Chapter 28
Yi Nuo~
The cloying sweetness of cinnamon and lilies, a heavy, recently sickening perfume in the still air of Liang Yu Palace, made each breath a labored gasp, bringing on another wave of nausea. The cool ivory of my vanity felt smooth beneath my fingertips as I sat, feigning composure, but the dark crescents under my eyes, stark against my pale skin, betrayed sleepless nights haunted by vivid dreams; a woman I’d never met, her beautiful face etched with sorrow, had been appearing nearly every night.
The scent of rose powder hangs in the air as Lue Lue, a blur of motion like a pollen-gathering bee, fusses around me. Her soft touches, each brushstroke a feather-light caress, are amplified by my heightened senses. The delicate application of powder feels exquisite against my skin; these delightful morning moments are intensely precious now. I’m the flower, fully bloomed, basking in her attention, a pampering I shouldn’t, yet do, grow accustomed to.
“Princess Consort, Lue Lue has noticed you haven’t bled this month, have you?” So lightly. Her question fell like a single petal on still water, yet I flinched, hand flying to my belly. She already had an inkling on the secret I wouldn’t voice, not even to Ruilin on those nights when his laughter tickled me more than his hands.
Our eyes locked. The silence between us was palpable, but she seemed unfazed by my hesitation or reluctance to reply and began humming softly again. Her deft fingers moved rapidly, skillfully brushing my hair until it gleamed like black silk, then twisting and braiding it into intricate patterns—like flowing river currents, as Ruilin once put it. She added the final touch with jade combs shaped like cicadas and teardrops. Stepping back, she tilted her head and a gentle smile appeared on her lips as she admired her handiwork before choosing my dress.
The gowns gifted by Ruilin’s older sister were befitting a princess or a queen, each one more intricate than the last. Six exquisite garments awaited in neat, light-banded piles on the daybed: one was a deep sapphire, its fabric shimmering with delicate snow poppies embroidered in silver thread; another was a radiant raw gold, glowing with an intensity that rivaled the first light of dawn; there was a gown of pale honeydew green, its surface glistening as if kissed by morning dew. Yet, it was the scandalous fuchsia gown that drew her attention—billowy and unapologetic, its vibrant hue practically shouted for attention. It was the one that least suited my taste and naturally; it was the one that caught her eye.
“Does Princess Consort have a preference?” Lue Lue asked, pausing respectfully for my answer, yet she decided herself, as usual taking great pride in dressing me up as she did. “If that’s the case, I’ll choose for you,” she said happily. “It’s so difficult when everything suits you well. The cobalt blue looked stunning on you yesterday, and His Highness mentioned it twice or was it thrice…no matter.”
She pondered briefly, tapping her lip and toe in unison, before selecting the fuchsia dress and draping it delicately over my shoulders. As she slipped me out of my sleep robe and into silk sleeves heavy with beadwork, her fingers pausing only once—at the bodice’s edge where fabric ran tight along my chest.
“Ah,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She blinked suddenly, as if a bee had stung her, as the truth of her suspicions became undeniably clear. “Your breasts…” she whispered, her voice just a breath above silence. “They’re fuller.” Her eyes remained on my chest, tears glistening as she admitted she could no longer keep up the pretense between us. “It’s not my place to voice this first, but, Highness, what a blessing,” she spoke in the ancient language of the Phoenix realm. “You are pregnant. You are strong,” she then repeated in the common tongue for me.
“Prince Ruilin must be over the moon?” Lue Lue inquired. As I hesitated, her quick intake of breath and the sudden tension in her brows and lips, akin to a newly cut pine branch bowing into a frown, conveyed everything she left unsaid.
The words stuck in my throat. “I haven’t told him. Not yet,” I admitted. “I want to be sure it’s the right moment.” I glanced at my reflection—the mortal carrying the Phoenix emperor’s grandchild—then at the stubborn knots in my sash that wouldn’t stay in a tidy bow. “Consort Lie Xi announced her pregnancy last week,” I blurted out, the words tumbling out with a nervous exhale. “I thought it best to wait until her coronation. I didn’t want to…..”
