Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As soon as he laid eyes upon his father, Minghao was consumed by the near-inescapable urge to walk very quickly in the other direction.

(Well, he’d like to run, but that was undignified.)

It was a small mercy that he and Junhui had agreed beforehand for Junhui to handle them first. Junhui wanted to get a feel for them, see if they’d let their guard down when Minghao—who was, in appearance and by everyone else’s assumption in personality, the second coming of the Dragon Emperor—wasn’t around. But it was still unsettling to be faced with this. When Minghao had walked out on Lin Shanyuan nearly half a year ago now with the vicious parting shot that he had regretted almost instantly, he hadn’t expected to ever see the man again.

Well, back then Minghao had also thought he’d be sent straight back to his mountain outpost as soon as Han swallowed Tang up, so perhaps his expectations of the future weren’t exactly prophetic. But now it was an entirely different story. As much as he’d adored the craggy landscapes of Qianshan, he could hardly imagine returning to the desolate little camp where young soldiers came and went so quickly that the only familiar face was Zhou Zhifu. He’d gotten too used to Tang, to the sweet coastal air and the gentle weather and the bustling markets, to the busy palace and the Court of Eternal Birdsong that buzzed with life, nothing like the audiences his father held.

Although he could certainly do without that Fifth Mother of Junhui’s. Lady Song and her terrifyingly intense gaze made Minghao want to run for the hills every time her name was even mentioned. On the bright side, the spymaster Lady Lei had always been kind to him, and on the occasions they met she would fuss about him like a worried aunt. The herbalist Lady Hu and the diplomat Lady Yuan hadn’t exactly warmed to him, but they no longer looked at him like they wanted him dead on the spot. Even Yan An had cooled from abject hatred to a lukewarm distaste, as if Minghao was a fruit fly that he simply couldn’t be bothered to shoo away.

He’d found a home in the unlikeliest of places. Even if most of the denizens of the palace either disliked or actively despised him, there was the ability to choose for himself what he wished to do, and there were people that found him useful. That itself was more than he’d ever had before.

And there was Junhui. It was silly for someone of twenty-six, but Junhui was perhaps his only real friend in all the world, as things stood. It was so easy to be around him that it was like breathing. Minghao had never known himself to rib and tease before—he’d always thought he was more of the type for dry humour—but with Junhui, it flowed like water. There was so much inside him that Junhui brought to light, so much that he never even dreamed was there. Being with Junhui was like coming alive for the first time.

Not that Lin Shanyuan could understand that. Minghao was pretty sure that his soul was nothing more than a shrivelled raisin that swelled when fed the nectar of the Emperor’s attention. Truthfully, he was a little surprised that Wang Yongnian had even sent his favourite consort on the journey to Tang. Xianliang, his elder brother, had been campaigning westwards for close to fifteen years now, and he was used to traveling, but Lin Shanyuan had never left the capital city of Han unless it was to vacation at the summer palace in Chang’an with the Emperor. He was a sheltered creature, spoiled and cosseted in the Emperor’s lap.

All that said, the Dragon Emperor liked to keep dangerous pets. And if nothing else, Minghao knew that his birthing father had poison dripping off of every inch of his skin. To maintain such ironclad dominance over the Emperor’s harem and the Emperor’s heart, so much so that he could pick and choose who would serve the Emperor at any given time, you needed a special sort of venom. If Junhui was diamond-hard and razor-sharp, a bona fide sword of Goujian who always hit true, then Lin Shanyuan was a dagger in your chest at midnight.

Junhui pinched his side, pulling him from his thoughts. “Fix your face.”

Minghao swallowed his yelp of protest and schooled his features, assuming a neutral look that he’d frequently employed against Zhou Zhifu. His former Lieutenant often complained about it to the only other ranking officer at camp, a captain whose name Minghao didn’t care to remember. “He looks at me like I’m scum on his shoes! Who the fuck does he think he is?”

It wasn’t what Minghao had intended, but when he tried smiling, Zhou Zhifu nearly pissed his pants. Left with no choice, he had reverted to the scum-of-the-earth look. 

Now, though, he meant the vague contempt in entirety. And this time, no one could dare ask who the fuck Xu Minghao thought he was.

The Han delegation dismounted. Minghao cringed inwardly to see how they spoke to their servants, harsh and dismissive. The poor things cowered away, and as one of them turned to calm the horses after their long journey, he glimpsed a red welt on her neck. In Han, the servants were not seen and not heard; they clung to the walls of the palace and tried their very best not to exist, shaking in fear at the sight of royalty.

Junhui would never stand for it. The palace servants in Tang talked and laughed freely, and Minghao had even seen them gently tease their Empress. How had he ever been so used to such horrible things that he never even thought of them as out of place, not even a little?

He knew Tang was no utopia, and Junhui no saint. But Junhui was a man, a man with a kind heart and the wish to protect his people—every last one of them, down to the poorest peasants in the remotest villages. And Minghao’s royal father could only be called a monster that bayed for blood. Two empires, built on the same foundations of blood. Such different approaches through the centuries. Such different results.

His father and brother approached, bowing at the waist. Junhui was probably pleased by it, but Minghao only felt a strange sense of detachment. Had they truly been family once? Had these two individuals really been so much more powerful than him? They’d always felt like giants, shadows Minghao could never tear himself free from, but now they looked minuscule like toy figurines. Xianliang was a tall man, and when he was little Minghao had always had to crane his neck up to look at him. Now they stood eye to eye, the exact same height.

Well, he was definitely shorter than Junhui and Yan An—and that would be a blow to a man that had a proclivity for choosing omegas half his size, if not smaller. Minghao fought the urge to smile gleefully at the mental image of the Tang omegas towering over his brother tied to a chair and nodded at the two.

“It’s good to see you, little brother,” said Xianliang, ever the picture of diplomacy. Ah, that was the game he wanted to play? Minghao could play it just fine.

With a cool smile of his own, he replied, “Emperor now. We return the sentiment, of course.” He turned to Lin Shanyuan, expression unchanging. “And the same goes for Our dear father.”

His father turned pink. “Ah! My dear boy, it has been much too long and you never write to me anymore.” And whose fault was that? Minghao might have considered writing home if Han hadn’t started trying to murder him. “A father worries, you know!”

That was what made it all click into place.

Wang Yongnian hadn’t sent him. Lin Shanyuan must have fought tooth and nail to be here. How badly it must be reflecting on him right now, that his own issue had betrayed the Emperor. He had to see for himself and fix things. Lin Shanyuan never cared unless it threatened the Emperor’s affection for him… and that affection must be worn thin right now, what with Minghao’s little change of heart.

Under his arm, Junhui stiffened. Minghao tightened his grip around his husband’s waist to tether him to reality and said, as scripted, “Matters of the empire consume much of Our time these days. It is in large part thanks to Our Empress that We are able to carry on so well.”

He turned to Junhui, then leaned in, heartbeat ratcheting skyward. They’d planned for a cheek kiss, as would be natural between a mated pair of alpha and omega. Only, Minghao had never kissed—or been kissed, as a matter of fact—before. Not even on the cheek. It wasn’t like he could have said that to Junhui. He was twenty-six years old, and it was a little more than embarrassing. So he kept quiet and nodded along as Junhui plotted away to glory, ignoring the dread in his stomach.

That dread skyrocketed now. More than even the pressure of acting in front of his family, it was thoughts like, what if I accidentally lick him? What if I do it wrong and Junhui hates me after this? that consumed his mind.

Minghao steeled his nerves. It was just a kiss. He pressed his lips to Junhui’s powdered cheek lightly, breathing a sigh of relief when he pulled away. Junhui’s skin was soft and warm, and when Minghao looked closely there was a slight lip print in his makeup. A glowing feeling curled hotly in his belly, something close to… pride.

“I live to serve my lord husband,” Junhui said in that falsely cheerful voice that made Minghao sick with laughter, holding closely onto his arm. “It truly is such a pleasure to meet the people that raised him. Father—might I call you that, for we are ourselves family now?—and brother, this humble one is so grateful that you came all this way to see us. We hope that you will enjoy your stay.”

Face white, Lin Shanyuan replied, “If I may call you my son.”

“Of course!” Coquettishly Junhui giggled and fanned himself. He tugged on Minghao’s sleeve, looking at him with pleading eyes. It was such a sweet expression that if Minghao had been anyone else he probably would have pledged the entire world to Junhui in that moment. Truth be told, he was closer to it than he liked to admit. “My lord love, shall we bring our guests in for some refreshments and rest? No doubt they must be exhausted from their long journey.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Minghao brought a hand up to brush his cheek with his knuckle where he’d kissed it. “Put that fan away, won’t you? I hate to have your beautiful face obscured by anything.”

How did Junhui manage to make himself blush on command like that? It was beyond Minghao’s understanding. He put away the fan with a shy laugh. “As my lord wishes. You’re much too sweet to me.”

“The prettiest of flowers begets the sweetest of nectar, does it not?” Minghao gagged on the words inwardly, but pronounced them with a gentle smile. “Our Empress went to great lengths to prepare a spectacular welcoming banquet for the evening. We hope that you will feel rested enough to join us.”

Of course, they couldn’t refuse.

“Come, come!” Junhui clapped his hands together excitedly. “Please allow me to show you to your quarters. My lord, will I see you later?”

“Of course, my flower. Come and find me as soon as you are done.” Minghao tucked some of Junhui’s hair behind his ear and brushed his fingers against the beautiful earring he wore, gazing fondly at him. Taking the opportunity, he nodded regally at his family and swept away with his guards. Junhui waved after him.

When Minghao reached his villa and was blessedly alone once more, he flopped down onto his bed and let out a huge sigh. As he shifted, placing his head on the pillow, a crinkling sound made him shoot up straight.

He drew the Tuoba dagger at his thigh, glancing around a few times. Once he was sure he was alone, he went into the bathroom to fetch two cloths, then wrapped his hands in them and lifted the pillow.

The letter under it was the same as the very last one he’d received from Han—a white sheet with a red stain on it.

But the ink….

Minghao held it up to the light and squinted. Han red was a crimson shade, deep and ruby like real blood. Tang red was a bright and lively thing like flowers in the forest. This colour was neither of those; it didn’t come from wild madder or brambleberries. The shade was vaguely familiar, but only vaguely. He’d need to look at textiles to know better. More importantly, who was sending him threatening letters in the Han style without even being from Han?

Minghao didn’t want to stay in his room any longer. A spy was afoot, and they needed to be taken care of. He folded up the letter and wrapped it in the clothes that covered his hands, still not quite trustful that it wasn’t covered in poison, then put it away into the pouch at his belt. Heading downstairs with bow and arrow, he motioned for Qiao Gui’s deputy who stood at the door and said sotto voce, “There’s a spy on the loose. Not Han. Look for discrepancies and tell Lord Yan to meet me in the Empress’ villa at once.”

After instructing a servant to change his sheets, he borrowed another one of Qiao Gui’s men to stand guard, then set off to Junhui’s quarters. It was only halfway there that it struck him how odd it might appear, that he was meeting another omega in his own Empress’ building all while claiming to adore Junhui more than anything in the known universe. Minghao thought for a moment, trying to concoct a story, then gave up. He’d steer the ship as the waves came. No use worrying about it.

Yan An met him in the sitting room and bowed, a saccharine smile on his mouth. “How may this one serve my Emperor?”

“It’s about, um, that matter.” Minghao hoped that he would understand it had to do with Han. “We are sure you are aware. We have discussed it frequently.”

“About the…” The cogs in Yan An’s brain turned visibly. “About the surprise for the Empress tonight?”

As always, it was a brilliant save. Minghao breathed a sigh of relief internally and nodded. “We received the gift, and we agreed that you would safeguard it until such time as We should bestow it upon Our husband, correct?”

“It is as Your Majesty says, and I shall indeed. But if I am not incorrect, You had mentioned that You would provide me with more detailed instructions.” Ancestors. This man lied as well as Junhui did. No wonder they were best friends.

Minghao smiled and took the opportunity. “That is correct. We are pleased that you remembered.” He reached inside his pouch and handed the letter to Yan An, still wrapped in cloth. “Here is the gift. It comes from the far north and must be handled with care. It’s delicate so do not touch it with your bare hands.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.” Yan An smiled and nodded, putting the letter away into his own pouch. “This one shall take care of it well.”

“Good. We will take your leave now.” Minghao rose to his feet, as did Yan An, bowing respectfully. 

As Minghao moved past him, he whispered: “You realise that you’re going to have to prepare a gift for him now, don’t you?”

Minghao’s stomach dropped.

He went out into the city that day surrounded by Qiao Gui’s men with a hood pulled over his head and a pouch clinking with gold. At such close range his bow would do no good, so he kept one hand wrapped around the Tuoba dagger under his cloak and examined the selections of jewelry at the finest markets in town.

None of the offerings called out to him though. For every piece he looked at, Junhui already owned something similar, or it didn’t go with any of the outfits he owned, or it was ugly beyond belief. 

