it with reverence, the same way he had once walked into battle—every movement laced with meaning, with purpose.