Lue Lue quickly completed my thought. “You were concerned about overshadowing Consort Lie Xi,” she remarked, a knowing smile playing on her lips, revealing an agreeable dimple. “It’s wise to be careful. But you don’t have to wait for her coronation—it won’t occur. She’ll never become the empress. She’s Ruilin’s aunt, the younger sister of the late Empress.” As she spoke, she fiddled with the stubborn silk sash that seemed to have a mind of its own. “The Emperor married her to care for his young children, but she tarnished her reputation by having Prince Feng Meng during the mourning period. She’s damaged her standing and led people to question the Emperor’s loyalty to his late wife, labeling him as heartless and unfaithful to jump into another’s arms while in mourning. She has done him a great disservice!”
I chuckled and bristled at the silly and unfair notion of Consort Lie Xi shouldering all the blame for getting pregnant. ”It takes two to conceive a child; if the Emperor willingly took part, how can she be solely responsible?”
“She should have respected the tradition. She shouldn’t have flaunted herself in the late Empress’s silks or snuck into his bedchamber and ensnared him after he’d had too much wine to drown his sorrows,” Lue Lue spat, her lips tightening as if she’d tasted something bitter. “But this is not a suitable topic for the young prince.” She spoke to my stomach as if the fetus could hear when it didn’t have ears yet.
“Let’s refocus on what truly matters.” With that, she straightened her posture and became professional again: adjusting the hem so they sat perfectly below my ankles, examining each seam for imperfections, and brushing away invisible lint from the hem.
“We’ll need looser, less form fitting gowns from now on,” she concluded briskly after one last appraising look at my waistline. She switched out yellow silk next—a hue pale enough to ghost out any evidence beneath it—and instructed me carefully on how to move so no one would notice new curves underneath.
“You’re meeting with the Emperor today for chess?” she confirmed.
“Yes.”
“And he will ask about your health. You may appear delicate, but not ill.” She offered another small smile—the kind mothers give before pushing fledglings off rooftops into flight.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised, though inside nerves coiled tighter than ever.
“How long until everyone knows?” I asked shyly and uncertain.
Pondering, she paused before replying, “When will the others find out… if you don’t tell them..” Her tone blurred the line between a question and a statement. “It could take over two years, given your slight figure, and because it’s your first pregnancy with the proper clothes, you might be able to hide it until you give birth,” she mentioned nonchalantly. “But I don’t see why you would hide it that long when Princess Changying will end her seclusion soon enough and clear up this nonsense.”
At that name my heart lurched—immortal fiancée, vanished months ago rather than face her family’s reproach head-on. I grumbled under my breath as my emotions swung suddenly. “We can’t reveal the news until Changying owns up to her actions. If her family hears about me and the baby before she does, they’ll see Ruilin as the scoundrel who was unfaithful, despite her breaking off their engagement with a detached, impersonal message. I’m eager to meet her face-to-face to witness what real shamelessness looks like.”
I bit down on my lip to stop myself from sounding like a jealous wife. Lue Lue arched an eyebrow suggestively but declined commentary. Instead, she finished arranging embroidery along my sleeves and pronounced me fit for public eyes then leaned into me. The delicate curve of her bottom lashes came into focus, and the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of the gardenia nestled in her hair filled my senses.
She whispered, “But did you know Phoenixes can hear the song of their young even before they are born; that’s how they recognize their own. The child will sing to Crown Prince and he will reply with song.”
“Lue Lue will do as Princess Consort desires.” With a soft exhale, she wove our pinkies together. “This will be our secret for now.”
Despite our agreement to keep things secret, some truths, like wildflowers pushing through cracks in the pavement, have come to light.