Truth be told, Minghao didn’t really need to put too much thought into this. Whatever he gave Junhui, the Empress would have to accept and wear regularly for appearances’ sake, no matter how little Minghao cared and how much Junhui disliked it.

But… the scroll on his nightstand, that beadwork stork. Junhui had noticed. He’d been paying attention to what Minghao liked and was interested in, and not because he sought to hoodwink or manipulate him. How could Minghao shy away from doing the same for him?

Besides, any extra effort was worth it to give Junhui a bit of happiness. He deserved as much with how hard he worked. 

Minghao spent the afternoon in jewelry shop after jewelry shop, sweating buckets under his heavy hood. He was sure that people had recognised him by this point, with this heavy a guard detail and such a suspicious outfit, but they were courteous enough to pretend they didn’t know who he was.

“This just won’t do,” he snapped as they left the last reputable store in the city. “Where can I find something really unique?”

“Um, Your Majesty?” a guard piped up timidly. “Might I suggest something?”

“An hour ago would have been a wonderful time to do that, but sure.” Minghao scrubbed his brow. “What do you have to offer?”

“I actually heard this just now from a passerby, but the quarterly shipment of jewels from Silla just came in.” The guard shifted from foot to foot. “They have some really exquisite stuff for sale, and… well, not to presume that Your Majesty didn’t know this about His Empress, but everyone knows how much His Majesty loves jewels from Silla. The merchants always set aside the best pieces for his perusal when he has a moment to spare, so nearly everything he wears is from the imports.”

Minghao stared at him with lips parted. “…And where can I find these merchants exactly?”

“The merchants who sell imports have smaller shops located in the harbour marketplace. We can make it back to the palace shortly before five o’clock if we go now, Your Majesty.”

What a stroke of luck. Junhui certainly liked dressing up—that Minghao could ascertain just from seeing how naturally he lit up when he was complimented on his clothes—but did he really have such a fondness for jewels from Silla? Or was it an act he put on to influence relations between Tang and the smaller nation? It sounded like something Junhui would do.

Something in Minghao hoped it wasn’t, though. It seemed so unnecessarily stressful for even his appearance to be calculated like that.

The very first shop he entered at the harbour was small and worse lit than the large stores they’d visited in the bigger central marketplace, and the smoke from the merchant’s pipe slapped him in the face like a hot and pungent brand. The man’s collection of wares was nothing special, mostly targeted at commoners—iron and steel inlaid with jade, interspersed with the occasional silver or gold. Nothing grand enough to gift to Junhui which actually befitted his status as Empress.

There was no one else in the shop except Minghao and his guards. Minghao leaned in close, caught the merchant’s eye and tipped his head back to let his hood collapse around his shoulders. “One hears that you’ve got a new shipment from Silla?”

The merchant’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Minghao shook his head and placed a finger to his lips. “A surprise for One’s husband, you understand. Just show One what you have.”

“R—right away, Y—” Minghao raised his finger to his lips again. The man gulped, nodded and hurried into the back to fetch his new collection.

Fifteen minutes later, Minghao walked out with his pouch considerably lighter and his gift for Junhui wrapped up tightly in layers of silk, heading back to his palace to freshen up and change his clothes for dinner. Tonight Junhui had selected for him heavy robes of gold silk that shone under the candlelight, elaborately embroidered phoenixes in the colour of fresh rose petals scattered liberally across the bulk of the cloth. It was like a Tang ancestor had thrown up on him.

Knowing Junhui, that was probably the intention. Minghao didn’t mind it too much—it was a Tang design, so it wasn’t ugly by any means. A little louder than what he might personally choose to wear, sure, but he’d gotten used to looking flashy. It came with the territory.

Dinner with a brother he hadn’t seen in sixteen years and a father that had no love lost for him. Minghao didn’t dread it, not with Junhui there, but he couldn’t say it was something he was looking forward to.

He steeled his nerves and went downstairs. Junhui was waiting in the sitting room, hands folded in his lap as he chatted with the servants, dressed to the nines as always. His robes had been cut from the same cloth as Minghao’s, matching him exactly. Half his hair was done up in an ornate braid crown, secured today with brass pins instead of a heavy ornament. Where Minghao wore only a few jewels, a pair of pearl earrings that clamped over his unpierced lobes and a necklace that matched the set, Junhui was dripping in gold. Strings of pearls encircled his slender neck, and his earrings looked so heavy that Minghao wondered how his ears could handle the weight. His wrists were braceleted with rows of bangles that shimmered and moved as one. If you were to just glance at him very quickly, it looked as if Junhui was wearing gauntlets. With how he wielded his beauty, they might well be.

“My lord is staring again,” Junhui said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “It’s not that I think I look ugly, but surely I am not all that captivating?”

Minghao collected himself and cleared his throat, taking Junhui by the arm. “No hair ornament today? I’ve never seen you without one.”

“I couldn’t find one I liked, so I had to forgo it tonight.” Junhui smiled and lowered his eyes. “I was with our guests until late afternoon. I was hoping to take tea with my lord, but since you had gone out and it was already four o’clock, I decided to wait for dinner instead… but I fell asleep waiting and had to rush to be ready. It’s a shame, I love this outfit. But there’s nothing I own that matches it.”

That meant he hadn’t eaten anything at all today. They’d spent the morning writing letters and had worked straight through lunch without realising it. Halfway through their session Minghao had gotten hungry and sent for some tea and buns, but Junhui would not touch them, saying he was too anxious to even take a bite. Minghao had been more worried than he liked to admit—Junhui, refusing food? That made as much sense as fish falling out of the sky and stars gleaming under the sea.

Thankfully he didn’t look too wan or exhausted. Minghao reached out and lifted his chin a bit hesitantly, hoping Junhui didn’t think he was laying it on too thick.

“You should’ve had something. At least some tea,” he chided gently. Junhui scowled at him, his Empress-scowl that was petulant and childlike, not the dark look of scathing fury that he only got on his face when he talked about Han. “What’s with that look, have I done something wrong? Tell me, how should I make it up to you?” Ancestors bless all the horrible romance novels he’d read. Even Junhui wasn’t familiar with more than half of them, which made his life that much easier.

“My lord left me and went off into the city on your lonesome,” Junhui huffed, looking away from him. “How could any omega want to eat after that, not knowing where his husband has gone, wondering perhaps if another has charmed his beloved?”

“Is that what’s got my love so upset?” Minghao forced himself not to burst out laughing. “With you by my side, I couldn’t even look at another for long enough to be charmed by them. Don’t worry so much. You’ll see soon why I was out all afternoon.”

“Really?” Junhui turned to him, pouting. “You promise?”

“I promise.” Minghao swallowed his giggles. “Shall we go to dinner? I know you hate to keep people waiting, and knowing my family, they’ve been there thirty minutes already.” In all its infamy there was one thing the people of Han were truly famous for; their terrifying punctuality. Minghao had never heard of the Dragon Emperor beginning court even ten seconds late.

“Fine, fine.” Junhui softened and hugged his arm close. “Whatever my lord has got planned, it had better be worth it.”

“Yes, yes, I swear on all the ancestors and all their ancestors before them.” Minghao rolled his eyes fondly. “Let’s go. Come on.”

They proceeded to the dining hall. True to expectation the Lins were already there, dressed in Han-crimson decorative armour accented with black. Xianliang’s straight sword hung at his side still, and Minghao felt Junhui tense by his side. Carrying weapons at the dinner table was perfectly natural in Han, but here in Tang, it was one of the worst diplomatic faux pas you could commit. Even Minghao had been aware of this before he arrived in Tang—how could his brother and father not have known?

This was premeditated, a flagrant disregard for the rules. Minghao finally understood what they had come here for.

No one thought that he was serious about this.

He smiled knife-sweet at Xianliang and said, “Weapons at dinner? If We didn’t know better, We might have thought you were trying to create trouble. Strange, you’ve never been the sort not to know the rules.”

“Is some self-defence a crime now, Your Majesty?” Xianliang shot back, also smiling. “What surprises me is that you walk around with that beautiful creature by your side and nary a weapon on your person. Shouldn’t you be more careful about your precious treasures?”

Minghao stared at his brother, unable to quite believe his ears. What did you even say to something like that?

After a protracted silence that seemed to span years, a voice spoke up, calm and collected, icy as the day he’d first heard it.

“I have a name and title, Your Highness,” said Junhui politely, his beautiful eyes frosted over like a pond in winter. “The former, of course, is sacred to me, but the latter is very much free for your use. I recommend you address my husband and I appropriately or not at all. And thank you for your concern, but you may rest assured that my lord love takes quite excellent care of me.”

“I—I see.” And there it was. That incredible cocktail of bewilderment, tension and fear that only Junhui could produce with just a few sentences out of his pretty mouth. Having been on the receiving end of that sharp tongue, Minghao would have felt sympathy had Xianliang not deserved every bit of it. “…My apologies, Your Majesty. I hope I haven’t crossed a line.”

“Not at all.” Junhui smiled coolly. “I’d certainly appreciate it if you could remove your sword and any other weapons you’ve got—I’m sure there are plenty. The guards will keep them until your stay is over.”

“Until our stay is over?!” Lin Shanyuan went red in the face. “Empress Junhui—”

“ Your Majesty is fine, thank you,” Junhui cut him off smoothly. Minghao could almost see steam billowing out of his father’s ears.

“…Your Majesty. Surely you are not asking to take our weapons into custody? Does Tang treat all its visitors like prisoners?”

“Only those who behave like they’re walking into an armed fortress.” Junhui’s smile softened. “I understand that things have been tense lately, Lord Lin. But I do believe there’s some merit in trusting your hosts. If you won’t place some faith in your own son and son-in-law, then who can you believe in? Should the Second Prince wish to train his swordsmanship while he’s here, we have extensive training grounds and a state-of-the-art armoury. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that guests of Wen shall want for nothing. I don’t mean to boast, but I can attest to the truth in that statement.”

“I understand,” Lin Shanyuan said after a long pause. Jaw clenching slightly, Xianliang removed his sword and unstrapped a dagger from his thigh. Minghao raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, well aware there were at least four more weapons on his brother at the moment.

Don’t try to fool me.

Reluctantly, Xianliang pulled out two more daggers, a couple of throwing stars and a vial of poison from various parts of his clothing. Minghao eyed him up and down, then nodded, satisfied. “Let’s sit down. Before We eat, One has a special announcement to make.”

He gestured at the guard in the far corner of the room, the same man that had suggested the harbour merchant’s shop. The beta walked over quickly, handing him the gift wrapped in silk.

Minghao turned to Junhui and held it out. “We had been meaning to prepare a surprise for you. That was why We had gone out into the market alone. Taking you would have spoiled it, don’t you think?”

Junhui’s mouth fell open. “A gift? For me? My lord, but I haven’t done anything to deserve it….”

“You’re in One’s life, aren’t you? One should think that is enough to deserve it.” Minghao smiled and brushed his cheekbone with a thumb, careful not to dislodge Junhui’s makeup. “Open it. One wants to see if you like it.”

Junhui turned his eyes back to the gift in his hands and slowly unwrapped it from the lovely silk. He gasped when he saw what lay inside, lifting it up and holding it to the light.

It was a delicate, intricately worked hairpin cast in gold and set with minuscule pearls. Each pearl was perfectly round and shimmered with a rainbow sheen, its polished whiteness almost blinding to the eye. In cohesion they formed the shape of a spray of white cherry blossoms.

“Do I like it!” He turned to Minghao, incredulity warring with happiness on his face. “Is this what you were roaming the entire city for?”

Minghao smiled at him and held out his hand. “May I?”

“Of course you may.” There was a pleased flush on Junhui’s cheeks and his eyes were sparkling. He turned his head away bashfully so Minghao could fix the ornament in place.

Carefully securing the hairpin in Junhui’s silky black locks, Minghao didn’t dare to touch the other clips that held the thick crown of braids in place. Junhui had been surprised, that was of no doubt, and in a way that would fool anyone else. But not Minghao, not anymore. He’d grown to tell the difference between when Junhui wasn’t expecting something at all (which was quite rare and much more obvious) and when something he anticipated didn’t play out as he imagined (still not so common but definitely more frequent). Without a doubt, this was the latter.

That was a given, though. Minghao had been well aware that Yan An or someone would have informed Junhui about what he was up to in the city, and his suspicions were confirmed when Junhui showed up with just pins in his hair. If he had to guess the intentions behind this level of scheming, it probably looked sweeter and more romantic if Minghao produced the one thing that Tang’s perfect Empress was missing.

But even though he’d known what was coming—there was still a childlike surprise and glee about his expression, something pure and innocent and so truly Junhui that could not be faked.

Minghao would have to thank Yan An later.

“Let’s eat. One would rather One’s Empress not starve any longer than he has to.” He stroked Junhui’s hair gently, admiring how soft and smooth it was to the touch. That nightly routine of having it oiled, combed and braided really did wonders for him.

“I had the best cooks in the palace prepare some of Tang’s most exquisite delicacies!” Junhui chirped, turning to address their guests. “From what I’ve learned of my lord husband’s preferences, Han tastes are quite similar to ours down here—so I made sure that everything tasted as perfectly authentic as possible. I hope that you enjoy the food.”

