Chapter 72
The morning sun lit the dining hall beautifully, casting a warm glow over the polished wood and porcelain dishes. But the mood at the royal table was anything but peaceful.
Ling sat at the head, expression blank, eyes sharp.
To his right, Ping laughed—a sound he hadn't heard from her in what felt like forever.
Beside her, Feng grinned easily, his presence as natural as if he'd never left. The two of them shared old jokes, playful glances, and a comfort that burned at Ling's insides.
"Do you still like berries?" Ping asked, tilting her head toward Feng, her smile bright.
Feng chuckled. "I've always loved berries. You remember that?"
"Of course I do," she said, eyes gleaming.
Ling clenched his fists under the table. His knuckles whitened. The fork in his hand trembled ever so slightly, the tension in his body rising like steam under a lid.
He had watched her grow distant for months. She barely spoke to him. Barely looked at him. And now—now she was laughing, reminiscing, glowing—for someone else. Right in front of him.
Enough.
Ling set down his fork, the sound sharp in the air.
"Ping," he said smoothly, "Can I speak with you for a moment?"
Ping looked at him, eyes cold, voice flat. "When I'm done eating."
That was a lie, and they both knew it.
Ling's jaw twitched. He stood slowly, walked over to her, and without another word, took her wrist in his hand—not harsh, but firm. Commanding.
"Please," he said, his voice still soft, aware of Feng watching.
Ping stiffened, heat rushing to her face. The last thing she wanted was drama in front of Feng. She swallowed her pride and rose to her feet.
"Excuse me," she said to Feng with a half-hearted smile.
Feng nodded politely, watching as the king led his queen out of the room.
Once the doors closed behind them, Ping yanked her hand away, glaring.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped.
"I should be asking you the same," Ling replied, voice low but steady. "You ignore me for months, and now you're laughing with him like nothing's ever happened?"
Ping folded her arms, expression unreadable. "Is that jealousy I hear, Your Majesty?"
Ling took a step closer, frustration boiling beneath his skin. "I'm still your husband, Ping."
Her lips twitched, part hurt, part disbelief. "You remember that now?"
They stared at each other in silence—years of love, months of hurt, all caught in the air between them.
Neither one ready to surrender.
But neither willing to let go.