====
A warm sunbeam filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden light across the room and gently rousing me from a nap. I found Ruilin with his head rested delicately on my stomach, his long hair tickling my skin like a feather. Over my clothing, his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, sending a cascade of warmth rippling through me.
The room was filled with the soothing sounds of Ruilin’s gentle humming. I stirred; he sat up so gently the bed remained silent. Playfulness vanished from his face. The Crown Prince, he was, his arms forming a polite circle as he spoke, tender and sincere: “Congratulations, you’re going to be a mother.” Mirroring his gesture, I encircled my arms, bowing slightly, my voice echoing his earnestness: “Congratulations, you’re going to be a father.”
“I’m so delighted! Are you pleased?” He asked, then gushed without waiting for a reply, “I don’t deserve you.” He exclaimed pulling me into his arms. “We made a baby!”
I pressed my cheek to his, the warmth of his skin a comforting weight against mine. The scent of our mingled skin, warm and familiar, filled the air as we embraced. A rush of overwhelming love, a silent hum vibrating between our hearts, pulsed between us. Falling onto the soft, yielding mattress, we giggled at first dizzy over the miracle of new life, then our lips met—a kiss deepening into a silent vow.
Our fingers traced the familiar curves of each other’s faces, the soft skin yielding under our touch. Our caresses deepened, lingering, savoring the connection; a wave of warmth spreading through us with each tender kiss. He undressed me with reverent slowness—each touch a feather-light caress, each sigh a whispered promise. His warm, firm hands, charting the valleys of my collarbone, the swell of my sensitive breasts, the gentle curve of my hips, finally rested on my stomach—a gentle pressure, a cradle of our shared secret, igniting a deeper passion.
“Ruilin, I love you.” Our lips touched, and I surrendered to the overwhelming desire—a warm heat spreading within me. As our skin touched, I inhaled his essence. His lips, crafted for bliss, felt like smooth silk gliding over mine as he entered me, slowly and purposefully. We moved in harmony, a gentle rhythm; each touch was a delicate caress followed by a grounding pressure that kept me centered. Time stretched endlessly, each second a warm caress. There was no rush, no moment wasted and nothing taken for granted.
His love was devoted, masterful, as if crafted solely for me, and he excelled at pleasing me. I moaned, inhaling rapture. It was different—a high-voltage hum vibrating deep within, shaking me to my core. I felt him everywhere and nowhere, merging at our single point of contact. Each thrust sent waves, not just through flesh, but through my very being—nerves sparking, bones throbbing with a transcendent sweetness. Our bodies found their rhythm easily; we’d spent so much time discovering each other. Ruilin cupped my thigh, pressing it against his waist, deepening his angle—he knew exactly how much pressure I liked (more than most women admit), but always checked with murmurs or gentle touches to my face.
“Are you alright?” he murmured. “Is this too much?” His focus was weaving safety into our passion. He listened intently for shifts in my breath, the slightest muscle tension, ready to adjust or stop before any discomfort. His intense care overwhelmed me, making me want to weep instead of climax. This sensitivity deepened our connection and trust, enhancing both our emotional and physical intimacy.
But why the tears?
“I can feel you thinking,” he said into my shoulder-blade once I’d arched away from him, losing my climax.
Laughter, self-deprecating amusement, and a torrent of unshed tears warred within me. I turned away. The absurdity of it all should have stopped the tears, but it didn’t. I sobbed silently, a shuddering grief for wasted energy, needless torment. It was a tempest in a teapot, a drama solely in my mind. His brow furrowed with worry. A moment of stillness, his warmth within me—the fullness should have driven me wild with pleasure, but a deeper anxiety held sway.
His cool hands stilled my shaking hair. “Only we matter,” he whispered, his voice quiet but firm. “Just the three of us.”