There was a hint of deviousness to his smile that only Minghao noticed, and it made his heart drop.

Please. No.

Predictably, things did not go the way he hoped. As soon as the first dish arrived, it took everything in him not to pick up and bolt. Minghao steeled his nerves and looked across the table at his father and brother.

The abject horror on both their faces almost made up for the spice that Minghao could already feel liquifying his intestines.

A tug on his sleeve called his attention to his left, where Junhui sat. Minghao turned to his husband only to feel something passed into his hand under the table. It was a small, powdery pill, fragile to the touch.

Junhui said, maintaining eye contact and smiling sweetly, “Will my lord start with the dumplings? I prepared them by hand just for him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he reached across the table and served Minghao two steaming dumplings. Then he reached for the dipping sauces, his wide sleeves hanging in front of Minghao’s plate like curtains. It was a wonder they didn’t turn into a mess.

Taking the chance, Minghao quickly slipped the pill onto his plate and hid it behind a dumpling. He made a show of poking at each as if he was testing for poison with his silver-coated chopsticks, never mind that his sense of smell alone could easily tell him whether the food had been tampered with or not, then—pill appropriately crushed and mixed with his food—took a bite of the dumpling.

At once, his tongue went half numb. It felt like a piece of leather in his mouth, unpleasant and uncomfortable. Minghao was about to kick Junhui under the table when it hit him.

So he’s not throwing me entirely to the wolves.

The urge to kick Junhui ebbed away, replaced by a swell of gratitude. Minghao chewed on his dumplings and watched in satisfaction as his brother and father gagged on every single dish while trying their best to look polite.

“Is everything to Our guests’ liking?” he inquired after a spoonful of spicy stew, holding back a smirk. Xianliang’s face was red, his ears closing in on crimson, while Lin Shanyuan was sweating through his heavy makeup. 

“You look a little ill, Father,” Junhui added when neither responded, his expression soft and contrite. “Is there anything I can have fetched for you?”

“N—no, I’m perfectly alright.” Lin Shanyuan avoided Junhui’s eyes and swallowed down a whole tumbler of water. A servant was quick to pour him another, which he drained in a matter of seconds. “The food is… delicious. Although I’m afraid Minghao—His Majesty—has, ah, very different tastes than we do. H—his brother and I are not quite so used to the spice that you here in Tang prefer. We adhere to a much, er, milder diet.”

“Noted.” Junhui smiled, perfectly apologetic and sweet. “Tomorrow’s meals shall be a lot easier to digest, I promise. But eating in Tang for the first time is always an experience, wouldn’t you agree?” Here he turned to Minghao, clutching his sleeve as if asking for approval.

Minghao cleared his throat. “Yes.”

It wasn’t his most eloquent moment, but that didn’t matter much. As soon as he agreed with Junhui, his husband launched into a spiel about how, at the start of their marriage, he’d cooked for Minghao in secret as a gesture of friendship. By Junhui’s account, Minghao asked to compliment the chef personally and was astounded when he found out that his Empress had prepared the food. It took all of Minghao’s effort and then some not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous the whole story was. 

Junhui was a wonderful cook and sometimes made late-night meals for the two of them when they ended up burning the midnight oil, so Minghao had tasted more than a few of his culinary exploits and could attest to his brilliance. But it was nothing so romantic as he was describing it now. For one, Minghao didn’t think he’d ever be so oblivious as to not notice if Junhui were holed up in the kitchen for five straight hours. He would probably have smelled the spices off Junhui’s clothes. How was any of this even believable? It was madness how alphas managed to get away with creating the picture of a loving relationship when they were barely aware of their omegas’ existence outside the bedroom.

Midway through the main course, pigeon meat braised in chilli sauce that Minghao’s half numb tongue appreciated a lot more than normal, Lin Shanyuan finally gave in. Minghao was honestly surprised he’d held out this long—the omegas of the Dragon Emperor’s harem dined exclusively on sweet foods, something about it being improper to have a savoury taste. Even among them, though, Minghao’s father had an infamous sweet tooth.

“Your Majesties,” he croaked, “my sincerest apologies, but I don’t feel too well. Would you mind if I excused myself early?”

Junhui looked distraught. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, Father. Please, rest as much as you need—a servant will escort you to your quarters. If you should need any medical attention, just let someone know and they’ll have a medic right over.”

Lin Shanyuan nodded and stood to his feet, swaying a little. Xianliang seized the chance and sprang up, steadying his father. “I think it would be better if I went with Father as well. I don’t mean to be impolite—”

“Not at all,” Junhui said easily, meeting his gaze with a kind smile that did not reach his eyes. “I hope that Father feels better soon. I know it’s a long journey from Han.”

Xianliang nodded, but he looked unsettled. It wasn’t every day that an omega had the courage to so brazenly meet another alpha’s eyes—even if he was Empress of the wealthiest empire on the continent. Minghao had seen how Junhui had deferred to him at the beginning of their marriage, as submissive and soft as any omega would be expected to be, but he had also seen how Junhui challenged his very entry into the palace and the strange sway he had over the servants. Even though few were aware of his true nature, Junhui’s sweet smile had teeth that tore into flesh like it was paper and everyone knew it.

Once the pair from Han had departed, Minghao and Junhui continued their meal. Junhui offered him a different selection of dishes that tasted completely bland to his numbed tongue, and Minghao was grateful for it. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer as greatly as his father and brother.

As they ate, Junhui said haltingly, “I never thanked my lord properly.”

“Hmm?” Minghao glanced at him, noodles halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“For this.” Junhui touched the ornament in his hair, a shy smile on his face. “The first gift from my lord and it’s this beautiful? You’ve set such a high standard already.”

“Oh.” Minghao felt himself turn pink. “You really like it that much? I was afraid it might not be to your taste.”

“It’s perfect,” Junhui insisted. Under the table, he squeezed Minghao’s thigh. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to show it off.”

“Show it off? It’s a hair ornament, beloved.” Relief unravelling in his chest at Junhui’s approval, Minghao laughed and poked his husband’s side teasingly. “Are you going to walk around tossing your head every now and then?”

“My lord is so cruel. Always teasing me like my heart does not bend to all his whims. As if I am not a dandelion caught in the headwind of his every breath!” Junhui pouted at him, which only made Minghao laugh harder. What bullshit. Soon they fell into a comfortable silence, surrounded by the clinking of utensils and the sounds of a meal well enjoyed.

When they’d both eaten their fill, Minghao took Junhui’s arm and began to escort him back to the Emperor’s quarters. They had agreed earlier that it would be better to stay together for the fortnight while the Lins were here, for appearances and for the convenience of planning. The Emperor’s villa wasn’t as safe as the Empress’, but things could still be discussed in whispers or if they were written out in the confines of Minghao’s bedroom and burned up immediately after.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Before Minghao could go into the bathroom, Junhui slipped another pill out of his sleeve and handed it to him. “This is for your digestion.”

Minghao eyed him quizzically, tongue still a little numb. “I feel fine though. Nothing like how it usually feels when I eat too much spice.”

“You won’t in the morning,” Junhui said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I made sure everything was cranked up to eleven tonight. Trust me on this one.”

At the look in his eye, Minghao gulped and swallowed the pill.

Junhui finished in the bathroom faster than Minghao would have expected. His hair was down around his shoulders in a loose spill of black silk that made him look five years younger, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, handing Minghao the comb, ribbon and bottle of oil that he’d had placed in the Emperor’s quarters a few weeks ago to affect the image of two lovers who cohabitated each other’s living space frequently. Wordlessly Minghao shuffled over and took some oil in his hands, rubbing it between his palms to warm it up.

As he smoothed the oil through Junhui’s hair and picked up the comb, running it slowly through the inky strands, Junhui began to sing softly under his breath. There was something beguiling about his voice, a dreamlike quality that swallowed Minghao’s attention wholly. Before he knew it, his hands had stilled in his task as he listened, enraptured.

“Upon the water, cranes dance,

Over the mountains, the sun rises.

Under the eaves of palace halls, the day begins,

And in my heart, you flower again,

Blushing buds of my love bloom anew.

Every day that I adore you brings a cloudless sky

And clear birdsong that sings of my joy.

Every night brings an ever-more waxing moon,

Fuller each time like your radiant smile.

Blushing buds of my love bloom anew.

Come over the hill to me soon, my love.

Don’t dally a minute longer.

I could wait for you eight hundred years.

But please, only make me wait one.

Blushing buds of my love bloom anew,

Over and over, only for you.”

At some point his voice had swelled, and it flowed into the last few notes like a river reaching the sea. Minghao sat in the silence as Junhui’s fading song echoed around the room before settling. It felt like it had been etched into his bones.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. Junhui’s hair was still in his hands, so he began to comb it quickly, just to have something to do. “Is that a folk song? I’ve never heard it before.”

“…Yes.” Junhui sounded shy, almost embarrassed. “Um, my Fifth Mother taught it to me when I was little. Before the Emperor took notice of her, she was a palace servant from a coastal village. It’s one of the most popular tunes in the far south.”

“I can see why.” The notes weren’t complex or hard to hit, but when sung with feeling, were clear and pretty as wind chimes. The song structure was markedly different from the classical compositions that Minghao was familiar with. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard much Han folk music either. “How come you don’t sing more often?”

“I don’t have the time.” Junhui sagged a little under his touch. “It’s not particularly dignified for royalty to go around singing when we’re just walking from place to place, you know. It is acceptable if I’m alone with friends or loved ones, but even when those moments come by, it’s not easy. There’s always work to be done.”

Minghao brushed Junhui’s bangs a little more, then tied off the braid. In truth, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Could he say something like, You don’t have to work so hard ? But that wasn’t true.

“That got a little depressing, didn’t it?” Junhui laughed, soft and self-deprecating. “I’m sorry. Don’t think too much of it.”

“Mm.” Minghao didn’t know what else to say, so he squeezed Junhui’s hand. “You don’t have to be sorry about it.”

“That’s sweet.” Junhui smiled and put out the candle on his side of the bed. “It wasn’t all bad though. I was trained for about a decade in singing, so I had the chance to practice during the lesson. I mean, you must know how it is with royal omegas, we have to have some knowledge of the fine arts. Music and dancing, par for the course, to please alpha’s eye and sweeten his ear. Embroidery and cooking, to show that I have mastery over the arts, and that I can take care of the home and the children.”

Minghao made a face and put out the candle on his side as well. “Sounds awfully exciting.”

“Oh, I was one of the lucky ones. I like to do all those things for fun, so it wasn’t complete torture.” Junhui pulled the covers up over them, tucking himself in and turning on his side to face Minghao. The moonlight filtered through the slats and illuminated his face in stripes, lighting his eyes and mouth. “Now Yan An took up calligraphy and painting, the tradition for Yan clan omegas. Now the poor thing absolutely hates to draw—but he’s so good at it that it’s a real shame. Has to be some kind of curse. He can make lifelike reproductions of anything he sees, it’s brilliant.”

“I imagine that’s quite helpful in his line of work,” Minghao said drily.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. Still, ask him to make a portrait of something that isn’t a suspect and you’ll probably find a knife in your back the next morning.” Junhui smiled, then yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth with his hand. Minghao stifled his laughter.

“It’s been a long day, hmm?”

“When is it not?” Junhui smiled at him, sleep gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Before I forget—I really do like the gift very much. You didn’t have to go searching for something nice, you know. The first gaudy and expensive thing you saw would have done just fine.”

“I know. I wanted to.” Minghao smiled back. There was some unexplainable urge to reach out and cup Junhui’s cheek in his hand, which he immediately chalked up to exhaustion and repressed into the deepest recesses of his heart. “I figured you were going to have to wear it often. So I thought it should be something you’d like.”

Junhui laughed. “Goodness, such a romantic. If I wasn’t in bed already I’d be swooning.”

“Now you’re just saying things,” Minghao shot back, feeling his cheeks heat. When they joked around in private, even about the farce that was their loving marriage, it always came with a sense of exaggeration. But this almost sounded genuine, and it made Minghao’s heart squeeze and wriggle every which way. “I was being nice and you’re making fun of me.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes with us?” Junhui grinned at him, toothy and pretty. “It’s a blessing you’re stuck here with me. Whatever poor omega you would have romanced would have died of heart failure with how cheesy you apparently are.”

“It’s so late and you still have the energy to keep spewing nonsense?” Minghao rolled over onto his back and glanced at Junhui out of the corner of his eye. “Go to sleep already.”

“As His Majesty commands,” Junhui replied, giggling a little. “Goodnight, Minghao.”

“…Goodnight, Junhui.”

He slept and dreamed of a hand in his, large, beringed and warm to the touch.

After his morning practice and the customary walk in the gardens with Junhui, it was time to meet with the Lins to—he didn’t recall the phrase perfectly, but according to Junhui— “renegotiate and reestablish diplomatic relations” . If there was a funnier joke that had been told by the Dragon Emperor since then, it hadn’t yet reached Minghao’s ears.

Junhui said that their impression of him was a headstrong, hot-blooded young thing that seized power as soon as he saw the chance. The rest of the world thought of Minghao as having played the long game, but in the eyes of Han he was a brat that had grown too big for his army boots. At least, that was what they were hoping for.

Minghao was well aware that he hadn’t grown to be some incredible politician like the greater continent thought he was, but he had also never been the fool that Han had seen him as. He’d gone along with their machinations for twenty-five years because he’d thought it was the smart thing to do. Then the blinkers were taken away and the shackles were melted and now he was free , and he’d chosen to rebel.

Of course, he was under no delusion that it was some great and noble thing to do. Minghao wasn’t choosing between an objective good or bad, a perfect right or wrong; if a group of philosophers got together and began to discuss it they would probably call for the demise of both Han and Tang. Both were empires that held vast swathes of the continent under their grasp—you didn’t earn or keep that much territory without being willing to shed some blood for it. 

Ultimately Minghao’s decision had been one of selfishness, but there was not a day that he could regret it. He’d chosen something kinder, for himself and for others. Junhui would stop at nothing to protect Tang, it was true, but that was the key difference—his Esteemed Father had never sought to protect anything. While Junhui did not shy from spilling blood in the event that he had to, he did not actively chase bloodshed either. Wang Yongnian was the type of person that yearned for his sword to find flesh. It was something that had always disturbed Minghao just a little.

He remembered when he was thirteen lining up with the other princes and noble alpha children of his age to shoot pigeons out of the sky with slingshots as a part of their early training for battle. Minghao, who had begun to practice archery years before, had always excelled at activities that involved taking aim—and that time was no different. Where the others were struggling to hit three or four, he’d managed to snag seven birds and hung back once he’d collected more than enough to establish a good lead. There was no need to kill more than he had to.

That was what he’d thought, at least. Afterwards, the nobleman leading the training had pulled him aside and privately chided him for stepping back. “It goes against your Esteemed Father’s ethos, Your Highness! A true son of dragons hungers for the kill.”

Back then, Minghao hadn’t been so sure he was the son of dragons. Now he knew a little better. No great dragon of legend, least of all the Yinglong they venerated (in name, anyway), had ever been so bloodthirsty as his father and siblings were. A nest of pit vipers, the lot of them.

Minghao had always run too warm to be a snake.

The receiving room for guests in the Court of Eternal Birdsong was a grand and beautiful thing. Junhui was already there waiting for him, draped languidly across the richly embroidered divan that sat on a raised wooden dais right across from the cushions meant for their guests. He perked up when he saw Minghao enter, lifting his eyes from his needlework. “Good morning, my lord!”

“Good morning.” Minghao came over and sat down by his side once Junhui wriggled over to make some space for him. “Did our guests send any word as to when we can expect them?”

“Nothing yet. Although—” Junhui peered outside the open curtains at the clepsydra that stood proud outside. “It’s still a few minutes to ten o’clock. I’m sure they’ll be on time.”

After last night’s dinner? Minghao caught the mischievous glint in Junhui’s eye and held his tongue.

“How long have you been here?” he asked instead, scooting closer to peer at the embroidery in Junhui’s lap. It was the same dragon and phoenix he’d been working on a few weeks ago. The dragon’s head was fully realised now and its body had begun to take shape. “I see you brought entertainment. That’s coming along very nicely.”

“I arrived at nine, alpha. I didn’t have much else to do, so I thought I’d come early and make sure everything’s set up right. I ordered a light meal for everyone, just some mild dumplings.” Junhui gave him a sideways smile, a little apologetic. “I was eager to serve the best of Tang’s delicacies last night, but… the lords Lin had to take our leave midway through. It made me worry I might have gone overboard.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I should have warned you in advance.” Minghao took a lock of Junhui’s hair in his hand and twirled it around his finger, something he’d seen many an alpha do with their omegas. It was soft and had the slip of fine silk in his touch, an observation that he was freshly reminded of every single time he touched Junhui’s hair.

Junhui smiled shyly and ducked his head, revealing his hair ornament. Minghao’s lips parted when he noticed that it was the same ornament he’d bought him yesterday. Today the both of them were wearing blue and gold, newly sewn by Junhui’s favourite tailor; the Empress had commissioned a few fresh outfits for them, complaining that his old clothes weren’t nice enough to greet the Han delegation. Minghao knew the truth though—it was his own wardrobe that was lacking, consisting of exactly four sets of grandly tailored clothes (one of which was his wedding robe), that horrible red armour from his initial days as Emperor, and his training gear.

Still, it wasn’t like Junhui couldn’t have found a sapphire within his extensive collection of jewellery to perfectly match the deep ocean shade of his silks. To wear the pearls again… was it just for show, or did he really like them that much?

“You’re staring,” Junhui pointed out. There was a flush dusting his pretty cheeks, one that Minghao wasn’t entirely sure was fake.

“Am I?” he replied a little weakly, feeling his cheeks warm. “It’s just, your hair.”

“What about—” Junhui touched his hair lightly, realisation dawning in his eyes as his fingers brushed the ornament. He giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “My lord just gave me this, does he not want me to wear it?”

“No, of course it’s not like that! I’m just surprised.” Minghao cleared his throat and avoided Junhui’s gaze. “That you like it so much.”

“If I’ve learned anything about my lord, it’s that he’s got a surprisingly refined taste and vast knowledge of the fine arts for an alpha, one that runs even deeper than my own.” Junhui chuckled. “Is he telling me that he was afraid I would dislike his gift?”

“What are you talking about?” Gathering his wits about him, Minghao rolled his eyes playfully. “You are my Empress. There must be some rule somewhere which mandates that you have to like everything I buy for you.”

“I doubt it.” Junhui laughed a little more, then softened. “There isn’t such a rule, but it is special when my lord gifts me something. He thought so carefully about what I’d like. It means very much to me.”

“…Ah.” That threw Minghao off guard again, and he found himself fumbling for words. Junhui really chose the worst times to be nice to him. “You’re my beloved. W—who else should I put in so much effort for?”

“I suppose that’s true. I should be quite offended if you were roaming Nanzhu like that for someone else.” Junhui grinned and took his arm, clinging to it like a limpet. He leaned on Minghao’s shoulder and looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “My lord, a little bird told me something just horrible earlier.”

“Did it now?” A mild sense of trepidation curled in Minghao’s gut. The things Junhui said were horrible with a smile on his lips were almost always related to the empire and more often than not absolutely terrible for Minghao’s health. “And what was that?”

“Apparently your father and brother had to send for a medic earlier this morning.” Junhui pouted, affecting worry. “Isn’t that just awful! I wonder what they must’ve come down with. That long travel from Han down here is just the worst. I didn’t even expect anything like that. You were so sturdy, jumping right into your morning practice and your routine the day after you arrived.”

It was such an unsubtle dig that Minghao had to swallow his laughter. Junhui usually cut into people like he was dissecting them with a butterfly knife, peeling them apart tissue by tissue. To hear him so brazenly insult his father and brother was beyond hilarious. It reminded him of the very first time they’d written letters together and Junhui, nose screwed up in absolute disgust, had called his Third Mother an underfed rat, him underdressed and his siblings walking jewel mines.

Junhui really didn’t hold back when he was given the chance. It was one of the things Minghao liked best about him.

By the time Lin Shanyuan and his eldest son finally made it to the meeting room, it was half past ten. Junhui had told him to look as unimpressed as he could manage—“that shouldn’t be too hard for you. You’ve really got the face for it.”—which, as predicted, was not particularly difficult. Minghao kept his expression neutral and his eyes locked on his family as they shuffled into the room, heads lowered. There was no chance that the weapons on Xianliang’s person last night were the only ones he’d brought, but he had apparently had the good sense not to wear his backups, judging by the lack of a sword at his side.

Still, you could never be too sure. Minghao felt discreetly at the dagger hidden in the folds of his heavy robes, the bow and quiver couched right behind him should need arise, and felt a little more secure.

“Father, brother,” he greeted flatly as the two knelt on the cushions provided, bowing waist-deep to him and Junhui. “Good morning. One trusts you had a restful night after your early departure.”

“We missed your company at dinner,” Junhui added, smiling brightly. “It’s good to see you again. I hope you’re feeling better, Father.”

“My father feels as well as one can be,” Lin Xianliang replied, his voice a little hoarse. “Thank you very much for your concern, Your Majesties.”

“Of course,” Junhui chirped, his gaze unflinching. Lin Shanyuan did not speak and kept his eyes lowered to the floor, as was proper for an omega in the presence of an alpha that was not their own. Junhui was the Empress, so he could get away with keeping his head up and was allowed to speak, but it was still considered unusual the way he locked eyes with Xianliang as if challenging him. Even so, accusing an Empress of disrespect was a serious crime—something about them being the Emperor’s chosen partner, making that allegation by extension an accusation towards the Son of Heaven. And as he was wont to do, Junhui abused that privilege to a near-unbelievable degree. It was very enjoyable to watch when you knew just how much of a devilish little imp he really was. “I felt terrible about last night, so I took the liberty of ordering a milder meal for everyone. I promise this one’s barely spicy! I hope no one minds.”

Xianliang flinched visibly, surprising Minghao, but nodded. “Of course. Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Your Majesty.”

His brother was an excellent actor, not quite close to Junhui but capable in his own right nonetheless. But if he hadn’t been able to hide that visceral reaction, then had the spice in last night’s food done such a number on him? By now Minghao had gotten used to some degree of heat in his meals—you couldn’t get by in Tang if you ate exclusively like an ascetic meditating in the mountains. Still, he didn’t think he’d ever become accustomed to Junhui’s meals with those red-hot chillies that made him sweat even though they weren’t going anywhere near his mouth.

And if dinner had been served with copious amounts of the stuff, to people acclimatised for multiple decades to the mild and gentle flavours of Han… well. What Junhui had done had to count as some form of an assassination attempt.

“That’s very thoughtful, Junhui.” He smiled at the Empress, who was tucked into his side, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. It was a miracle how Junhui made himself look so small when he was both taller and broader-shouldered than Minghao, and had such an imposing presence even acting as the perfectly submissive Empress. “One is glad to see it. Well, let Us dally no longer. We can begin to discuss matters while We wait for the meal to arrive.”

“As You wish.” Xianliang inclined his head, meeting Minghao’s eyes. “But first, Our Esteemed Father has sent me with a missive for the Phoenix Emperor. Will it please His Majesty to read through it Himself, or should I read it out for Him?”

Junhui squeezed the inside of his elbow. Minghao inhaled and said, “Read it out, if you please.”

Xianliang’s gaze was hard like the diamonds he wore around his neck. Minghao wanted to choke him with them. He pulled out the missive from his sleeve, unfurled it and began to read.

For the eyes of His Imperial Majesty, Sixteenth Phoenix Emperor Xu Minghao,

One is very pleased to hear that One’s own issue is settling in so well as ruler of Tang. One sends this missive with Our consort and son in hopes that this discussion between family will be treated with the tenderness and affection it so deserves.

His Imperial Majesty, the Twenty-Second Dragon Emperor of Han

That was… shorter than Minghao had been expecting. “Is that it?”

“Yes, unless Your Majesty thought that the letter would continue after Esteemed Father’s signature.” Xianliang raised an eyebrow. He always had a way of speaking to Minghao that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, cool and condescending like he thought Minghao was an idiot.

By his side, Junhui tensed. Minghao tightened his grip around his husband’s waist and said calmly, “One was merely under the impression that His Imperial Majesty wasn’t in the habit of wasting paper to state the obvious.”

Xianliang was intelligent and much better at politics than Minghao had ever been, but he’d overlooked one key fact. This was Minghao’s territory—in more ways than one. Because if there was anything he was good at, it was dealing with his eldest full brother. Xianliang was all bark and bite to back it up, but if you headed off his insults well enough, he grew disarmed quicker than you would expect. And Minghao had always had a tongue as sharp as the arrows in his quiver.

As they walked, Junhui stopped in his tracks. There was a worried look on his face. “Minghao, I won’t be able to whisper to you like I do in court. How are you going to do know what to say?”

“It’s Lin Xianliang, isn’t it?” The thought had made Minghao smile, almost morbidly so. “I grew up talking back to that man. Just signal to me what path you want me to choose and I’ll handle the rest.”

One squeeze on his elbow was fight, two meant flight. Minghao would have to figure out the rest. Still, all he really had to do today was to deflect as much as possible. Once Junhui got a sense of what the Lins truly wanted from this visit, it would be much easier for him to both predict and control the direction that this farce of diplomatic negotiations would flow in.

“Your Majesty would be correct,” Xianliang said tightly. “Esteemed Father did not think of this as a waste of paper. He only wanted to send His regards to a son whom He is so fond of.”

“One wasn’t aware that was the case,” Minghao said tonelessly. “His Majesty has many sons and daughters, We are sure you understand that One did not want to presume any special fondness on One’s behalf. It is surprising enough to One that His Majesty is aware of Our name.”