It was both reassurance and gentle command, bending my stubborn will; he wanted me present, only with him. Feeling foolish, I looked up through tear-blurred lashes, meeting his gaze as the sensation returned—brighter and sharper this time, because I allowed myself to be nowhere else but wrapped in his arms.
He kissed me hard, his lips insistent, as if pouring unspoken words and tenderness into me. Our skin sparked; sweat pooled at my collarbone, smeared gold by his hand. When he lifted my hips, a groan of pleasure escaping my lips as he drove deeper, carefully reaching my limits of our fusion, I dug my nails into his back. The hard muscles yielded, slightly giving way beneath my fingertips, raising little welts the color of summer poppies.
The air hung heavy and shimmering with heat of our bodies as my ankles locked around his waist, my heel pressing into the sensitive hollow above his tailbone. My toes curled. Each thrust dissolved my boundaries, leaving me raw, a conduit of pure, overwhelming sensation. The climax hit with blinding, white-hot force; an explosion that obliterated my identity, leaving only a void. Then, the jarring return to reality: the rough, russet-colored sheets tangled in my sweat-slicked hands, their gold embroidery blurred; a sliver of hazy blue sky, rain-streaked, seen through the window; Ruilin’s damp, dark hair plastered to his forehead, his dilated pupils reflecting a strange, awestruck wonder.
It was as though every color in the room had been turned up to maximum intensity: the red of my flushed thighs wrapped around his hips, the blue-veined marble of his forearms braced against the bedding, even the muted yellow glow that spilled from lamps onto our sweat-slick torsos. Ruilin’s face shone wet with exertion and resolve, cheekbones daubed with streaks of sunlight that made him look freshly painted and slightly surreal—as if he’d been thrown together from bits of myth and memory.
Even as my body trembled from aftershocks, his hip dipped—a relentless piston, yet his strokes were slow, satisfying that sent each new wave crashing over whatever still clung to rationality in my brain. My breath hitched into ragged little sobs that embarrassed me but only seemed to inflame him further; he never looked away from my face, not once. His hands found mine above my head, fingers threading between them until our palms fit together with uncanny precision; it felt less like being pinned and more like being held fast against some inevitable fate.
He kept moving, steadily thrusting inside me even after I’d gone slack with release—each hot, slick friction against my spasming insides, a burning pressure building with each stroke. He wanted every shudder, every last tremor, each gasp escaping my lips, before he let go himself. When finally he did (with an ungainly yelp, a breathless, boyish sound rather than a regal sigh), he collapsed belly-down without putting all his weight on me, his weight a warm, heavy pressure against me. Our bodies, slick with sweat and mingling scents of arousal and exertion, fell into a tangle so knotted, limbs intertwined like vines, it might never again come apart cleanly.
Raking his fingers through my hair, Ruilin broke the silence first: “What is it you want most?”
“Whatever comes next,” I said truthfully, turning to face him and tracing the almost divine contours of his face.
He snorted: “Diplomat’s answer and vague…What a very Yi Nuo-ish answer.”
But then, a softening of his sharp features, a practiced gentleness in his warm brown eyes—the rehearsed sentimentality was evident. “I wish I had met you first, only you,” his voice, a murmur, carried on the fragrant warmth of the air, “so I could declare my love for you from the palace rooftops. See you dressed in ceremonial red, the silk shimmering under the moonlight, crowned as my Princess Consort is my dream that I can’t wait to make a reality.”
He paused, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, infectious and charming. “I’m impatient to brag about my vigor and our child growing in your womb.” He turned pensive, a shadow falling across his handsome face. “I’m sorry we have to keep you in hiding a little longer.”
I replied, “Don’t be sorry. The wait will make everything sweeter, and we’ll cherish it more.”
“Honestly, you’re too good for me, but thank you for bearing with me,” he breathed, drawing me closer. A hushed silence descended, broken only by the ragged rasp of our breathing, sweat clinging to our skin before cooling into goosebumps—tiny, raised islands dotting my chest. His fingertips, cool and smooth as river stones, traced the peaks and valleys of those bumps while he painted pictures of our future with his words, a vibrant tapestry of sound: “Three sons, then a Princess, just like you.”