Xianliang’s jaw tensed. Minghao glanced at Junhui out of the corner of his eye—still leaning against him, his husband had picked up his embroidery again and was busy working away at the golden throat of the dragon, a focused expression on his face. Minghao knew he’d committed every word of their conversation to memory.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” his brother said stiffly. “Esteemed Father has some… concerns about Your Majesty’s, ah, regime.”

One squeeze. Minghao said, frigid like winter wind, “ Concerns ?”

“Indeed.” Xianliang fished inside his robes for another scroll which he laid out on the low table between them, smoothing it out with his hands. Minghao leaned forward, looking but not touching. “As Your Majesty can see, there are quite a few items on this list. I think we should begin with the most pressing one though. The matter of the border patrol.”

“Everything is a pressing matter with you,” Minghao said sourly. “One is sure we all would much prefer it if you spoke plainly.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty , I’m speaking as plainly as I can.” Xianliang’s lip curled upwards in a sneer. “If the Esteemed Phoenix Emperor will allow me to lay out my own Majesty’s conditions?”

Minghao didn’t dignify him with words, instead jerking his chin at the sheet of paper. Xianliang cleared his throat and said, “Tang’s border patrols increased recently.”

“An astute observation.” That was a direct consequence of the Annam issue. Junhui had reorganised the patrol system from the top down and had come to realise that there was more than one glaring gap along the border, which he’d plugged temporarily by adding more troops. Minghao had just finished working on a training program for the patrols to improve them without having to increase the number of soldiers on guard. It had been sent out earlier in the week, but it would take a while to truly implement it. …But Xianliang didn’t need to know the details. “Does the Dragon Emperor consider that a problem?”

“It would seem Your Majesty doesn’t trust us very much.” Xianliang studied him keenly. “Does He?”

Two squeezes.

“If that is what you’ve understood from Our actions, then you’re listening wrong.” He needed to be calm and steady. He could show no sign of weakness or Han would pounce. “Tightening our border patrols has nothing to do with trusting you and yours, and everything to do with Tang’s own safety. One trusts in the ancestors, but One is also in the habit of locking One’s door.”

“And does Your Majesty also lock His door when friends are on the other side?” Xianliang raised a perfect eyebrow. 

There was a single squeeze on Minghao’s elbow. He chose his words carefully, a light smile on his lips. “Better to keep the door closed so foes may not enter, opening them at One’s discretion so friends may pass.”

“I see Your Majesty refuses to budge on this.” Xianliang sighed. “I had hoped you wouldn’t make things so difficult.”

“You speak of Us as if One were still a suckling babe throwing a tantrum.” Minghao eyed him sharply. Xianliang smiled.

“I said none of those words myself, Your Majesty. But no matter. We’ve got enough time. Why don’t we circle back to this discussion at a later date?”

“How convenient,” Minghao snapped. “We can continue as we are.”

Xianliang said with a light laugh, “I sense that I’ve struck a nerve, Your Majesty. All I mean to suggest is that we shelve these discussions for now. It’ll give You some time to think on my proposals as well. We’ve got two weeks here in Your beautiful capital city. I think it would be a shame to wrap up things too quickly.”

Two squeezes. Minghao felt Junhui’s warmth press closely against his side as the Empress cosied up to him. He exhaled and said, “Very well. Let Us adjourn for now.”

As well as he knew how to handle his brother, his brother also knew how to handle him. Minghao hated to feel handled.

“The food’s here!” Junhui chirped brightly, clinging to Minghao’s arm. His upbeat voice sliced through the tension like a knife, not quite getting rid of it but allowing just a bit of ease to slip through the cracks. “My lord, shall we all eat together? I’ve been looking forward to sharing a proper meal with dear Father and Brother.”

Minghao did not share that sentiment. Still, he forced a smile and nodded at his family. “Help yourselves as you wish.”

“If you should want for anything, you need only ask,” Junhui added cheerfully. “There’s nothing we can’t procure for our honourable guests!”

Lin Shanyuan jolted a little at that. He looked miserable as he picked at his breakfast. Minghao wasn’t sure if it was last night, the disastrous negotiations that had just taken place or something else. There was a tense silence as they all supped on their dumplings—at least, from the three Lins. Junhui was all smiles and eagerness, fluttering lovingly about Minghao and affecting the appearance of a good host by offering their visitors more dumplings, curry and sauce.

Presently the meal came to an end. Minghao and Junhui had barely picked at the food; it was much too bland for Junhui and Minghao wasn’t a fan of the sweet sauces, so he contented himself with just one dumpling. The Lins excused themselves on the pretext of taking a short rest before they went out to see the city in the evening. To Minghao, both Lins looked plenty awake. But he wasn’t going to complain if his birthing father wanted to remove himself from his presence.

Xianliang, he could deal with. But Lin Shanyuan? His presence made Minghao’s skin crawl.

He and Junhui departed for the gardens summarily. Junhui was clinging to his arm and didn’t let go even when they reached the Lotus Pavilion well away from prying eyes, sitting right down next to him.

Minghao nearly wanted to question it, but it wasn’t that awkward. They were good friends, weren’t they? Affectionate touch between friends was nothing uncommon. Unmated omegas frequently nested together, heat or otherwise. Alphas and betas were tactile too when they formed what they considered packs—Minghao had seen plenty in his time commanding the mountain regiment in Qianshan, large groups of young soldiers huddled up around the fire, roughhousing playfully, cuddling and hugging as they went to sleep.

So it shouldn’t be all that different between an alpha and an omega, should it? He and Junhui were only friends, not lovers. Why should their genders make things any different than normal?

Junhui was so warm pressed up into his side. Some strange force compelling him, Minghao scooted just a little closer, so that they were joined along the middle seamlessly.

To his relief, Junhui didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t mind it. They sat in silence for a few seconds before he said, “They’re certainly something.”

“My family?” Minghao laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Yes. They are indeed.”

“Did you really grow up around that ? Lin Xianliang is such a pill.”

“True. But it wasn’t all that bad.” Minghao shrugged. “ Ge was much more bearable when he thought of me as a threat just to himself, not to Han as a whole. Besides, I was away for ten years.”

Another short pause. Then: “Can I be honest with you?”

Minghao glanced at him, a little surprised. Junhui looked hesitant, not an expression he was familiar with. “Of course, why?”

“I think your brother’s horrible, and I think he poses a threat.” A deep breath. “But I think your father’s much worse.”

“What does that mean?” Minghao raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know the first thing about court politics like you do.”

“We can’t assume that,” Junhui said tightly. “He was listening the whole time. Paying attention so keenly, especially to me. By your own account he runs the Dragon Emperor’s harem with an iron fist. I don’t think it’s likely he’s like me, but chances are high that he understood everything we were saying. If we aren’t careful, he’ll catch on to us. To me.”

A memory bubbled to the surface, and Minghao’s blood ran cold. “…He might already know.”

“What?” Junhui tensed so quickly it was like a bowstring had been drawn.

“I didn’t think it was relevant back then, and by the time it was… I’d forgotten. I should have—” Minghao ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “Gods above. This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Junhui stared at him in equal parts concern and consternation. “You’re starting to scare me. What’s going on?”

“The last time I spoke to my father was before I left for Tang.” Minghao exhaled deeply, staring at his hands in his lap. “I still don’t know what he wanted out of me. He said he came to warn me. He said he didn’t want to see me return to Han in an urn.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” Junhui sighed. “But how does that mean he knows about me?”

“He said: I’ve heard things about the Tang prince. ” Minghao closed his eyes. “That’s what he told me. He never elaborated. I never gave him the chance to. And asking him now… they don’t trust me anymore. I doubt I’ll get a straight answer.”

Junhui stared at him for a long and bewildered moment. Then he got to his feet and began to pace back and forth on the grass. He was always careful to conceal the near-constant buzz of nervous energy that seemed to overflow from within him, but it burst out now when all his walls were down. Minghao watched in silence, unsure of what to say. 

“He’s heard things about me?” Junhui blurted at last, coming to a halt. He was wringing his hands, and (probably without even noticing) was picking at the carefully manicured cuticles around his long, lacquered fingernails. “What is that even supposed to mean? What things are even there to hear about me? Surely I’m not that fascinating!”

“Maybe I misunderstood.” Minghao wasn’t sure he believed it himself, but he soldiered on. “He could have meant something else.”

“What else? Please, enlighten me.” Junhui sagged in place, then returned to his seat and slumped forward onto the table. At Minghao’s silence, he peeked up and said, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s my fault really.” Minghao patted him on the back, smoothing down his hair. “I should’ve told you as soon as I could.”

“I can’t blame you though.” Junhui sighed. “So much happened after you came here. Anyone would have forgotten. It’s a good thing you remembered now, really.”

They were silent for a few moments. Minghao said after a pause, “What do you want to do about it?”

“Yan An’s on their tail. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job.” Junhui closed his eyes briefly. “The best we can do now is wait and listen—and be even more careful than before. I wouldn’t put it past your father to have some influence over his servants, and to have eyes and ears wherever he goes. Even here in Tang, we aren’t as safe as we’d like to be.”

“Isn’t that the story of our lives,” Minghao said drily. “Care for some tea?”

“That sounds wonderful, actually.” Junhui smiled up at him. “Be a dear and send for some, will you?”

Minghao rolled his eyes at him and got up to go to the pavilion. Sipping on the tea that arrived moments later, they answered the week’s correspondence and went over what they knew about the information leak. Yan An’s leads had fizzled out and there hadn’t been any more assaults on their cargo inbound or outbound, so they were back at square one. Something in Minghao’s gut still told him the spies had to be from Goguryeo, but for now, he didn’t bring it up again. Junhui seemed eager to move on, so he would go along with it and nudge him later.

The Lins went sightseeing for an hour that day and kept to themselves the next, not stepping out of palace grounds and taking meals in their own quarters. Yan An’s spying didn’t yield much—apparently Xianliang had trained from dawn to dusk and only returned to his rooms to sleep, and Lin Shanyuan spent his time barking at his servants and sewing. Yan An had made a few sketches of the things he’d been stitching to see if there were any hidden messages in the embroidery, but neither Junhui nor Minghao could spot anything amiss.

Still, as hosts they needed to be gracious. As an unfortunate consequence of politeness, Minghao found himself in the training room with his eldest full brother on the fourth day of the Lins’ stay, eyeing the poleaxe in Xianliang’s hands and dearly wishing he had the license to stab the man in the gut.

Not that Junhui’s task was any more enviable than his. The Empress was entertaining Lin Shanyuan in the rose gardens that had belonged to his mother, Li Xifeng, and had by her request been made accessible to the public after her passing. Of course, the gates would be shut as long as Junhui and Minghao’s father were in there taking tea.

At least Minghao was allowed to beat his brother up and call it friendly sparring. Poor Junhui had to be not only diplomatic but welcoming to avert any suspicion. He couldn’t afford to show his teeth right now. He had all of Minghao’s sympathies at the moment.

Minghao picked up another poleaxe and nodded at Xianliang, stepping into the center of the arena. They bowed to each other, as was standard fashion, then lunged.

Xianliang had gotten better over the past few years. Maybe Minghao’d gotten worse—his brother’s weapon of choice was the poleaxe, and Minghao loved the bow almost more than he loved to be alive. Still, he was no slouch with other weapons and held his ground, batting away Xianliang’s blunt and powerful strikes with light movements. He still had the same bad habits, using great amounts of force when much lesser would have done the trick. Minghao let him tire himself out before swinging his poleaxe around and using the wooden end to prise Xianliang’s weapon out of his hand. He knocked his brother to the ground and held the blade a few inches from his throat. “Yield.”

“I yield.” Xianliang’s cloud-grey eyes looked like dirty water from this height. Minghao removed his poleaxe and offered a hand, helping the older man to his feet. “Another round?”

“Fine by me.”

They sparred for a while, swapping weapons a few times in the middle. Minghao wanted dearly to suggest archery, but Junhui had warned him against it. “No shooting, do you promise? You can’t make your guests look bad. Han will have a lot to say about that.”  

It seemed Han had a lot to say about every single thing he and Junhui did. Minghao didn’t like that very much. Still, he complied with Junhui’s advice and stuck to what Xianliang knew well—scimitars, daggers, throwing stars, and the Han straight sword. To his surprise, he only won slightly over half the duels, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Fighting on the front lines had made his brother better than he used to be, and Minghao was out of practice with hand-to-hand weapons. The last time he’d really worked with them was when he was fifteen back in the Han palace, the straight sword like an anvil in his hands. He had always hated the damn thing.

When shortly over two hours had passed, Xianliang doubled over, wiping the sweat from his brow. There was the flush of exertion dusted across his nose and cheeks. “Enough, my lord. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Is this what the next decade shall bring me to?” Minghao laughed lightly. It was a barb sharper than either of their swords and Xianliang knew it as well as he. “I hope for better fortune than you, brother.”

Xianliang grimaced but did not rise to the bait. Perhaps it was the weapon in Minghao’s hands that gave him pause. Perhaps something else. Regardless, the blow clearly needed some softening. Minghao added, offering him a more conciliatory smile, “Still, I think you underestimate yourself. It must take a different strength to chase after your younglings.”

A cloud passed over Xianliang’s face, and Minghao’s stomach dropped. In some twisted turn of fate, he had still managed to say the worst possible thing. “I’ve not yet been saddled with such a task. Ancestors be praised, I’ve still some of my youth left to enjoy.”

There was a raw edge to his voice that made a twinge of guilt bloom in Minghao’s stomach. Xianliang had six wives already; he had had three the last time Minghao saw him, ten years ago, and Minghao had heard of the other weddings through the gilt-edged invitations that came to his regiment first and then to the outpost he was later assigned to. He hadn’t cared to go. He knew he wasn’t welcome.

Even back when he was fifteen, it had been one of the palace’s favourite tidbits of gossip. Minghao couldn’t go a day without someone asking him if his elder brother was impotent, what with three wives but no sign of a child in the four years since he’d wedded the first. Xianliang had added three more omegas to his roster since then and still no sign of an heir? The talk could only have gotten worse since then. 

Of course Lin Xianliang had been eager to come to Tang. To look a little better by getting rid of his traitor brother, or at any rate beating him into submission.

Well, Minghao could only feel bad for so long. Xianliang was an enemy, blinded by greed and hatred, come here to tear apart another country simply because he felt inadequate. Minghao disliked his father as much as he disliked his brother, but at least the Dragon Emperor wanted Tang for himself and no one else. All Xianliang had ever lived for was to please their Esteemed Father, and it was so painfully obvious that it only made Wang Yongnian think his second eldest heir more pathetic than he already was.

“Cause for celebration indeed,” he replied, smiling with teeth. “How are you liking Tang so far?”

“It’s…” Xianliang paused, considering. “Rather warm.”

That sentiment Minghao could agree with. Now that spring was waning and summer had begun to approach, he found himself longing every day for the gentle cool of Qianshan and the way the wind kissed his cheeks. Tang seawinds were salty and powerful, ripping at his face with coarse hands. Still, he was careful not to let it show, and said instead, “Is that so? One has found the cooling system in the palace to be quite effective.”

Xianliang grimaced, leaning on his sword. There was a hard look in his eye, the second of vulnerability gone. Minghao very nearly felt sorrowful about it. “Apologies, Your Majesty. One might say I am simply not… quite so quick to assimilate as You.”

“Assimilate?” The implication was obvious. Minghao could not let it slide. “His Majesty the Dragon Emperor does prize efficiency so greatly. One has always had some skill in adjusting to the new. Some might call it a byproduct of the upbringing.”

“A byproduct of the upbringing.” Xianliang’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t push the matter further, deferring. “Of course, of course. I feel much the same. But I have always been slower than Your Majesty at things like this.”

“It matters not,” Minghao said magnanimously, enjoying perhaps a little too much the sour expression in his brother’s eyes. “One does not wish to force you to debase yourself. Surely, there are things you can do that One cannot.”

This was an even deeper wound than before. Said so lightly, Xianliang could not take offence to it—even if Minghao was the less powerful ruler, he was still the Emperor of what was currently the wealthiest nation on the continent, and there was a measure of disrespect that he had no choice but to let slide. But they both knew what Minghao really meant.

It had always been a sore point. The Dragon Emperor valued politicking, of course, but he valued martial skill just as greatly. Minghao knew himself to be one of the best warriors amongst the princes of Han, perhaps even the best, but he had been born too late for it to mean anything, and in any case he had so little political aptitude that what impression he had left on his Esteemed Father (prior to turning traitor and becoming public enemy number one in Han, of course) was really quite pathetic. Besides, before him there had already been Third Prince Yang Meihua, known as Han’s Tiger Lily for her talent in creating weapons of war and her skill in wielding them. Minghao was an artist, not an engineer, so he still fell short. Xianliang was quite clever at court, and decent enough at battle to rank as a commander mostly in his own right. But neither of those things came close to Wang Yongnian’s standards. Not when the jewels in his crown were creatures like the Crown Prince Cai Xiangling, the Prime Minister of Han, as clever as her Esteemed Father and as capable a swordsman as Minghao. Or like Yang Meihua, or all of Minghao’s siblings up until the Seventh Prince Xiao Qiutong, where the invisible line of usefulness had been drawn in the sand.

There were few things Xianliang could do that his siblings couldn’t, but none of them were good enough to make a difference. Minghao had been content with that. His brother had never been able to be.

“May I take your leave, Your Majesty? I grow weary.” Xianliang bowed shortly. Minghao sighed and nodded.

“Rest shall do you some good, One hopes. One will look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

He did not see Xianliang—or his father—at dinner. Flopping across his lap in their bedrooms afterwards like a large, spoiled cat, Junhui complained, “Your father is the most vapid man I’ve ever met! And I’ve met my Third Mother!”

Minghao stifled his laughter. “I told you. Did you learn anything useful?”

“Not much.” Junhui sighed, his hand reaching behind Minghao’s neck to play idly with a strand of his hair. Had he always been this clingy? His touch lit a fire on Minghao’s skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. “I don’t think he suspects me for now. I… actually think the opposite. He thinks I’m stupider than he is.”

”What did you do about it?” Minghao asked. Junhui grinned. 

“I think you know exactly what I did.”

“Let me guess. You tittered and asked him about embroidery and pretended not to even know what an imperial harem was?”

“Three for three!” Junhui giggled happily. “It seems you know me better than I thought.”

Minghao puffed up in satisfaction. 

They began the talks again on the sixth day of the Lins’ visit. Junhui had thought long and hard, preparing a plan of action and a list of predictions as to what Xianliang might or might not say. His final advice to Minghao had been simple: Don’t take his bait.  

That, Minghao could do.

“One would like to clarify, before we begin,” he said slowly, “the nature of our last discussion. One understands you were concerned about the Tang border patrols.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I only wish to know the reason as to why they’ve increased.” Xianliang bowed his head, a light smile on his lips.

Junhui was curled up against Minghao, and his warmth gave Minghao enough strength to say the words they’d practiced over and over last night. “You may rest assured. It has very little to do with how Tang feels about Han, and much more to do with a general reaffirmation of the military capability of One’s nation.”

“I understand.” Xianliang’s eyes turned stormy for just a second, but even he could not press here. It would be disrespectful, and to disrespect a foreign Emperor in his homeland was a political faux pas so egregious that if Minghao didn’t kill him for it, Wang Yongnian himself would. “You have my gratitude, Your Majesty.”

“Well earned, One hopes.” Minghao smiled at him coolly. “What might your next concern be? You’ve got quite the list there.”

“Tang’s trade routes. I understand that under Your Majesty’s rule, You’ve reaffirmed trading connections with Baekje and Silla. But the twenty-year contract You had with Goguryeo recently ended and You’ve made no move to renew it.”

If they wanted to trade with us as badly as they once did, they’d have sent envoys months ago. It was what Junhui had told him. We’re the bigger nation, the greater power. By the simple nature of the situation they are much more reliant on us than we are on them.

So what does that mean? he’d asked.

It means Goguryeo’s picked a side.

“You understand correctly.” One squeeze. “It is true that the Han are fearless. To come into One’s home and question One’s policy on another nation’s behalf is not something an ordinary man could do.”

Xianliang looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. For all his sniping at his brother when he was younger, Minghao had never spoken to him so openly disrespectfully. He’d been thrown off-kilter and it was clear to anyone with eyes or ears. “Your Majesty, surely You understand why I ask. It makes one… curious, that’s all. Goguryeo is one of our closest allies.”

Minghao paused for a moment and chose his words carefully. As Junhui had instructed, he said, “Han’s vested interests are certainly something We—as the only other great power on the continent—concern ourselves greatly with. But One is also as curious as you. If you are aware that We no longer trade with Goguryeo, one of your closest allies, then should you not also be aware how the agreement fell through?”

Lin Shanyuan’s head snapped up. His face was white even under the heavy layers of powder, his lips parted, gaping like a fish out of water. When Minghao turned his eyes to him, he lowered his gaze again quickly, staring at the ground. He was trembling very faintly.

“Unless, of course,” Minghao added, voice soft as an adder coming through the grass, “they had not disclosed the details to His Majesty. In which case, One would suggest that your relationship with Tang is not what you need to focus on at the moment.”

Xianliang blanched. “Your Majesty, what are You implying?”

“One implies nothing. Anything that We have to say is said out loud, brother.” Minghao smiled, thin-lipped. “It was clear that Silla and Baekje wished to trade with Us. It was equally clear that Goguryeo did not. Surely you understand that One must do what is best for One’s nation. Holding onto branches that have cooled so much they have grown hoarfrost will only cause Our own to freeze and wither.”

“Ah.” Xianliang licked his lips, then exhaled through his nose and sat back on his haunches. “Forgive my insolence. Tang is a dearer friend of ours than Goguryeo. If there was a problem… we would wish to ally with You, Your Majesty. It was hence that I asked.”

Honeyed words, spoken with the affect of truth, a trembling vulnerability. It would have fooled Minghao if he hadn’t known the full extent of Han’s desire for Tang lands. If he hadn’t once been the linchpin of Wang Yongnian’s perfect plan.

The next few items were much simpler concerns, all relating to the trade agreements between the two countries. Junhui squeezed him twice every time, and Minghao had to hide his surprise at every turn. Not at Junhui’s command but at his prediction—that Han wouldn’t change the terms of their trade agreements. Minghao had thought they might try to extort them, bleed them dry and take them from the inside. Junhui had disagreed.

“They don’t need our resources. They know we have too much to drain us dry within your father’s lifetime, and they can’t force us into an agreement. It’d be different if we were a little kingdom, but we are Tang, Minghao. We don’t have Han’s military power, but you don’t get to be the richest empire in known history by being soft. What they’re going to do right now, with this list of requests, is test the waters.”

“So?” Minghao asked.

“So,” Junhui said with a sly grin, “we prove to them that still waters run deep.”

They ended the day’s negotiations there, promising to speak more next week. Minghao invited his brother and father riding that evening, Junhui recusing himself in hopes that perhaps the Lins would say something to Minghao that they would not in front of him. To both their disappointment, it was the same strained politeness, made even more awkward by Lin Shanyuan’s terrible horsemanship and his constant fussing about Xianliang as if he was a babe of two. Their guests went sightseeing for the next few days, and all was quiet for a time.

It was on day eleven, at the dinner accompanied by Tang’s finest orchestra that Junhui had arranged for their guests’ entertainment, that things blew skyward.

So far, Lin Shanyuan had met the other imperial omegas by Junhui’s introduction—all except Ding Wenyan. With great displeasure Junhui had invited him to the dinner, and had set it up so that Xianliang sat next to Minghao, while Minghao’s father was nestled between the Empress and his Third Mother. All in all it was the worst possible arrangement, the only solace by the fact that under the table, Junhui refused to let go of Minghao’s hand. Whether to signal to him or just for comfort, Minghao didn’t know, but he was glad for it either way.

The orchestra was preparing to begin their performance when Ding Wenyan said with a light laugh, “My sweet prince, you do look so beautiful tonight. Lord Lin was just telling me how they call male omegas princesses in Han! Isn’t that such a darling title? I might just begin to call you so!” 

Junhui went stiff as an iron rod. Minghao’s stomach dropped, a white-hot rage filling him from the bottom up.

Did he just—?!

It was common knowledge in Tang that their only prince had not been born to that exact title. It was also common knowledge that for as long as little Prince Junhui had had a mouth and the ability to produce a coherent sentence out of that mouth, he had insisted that he was a boy. On his seventh birthday the First Princess of Tang was silently put to rest, and in her stead a First Prince was celebrated instead. Minghao had been unaware of this, of course. Junhui had told him over dinner one night. Still, it wasn’t something shocking. They called them the tiger’s children in Han and Tang—souls that weren’t shaped exactly like their vessels, that had the courage to live as who they really were. Some were boys born girls, some girls born boys, and some that were a little of each and some that were neither. 

There were people who thought of the tiger’s children as unnatural, of course. Just as how some people thought of relationships between two females, or two males, unnatural. Both types were few and far between, but it was more common to find the first. Still, you never said something like that in public. You kept your bigotry at home and your mouth shut, especially in front of imperial royalty.

“As titles go, I think I prefer Empress,” Junhui said with a cool smile. “Lord Lin is generous to share his culture with us. But I would have you refer to me as how you did before, Mother.”

But Ding Wenyan did not falter. There was a dark, cruel spark in his eye, and a smirk danced around his mouth. “Of course, dear Junhui. I’ll remember.”

“See to it that you do,” Junhui said, frigidly. Minghao caught his sleeve and stroked his hand.

“One is sure your mother meant no harm, love,” he soothed, trying his best to calm Junhui down. Under the table, he stepped on Junhui’s foot. “Age can dull the senses, and this excellent wine must surely be of no help. Let Us have a pleasant dinner, don’t ruin your mood. You’ve got such a beautiful smile, come now, won’t you show it to One? We hate to see you upset.”

Junhui lowered his head for a moment, and when he raised it he was smiling again, small and lovely. Relief unknotted in Minghao’s throat. “Shall we eat?”