I told him not to tempt fate by guessing aloud, “What if it’s three girls and a son, your spitting image?” My counter felt brittle against the thrill of his playful prophecy, each silly guess a whispered prayer, a tangible hope. “Fine then. It will be three boys and three girls.” He declared.
Laughter bubbled between us again, bodies warm and entwined before yielding to the urgent flow of love. Shutting out the world and being each other’s universe was effortless. Except for hunger, we could have stayed like that for days. After we made love, Ruilin always craved rice balls filled with pickled plums or sugared lotus root dipped in vinegar. He said they purged the heat from his body; I suspected it was just a delicious excuse, but I never challenged him.
“Thank you Lue Lue.” He gave her a wide, cheesy grin. Today Lue Lue brought trays herself: she set them down quietly and tried not to look directly at either of us, though her cheeks burned bright enough anyone passing could see she knew exactly what we’d been doing moments before. She bowed twice before leaving—once respectfully for rank and once conspiratorially for secret-sharing—and shut the door behind her without sound.
We ate side by side cross-legged amid pillows and discarded silks; afterwards Ruilin insisted on spoon-feeding me bits of watermelon as sweet as candy and crystalized ginger slices until I threatened retaliation by smearing plum paste across his nose (which predictably led to another wrestling match beneath blankets).
The day passed this way—slowly dissolving boundaries between pleasure and playfulness — until afternoon sun bled orange across floors. Ruilin nuzzled my ear: “Will you walk with me?”
He meant along canals winding through Half Moon gardens where koi darted under whiter jade bridges. The garden gleamed under moonlight, water reflecting silver threads between black boughs hung heavy with last blossoms clinging desperately against frost’s approach.
We walked close but not touching; propriety demanded distance here though no one watched except stars and two little red foxes who darted among roots hunting something unseen by human eyes.
Under a sky dusted with a million shimmering pinpricks of light, Ruilin wove tales of constellations. “That’s Fox’s Tail,” he whispered, his finger tracing patterns through the fragrant, moon-dappled latticework above, “and that cluster is Jade Archer.”
He told me fables. Each story was more fantastical than the last.
“The Phoenix constellation,” he continued, his voice laced with amusement, “used to be only seven stars until my grandmother, Empress Ling added two more herself after winning a drinking contest against the God of War! Have I told you, I’ve drunk wine with the God Of War?”
“The God of War?” I asked, feigning disbelief, my hand brushing against the rough bark of a tree. “Did you really?”
His grin was warm, his hand suddenly enveloping mine. “Why would a God like him drink with the likes of me? You’re still so gullible that it’s adorable.”
“Only to you,” I shot back, a smile tugging at my lips. Despite knowing the whimsical nature of his narrative, I found myself captivated as always.
The familiar, slightly calloused texture of his palm felt comforting against my skin. His gaze distant and unfocused, like a hazy moonlit sky. “Yi Nuo, don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “You’ll drink the elixir of immortality after you give birth. Only the Celestial Skylord can bestow such a grace, but I figure, after everything, Princess Changying could help me persuade her father to grant you immortality,” he continued, “And I’ve been racking my brain thinking of ways I can be in the Skylord’s favor and earn the elixir for you, myself.”
“Either way, trust me. I’ll take care of everything.” he whispered, his breath warm in my hair. His cheek resting on my head felt wonderfully comforting.
“I trust you, Ruilin.” I replied un-naturally chipper, but the weight of his words pressed down, a physical burden mirroring the strange dependence of my future on Princess Changying. Despite my attempts to refute it, an undeniable certainty settled; she and I, utter strangers, bound by an invisible thread of fate, taut and unyielding as a spider’s silk.
My future was strangely hinged on Princess Changying.