Lin Shanyuan was watching Junhui with a look that Minghao disliked deeply. It was the look he gave every new concubine that entered the Han emperor’s harem—an expression of quiet calculation, as if he was wondering how best to ruin their entire lives. What he didn’t know was that Junhui was not the one who had the Emperor’s favour.

It was Minghao who had Junhui’s favour, and he would never forsake him.

The meal arrived shortly, and the orchestra soon began, a pleasant background to the conversation. Goodness knew they needed it, for the conversation itself was so far from pleasant it might well have lived on a different planet.

First, looking at Junhui’s plate, Lin Shanyuan said in an airy voice, “My dear son-in-law has such a hearty appetite! No wonder he stands taller than my own Minghao.”

Junhui said nothing and continued to eat. Ding Wenyan followed up laughingly, “He’s always eaten quite well. We had to make sure he, ah, took care of himself better, for when he would have his very own alpha! Why, the dear boy could have three of those plates for a single meal back in the day.”

Junhui’s fingers froze on his chopsticks. Minghao was about to intervene, but before he could, his husband said sweetly, “When I was young, my dear mother ate so little that the Emperor once wondered if he was grieving a secret lover! I hope that was never the case for you, Lord Lin. I fear it sometimes, that I should trouble my Emperor with such thoughts. Rather eat and have him wonder if I am supping for two than starve and have him think I am unfaithful.”

Ding Wenyan looked like he had been slapped. Junhui smiled. “Besides, I had the chef prepare these delicacies just for us. Since my mother refuses to touch them, I just hate to waste all that hard work.”

With that, he went back to eating. Glancing pointedly at his father and Ding Wenyan, Minghao picked up a juicy piece of spiced chicken dripping in lemon and lifted it to his husband’s lips. He smiled when Junhui’s mouth parted in surprise. “One knows you are partial to these.”

“My lord, are you sure?”

“You’ve been avoiding them lately,” Minghao chided, not entirely putting on a front. “One put in a special request for these. Won’t you honour that?”

“If my lord love so insists,” Junhui said bashfully and opened his mouth, letting Minghao feed him. Minghao went the extra mile and dabbed his napkin gently against Junhui’s mouth, wiping off some oil from his lip with his thumb.

“There. Beautiful as always, my moon.” He dropped formal register for the briefest second (as was allowed with especially beloved consorts) to keep up the charade of a perfectly adoring husband, and let his genuine fondness for Junhui seep into his voice. It was hard not to drown in his gaze, Minghao had noticed. Lately, all he wanted to do was stare while Junhui talked forever and ever. He was beginning to understand how other men—normal men—felt around Junhui. 

Then again, none of them had the pleasure of knowing Junhui as he did. That glowing sense of pride washed over him again.

Dinner passed like this, Ding Wenyan and Lin Shanyuan passing quietly snide comments on Junhui, who replied with cool and biting remarks that were wrapped up prettily like knives in silk. Minghao occasionally stepped in to defuse tensions and fuss over Junhui, continuing the act of the besotted Emperor. He didn’t know whether to be angry on Junhui’s behalf, proud of his quick tongue, or severely concerned for the sudden alliance that had formed between the worst of both the Han and Tang harems. It occurred to him suddenly that Ding Wenyan would probably have been among the higher-ranked of Wang Yongnian’s concubines, and all at once he didn’t feel like eating anymore.

It was such a waste of a brilliant orchestra. Minghao wished he could have tuned everyone out and listened to the music, but he had no choice. He would have to ask Junhui if they could see a show sometime.

At last the torturous event ended, and Junhui departed for his villa with an icy goodbye to the other two omegas, saying that he wished to retire alone tonight. Minghao knew better—he was supposed to make a show of insisting to go and be with Junhui, who would then melt into his arms in the Empress’ bedroom. It was a clever way to get them somewhere safer to discuss what had happened tonight.

Ding Wenyan and Lin Shanyuan retired together to the Dowager Consorts’ Palace, where the guest rooms were also located. Minghao didn’t like the look in their eyes one bit, but he was reassured when Yan An hurried off after them, his arms full of Lin Shanyuan’s things. As an omega of the court and a resident of the palace, there was an expectation that he wait on any guests to Tang. Yan An had quickly claimed the duty all for himself just so that he could better spy on Minghao’s father. That alone made him probably the bravest person Minghao knew.

As he was preparing to go after Junhui, a hand caught his shoulder. Minghao turned to see his brother, a grim expression on his face.

“We need to speak, Minghao,” Xianliang said without affect. “Alone. Without all these contrivances that stop us from talking frankly, like you’ve so often asked me to do. What’s a good place where we will go unheard?”

Minghao thought for a moment. “Come with me to the war room.”

The war room was a large, desolate place that had seen better days. He and Junhui seldom used it for the danger that anyone should hear Junhui plotting—although it was quite secure as its use by two alphas went. To put it simply, Yan An’s men would hear them speak, but no one else would be privy to their discussion.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Xianliang intended to murder him, but that wasn’t much of a concern at the moment. Minghao gone wouldn’t mean anywhere close to Tang’s fall, if that was what Han hoped for, and in any case he liked his chances well enough against his brother. He was still better with a dagger.

Minghao pushed open the grand door now with ease. He had long since gotten accustomed to their weight. Entering the room, he took a seat at the large table with maps spread across it instead of the Emperor’s throne, gesturing to the chair across from him. “What is it that you wish to say to me at this hour? Make it quick. Junhui waits for me.”

Xianliang’s lip curled. “Does he, now? That omega of yours has quite the mouth on him. If I were you, he’d never even lift those rebellious eyes from the ground.”

“Really?” Minghao examined his nails, turning Junhui’s words over in his head. Don’t take the bait. That was something he knew how to do like no other. “How awfully boring you are. Now if I were you , I’d watch my mouth when you’re talking about my husband.”

“You’ve changed, Minghao.” Xianliang stormed over to him. They were face to face, the exact same height, but when their eyes met it was oil on water. Xianliang had inherited the Dragon Emperor’s eye colour, and it certainly looked piercing on Wang Yongnian, but on his brother it was just dull and watery. 

It was all Xianliang had ever been. A cheap copy of the First Prince, trying desperately to impress their father. Competing with a boy ten years his junior, all because Minghao showed military promise and was an alpha too. Minghao resented it once, but now he saw it for what it was. 

Pathetic. 

“Changed from what?” he asked softly, not backing down. Xianliang looked ready to spit in his face. Minghao could feel his breath, sour and sharp like a snake’s. He held the man’s gaze, unflinching. 

“You used to be smart,” Xianliang said after a pause. “You used to know what was good for you. The minute you turned fifteen you got the hell out of there because you knew you were too stupid to play court games. At nineteen you screwed off into the mountains because you knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to be around Esteemed Father after all that debacle with the Tuoba. I admired it about you, you know. You always left well enough alone. It’s something I never could do.”

“That so?” Minghao held his eyes, unsmiling. “Leaving well enough alone didn’t make me smart, ge . What it made me was a coward.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” his brother snarled. “You’re a lucky thing, Minghao. Always have been. You have no clue what it’s like being me. You’ve never had the pressure I have on my shoulders. Never had to live up to Esteemed Father’s expectations or the endless demands of a sniveling idiot like Lin Shanyuan. Do you even know how liberating it is not to have to care about what those two think? You just sat there luxuriating in your freedom like it was given to you by the Yinglong itself.”

Minghao had to suppress the urge to burst into laughter. For so long something in him had wanted what Xianliang had—relevance to the empire. To their parents. To the people. Yet here his brother was, green with envy because he resented what Minghao had. Freedom, or at least that farce of it. 

It was a bit of a shame really. Maybe if Minghao had heard this before he’d come to Tang, something would have given. Maybe they’d be closer. Maybe both of them would have got what they thought they wanted. Maybe they’d even have felt satisfied by it.

But it was altogether too late for any of that.

He thought of a man with a knife-sweet smile and the gentlest heart there was, and knew that he would not trade what he had now for the entire universe on a silver platter.

“You disgust me.” Xianliang began to pace up and down, his face twisted into a frozen mask of sheer hatred. “I was so pleased when Esteemed Father chose you to go get married into Tang and be part of all that mess. I figured you’d never have had a peaceful moment after. Thought you’d finally know what it was like to be me. Except somehow you turned even this to your advantage. Have you just been lying to us all your life? Have you always been a little snake that was waiting for some faraway empire to collapse so you could grab a throne without having to fight for Esteemed Father’s?”

Those words sounded so familiar. Minghao wracked his brains, straining to remember where he had heard them before.

“You laid low for years, working diligently in the mountains, maintaining an immaculate and innocuous reputation! But behind the scenes that brain of yours was working away, figuring out how to claim a throne without all the hassle of fighting your siblings for it. … 

“Now you are untouchable, an Emperor despite it all. You’ve spat in the face of your birth as an irrelevant eighth prince and risen above the ashes like a true phoenix. Some might even say that the throne of Tang was destined for you.”

Junhui really was right all of the time. Minghao would never doubt him again.

“It’s not luck, ge .” He reached out and put a hand on Xianliang’s shoulder, smiling at him. His brother’s eyes narrowed, animosity written plain as day across his face. “I’d explain, but I’m not sure it’s something you could ever understand. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and attend to my Empress, and he does not like to be kept waiting.”

And he swept out of the room without looking back, something heavy lifting from his shoulders.

Junhui was sitting on his bed in his nightclothes with his hair down around his shoulders. It clearly hadn’t been brushed yet, and the ribbon, comb and bottle of oil were sitting on the mahogany nightstand. The door to his rooms was open, and he had on a sulky expression as if to make sure all and sundry knew how upset he was. Minghao knocked lightly on the doorframe, smiling.

“May I come in?”

Junhui turned his head away, pouting childishly, and crossed his arms over his chest. “My lord husband took his sweet time. You know that I am not patient.”

“Too well,” Minghao said with a light laugh and stepped inside, shutting the heavy door softly. For good measure he bolted it, then went behind the screen that separated Junhui’s dressing area from the bed, where a change of clothes had been laid out for him already. Quickly changing into his nightclothes as well, he returned to the bed and rubbed some oil on his hands before beginning to massage Junhui’s scalp gently. His husband had long since stopped pouting, but there was still a black look on his face.

Minghao waited.

Junhui said, after a long silence, “I can’t believe the nerve of him.”

“I agree.” Minghao combed through the sleek, glossy hair, his hand catching on a tangle. He set the comb down and began to work at the knot with his fingers.

“I wish I could be angrier about it.” Junhui deflated a little. “But I’m more concerned about whatever alliance your father and dear Lord Ding have struck up. Yan An’s watching them as we speak, yet it’s so late already, and in all these days he has never caught your father doing anything suspicious. Ding Wenyan may be a fool, but your father’s quite clever. I don’t like it. And what’s this about your brother asking to speak to you in private?”

Minghao took a deep breath and told him what had happened with Xianliang. Junhui giggled when he heard what Xianliang had said about him, fell oddly silent when Minghao told him of how he’d responded, and crowed with delight when he learnt of the Han prince’s parting shot. “I knew it! They fear you now.”

“Brilliant.” Minghao grinned, tying off Junhui’s braid. “I hope that means they won’t try and start a war with us. The military’s certainly in much better shape than before, but I’ve no clue if they’re even close to Han’s standards.”

“I hope so too. Although your work has been incredible.” Junhui sighed, sounding pleased, and turned around to face him. “An improvement is an improvement, so I can’t complain. I could hardly tell a soul, but I was so worried about our army before you began to help. Imagine if I had to go and find a commander-in-chief that was even half as competent as you but just short of smart enough to not realise it was me behind the scenes.”

Minghao didn’t know how to respond to that, so he settled for ducking his head to hide the blush on his cheeks. He knew his ears were still red, though. “I’m not sure what to think of this whole chat with my brother. Can you make anything of it?”

Junhui thought for a moment. Then he said, “Lin Xianliang is clever, but he’s sentimental, too. He really thinks you’ve somehow betrayed him personally. I hadn’t expected that.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“It’s fantastic.” Junhui grinned. “I can’t say for certain unless I observe him some more, but I think I’m more sure of it now than I was before. They didn’t come here to cause problems. It’s a test of our strength because we’ve rooted out all their spies, thanks to you. Now on the matter of your father—”

They were interrupted by a thudding sound that was now familiar to Minghao—the trapdoor on the far side of Junhui’s room, a passage through which Yan An and Yan An only could enter. Only he had the keys to both inner and outer door, and should any intruder try to pass, a series of poisonous flowers had been planted through the passageway that Yan An always carried the antidote to. Junhui’s closest friend dusted himself off and crossed the room in quick strides, his expression grim.

“Lord Ding left the palace. I followed him as best I could, but the docks are so crowded this time of night that I lost him.”

“What?” Junhui’s eyes widened. Yan An grit his teeth and nodded. 

“I sent a few spies to search for him, but I thought it was important that I return first to tell you the news. Listen—the delegation is going to leave tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Junhui pressed. Minghao watched in silence.

“Absolutely. At first they were conversing about parties, and then it turned to our dear Emperor. Lin Shanyuan said so much bullshit about you that I knew right off the bat he’d probably never talked to you, and Lord Ding was all simpering. Then they started talking about Junhui, and how you’ve got too much of an ego for being the Emperor’s pet.” Minghao tensed at that, but Junhui put a hand on his thigh.

“It’s alright. It’s what Lord Ding has been saying of me for years to anyone who’ll listen. Only, he’s found someone who’ll actually listen.” He turned back to Yan An. “Go on, what else?”

“Just the usual nonsense. Then Lin Xianliang stormed in and said in these exact words, ‘There’s nothing to be done about your bastard son, Mother. Let’s leave.’” Yan An levelled his piercing eyes on Minghao. “He refers to you like that quite often, you know. Are you actually Lin Shanyuan’s bastard? You look nothing like him, so wouldn’t it have been obvious if you weren’t the Emperor’s son?” 

Minghao shrugged. “Unfortunately, I’m legitimate. It would be difficult to deny that I’m Wang Yongnian’s son when I look exactly like the man.”

“My condolences,” Yan An said, a wry smile on his mouth. It was the friendliest interaction they’d ever had. “After that, Lin Shanyuan started yelling at his servants to pack his things and Junhui’s wonderful Third Mother was trying to convince him to stay a few more days. Apparently he had never found anyone who didn’t think the sun shines out of Junhui’s ass, which—”

“It kind of does,” he and Yan An said at the same time. Yan An laughed at the mortified expression on Junhui’s face.

“I chose a good ruler to serve, if one that’s off his rocker by a couple li. Anyway, Lin Shanyuan refused to listen, saying that his job here was done. He promised to keep in touch with Lord Ding, and I hope he makes good on it. If nothing else your Third Mother might be stupid enough to complain about you in writing and then we can have him gutted for defaming the Empress on paper.”

“My fingers are crossed.” Junhui sighed. “Thank you, Yan An. You’ve done more than you know. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No, but Lady Lei said she would prepare a meal for me when I was back from my spying. She wants to discuss what I heard tonight and make a plan of action.”

Junhui nodded. “Go and eat. You’ll tell me what’s happening when Lord Ding returns, won’t you?”

“Of course.” The friends embraced and then Yan An was gone again, disappearing like the wind. It never failed to impress Minghao.

“They’re leaving,” he said out loud, hardly able to believe it.

“They’re offended.” Junhui sighed and got into bed proper. Minghao joined him, putting out the candles. “That’s not a good sign. We could have avoided that.”

There was a note of guilt in his voice. Minghao exhaled and said, “No. We couldn’t.”

“What?” Junhui sounded surprised. “I shouldn’t have reacted so much. I should have just…”

“Sat there and let them take shots at you?” Minghao said sharply. “You’re Empress of Tang and your Third Mother is a lowlife that the old Emperor never looked twice at. My own father is not even a consort proper, he’s a concubine. He’s powerful in the Han harem, true, but he’s still got nerve to insult the Empress in a country that isn’t even his own. You had to assert your authority. You had no choice.”

Junhui lay there in stunned silence. Minghao went on, “Besides, I doubt that they wouldn’t have found some reason to pack up and leave early regardless. It was quite clear that their false negotations weren’t going to go anywhere. If it’s like you said and they came here to feel us out, they’ve done their job. We proved that still waters run deep.”

“And now,” Junhui whispered, “we need to catch them in the currents.”

“That’s encouraging.” Minghao snorted. “But you understand it isn’t your fault, don’t you? It would have come to pass anyway.”

“…Thank you.” Junhui sounded faintly embarrassed. Minghao felt around for his hand and caught the back of his head instead. Deciding it would do, he patted it lightly.

“Don’t think so much. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” came the reply after a few seconds.

Minghao fell asleep only when he heard Junhui’s breathing even out.

The next morning, Minghao’s practice was rudely interrupted by a servant, her face flushed red with exertion. “Your Majesty, Lord Lin is here. He requests an audience as soon as You can.”

“Tell him One will be out after One’s practice,” Minghao answered coolly. “He is free to come and watch, if he wishes, and if he can keep his mouth shut.”

The servant gulped. Minghao nocked his arrow and added, “You may leave out that last part. Go now and tell him.”

After his practice ended, he met his father in the foyer, still dressed in his training clothes. Junhui was by his side, arm in arm with him as he stared down Lin Shanyuan.

“Minghao,” his father entreated, his voice quaking. He was dressed his finest. Junhui’s grip tightened imperceptibly, and at once Minghao noticed the steel in his father’s eyes. “My son. Could we speak—privately?”

“One considers this private enough,” Minghao said coldly. 

Lin Shanyuan shook his head, smiling nervously at Junhui. “I am glad that you are so close with your Empress, but… I wish to speak father to son. I am sure you understand, Empress Junhui.”

Junhui squeezed his arm twice and nodded at Lin Shanyuan, smiling back. “Of course I understand. Why don’t the two of you take my lord’s office upstairs, and I shall wait in the sitting room?”

Lin Shanyuan seemed satisfied with this, and begrudgingly Minghao went upstairs with him to the Emperor’s office. Once they had entered, he took a seat behind the large desk and watched his father with a raised brow. “Well?”

Lin Shanyuan closed the door and turned to him. Minghao’s lips parted at the look of abject rage on his face.

“You stupid boy!” he snarled, so venomously it almost scared Minghao. “You had one task! One! You were nothing to your father before I suggested that you be sent to wed Wen Junhui. He had no recollection of who you even were! If you are Emperor today it is because of me. Because I never forgot my son!”

It was him? But of course it was. It made so much sense. How had Minghao not seen it before?

Xianliang was powerful, but he was still a disappointment when compared to the Crown Prince and Minghao’s other elder siblings. By sending Minghao to become the hero that brought Tang under the wing of Han, Lin Shanyuan could forever cement his status in the empire’s greatest work. But Minghao had ruined it all for him.

“And yet you forgot your parents as soon as you left Han!” His father sneered. It turned his face into a horrifying mask of hatred. “Such a peculiar brat you’d always been. Do you know how they talked of you?! How I had to bear hearing that my issue was so—so deformed? A young alpha who’d never taken an omega before. Who seemed disgusted at the idea. My older son already cannot produce an heir to save his life, and you with your staunch refusal to even look at an omega only made it worse ! Two impotent children—did you even think twice about how that might reflect on me?”

Minghao blinked at him. “One is not impotent .” He had no way to prove it short of fathering a child, and he was not keen to do so at any point, but infertility did not run in Wang or Lin blood. Wang Yongnian alone had about twenty-two children, ten of whom were born to Lin Shanyuan; one might call them both altogether too fecund. 

Minghao’s mind might have been broken, but Xianliang’s problem was something else entirely.

“It hardly matters when you refused to look an omega’s way!” Lin Shanyuan snapped. “But I still thought to use that for your own good. For Han’s good! Why, I thought your… peculiarity… would shield you even from this—this whore that you’ve married!”

Fury lit in his chest, blazing white-hot. “It’ll please One to not call One’s Empress a whore. You have crossed the line a long while ago and it is only by the mercy that you are wedded to the Dragon Emperor that One has not ordered your head taken off your shoulders.”

“I warned you,” Lin Shanyuan said in a whisper, his rage barely contained. It was like he wasn’t even listening to Minghao. “I’d heard things about the Tang prince. How he can seduce a man with just the blink of an eye. How suitors lined up for his hand from all the far reaches of Tang and even further beyond. I told you to be on your guard and yet even you fell. You could not do the one thing you did all your life. And I must bear the burden of your foolishness! Do you not see how he uses you?! Deceiving you into buying him gifts and—and running after him the moment he pouts. This is who you’ve betrayed your country for. A spoiled rotten brat that is nowhere near strong enough to be Empress when he can’t even take a single word of criticism.”

Minghao had many things he wanted to say. But first and foremost—

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about Junhui.

Relief broke loose, and then, as the rest of his words set in: 

“A spoiled rotten brat that can’t take a single word of criticism and pouts when he wants something?” Minghao found himself laughing almost hysterically, rage pumping through him with every beat of his heart. “One thought you were describing One’s husband, not yourself . Junhui is a million times the man you will ever be. You have the gall to come into One’s lands, stay in One’s home, glut yourself on One’s food and then insult One’s Empress as if you were greater ranked than he. My Empress is no fool, although you may think he is. He may not participate in court, and he may not know the intricacies of ruling a nation, but from the moment One landed on these shores he knew that One was a danger to his beloved Tang. And yet he was kind to One. Kinder and gentler than any of you have ever been. He loved One when One did nothing to deserve it, simply because he wished to be a good husband.” 

He had no idea when he’d learned to lie so fluently, but raw anger was fuelling him, and he did not intend to stem its flow.

“And you? You only sent One south so that you could secure your position in the harem. You thought One would obey. Well, you thought wrong.” He smiled, baring his teeth, and bluffed. “One waited for years for this. Was it not obvious? One would never have won the Han throne. The solution could only be to look elsewhere. And was it not so obvious with Tang? They only had one omega prince. One’s Esteemed Father would certainly find a way to marry off one of his sons and snap up Tang to be his own. It all depended on One’s power-hungry birthgiver, though. One did everything One could to have you recommend One for the position. One kept His head down and never showed lust for an omega. Have you any idea how hard it was to hold Oneself back all these years? But it was worth it. Ten years of celibacy only to have the most beautiful lotus to grace the planet as my own, and with him, the wealthiest nation on the continent. And you are to thank for all of it.”

Lin Shanyuan’s face went white under his powder. “…So it’s true. You planned this.”

Minghao stood up and went to the wall, taking one of the ceremonial Tang swords off of it. Like the Han fashion, these were also straight swords, the only difference being that the blade was slenderer. He unsheathed it and ran a finger along the still-keen edge. Raising his eyes to his father, blade still in hand, he smiled. “One is sure One’s Esteemed Father would understand if you were to suffer… an accident, trying to intervene in One’s sparring with Xianliang- ge . How tragic that you fell to the hand of your own sons, because you could not distinguish between friends and foes.”

 Lin Shanyuan tensed. “Minghao. You do not mean—”

“That’s Your Majesty to you,” Minghao corrected. “Were you not intending to leave this morning? One was told your bags were packed. Hasten to it, and get out of One’s sight. One has patience, true, but you have run it very thin.”

Lin Shanyuan said nothing for a few moments. Then he left the room, shaking. Minghao waited until he was sure his father was gone, then hung up the sword again and laughed to himself a little desperately.

He hoped he hadn’t thrown too much of a wrench in Junhui’s plans.

A few minutes later another servant came to call on him. “Your Majesty, the guests wish to bid you farewell.”

“Tell them to wait,” Minghao said, and went to bathe and change his clothes.

After getting ready, he went to the front gates of the palace. Junhui was already there, arms crossed over his chest as he stood surrounded by his guards. Minghao went to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist, and lifted a brow at his brother. “Leaving so soon?”

“It seems that we are not welcome.” Xianliang said it with a biting viciousness that scared Minghao about as much as a whining pup. “We take Your Majesties’ leave, and hope that You are not offended.”

“A lovely thing to hope for,” Junhui said sweetly. “Fare ye well, and safe travels. We’ll await the news of your safe return.” 

Lin Shanyuan gulped as Minghao turned a hard look on him. “Y—Yes, Your Majesty. Your hospitality has been gracious. Truly, the Wens live up to their reputation.”

Quickly the Lins climbed into their ornate carriage and were soon gone with all their retinue. Minghao had never been so glad to see the backs of anyone. When their cloud of dust disappeared on the horizon, he felt as if he could finally breathe again.

They had already wasted the early morning with this nonsense, and it was nearly time for court.

Later in the afternoon, they sat together in the gardens, taking tea. Minghao told Junhui of the encounter with his father, and much to his delight, Junhui was greatly pleased by how he had handled the situation.

“You did wonderfully,” his husband gushed, patting his forearm proudly. “Now they will really think you are the mastermind. Oh, I’m so glad he never suspected me. That makes things so much easier.”

Minghao smiled, then stared down at his cup of tea, sobering. “What happens now?”

Junhui hesitated, sobering too. “I think it will come to war. I hate to say it, but we have to begin preparing for the worst. I just can’t see your Esteemed Father giving up on Tang.”

Minghao had hoped for a different answer. “I see.”

“Don’t look so down,” Junhui said, but the cheer in his voice was forced. “We’ll be fine. I know we will.”

“I pray to the ancestors that you are right,” Minghao said. Then, after a long pause, “Let me tell you about the Six Shining Stars of Han.”

“Your siblings?” Junhui’s interest was piqued. “I’ve heard of them. What about it?”

Minghao’s gut churned at the thought of his siblings, but he pressed on. “I’ve been away for a long time. Your intelligence has likely told you more than my knowledge of them can reveal. But perhaps you’ll see something I haven’t.”

“Go on,” Junhui said lowly. A warm hand covered his, large yet delicate, the joints knobby, the skin petal soft. “I’m listening.”

Minghao took a breath and began to speak.