The sun was already well into the sky by the time they stirred.
Morning had long crossed the horizon, spilling gold through the sheer curtains of their chamber and pooling over the marble floors like warm milk. Outside, the hush of late spring swelled against the windows—birds in lazy chorus, the breeze rustling soft green leaves, the distant sound of water being drawn in the courtyards. The world had started without them, but in here, time moved slower.
Yen was still half-asleep, sprawled across their massive bed with limbs outstretched like a satisfied jungle cat, bare-chested, hair tousled from sleep and sweat. His breath was deep and even, mouth slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows over flushed cheeks. The sheet had slipped low over his hips sometime in the night, leaving the sharp dip of his waist exposed—golden skin kissed by the light, dappled in warmth.
Lily peeled herself from the tangle of limbs and silk, slipping from the bed with sore legs and a slight wince. Her knees nearly gave as she stood. Her body hummed—sweet and bruised from the night before, her thighs slick with the afterglow of too many hours tangled beneath him.
Still, she insisted on helping him dress.
Her first act as Empress, she had declared with a wobbly sort of dignity, chest puffed as she gathered the neatly folded robes from the lacquered stand. Yen cracked an eye open at her announcement but said nothing—just watched her with lazy amusement curling around the corners of his mouth. She was limping slightly. He noticed. He bit back a grin.
She chose a robe—what she thought was a fine choice, deep red with embroidered gold—and turned, holding it up triumphantly.
"…Hmm. Nope."
His voice was rough with sleep, velvet and lazy. He sat up on one elbow, surveying her with a narrowed eye. "Ceremonial. Not council. That one's for when I'm pretending to be holy."
Lily frowned, inspecting the fabric like it might suddenly explain itself. "They all look the same," she muttered.
"They're not," Yen said, dragging himself upright, stretching like a panther. Every muscle in his torso pulled taut before he stood, fully awake now, fully there, casting a long shadow across the chamber as he approached her. "This one's wrong."
He took it gently from her arms, replaced it with another—less ornate, more understated, still rich with status. She gave a long sigh and accepted defeat. Attempted again. This time, she fumbled the knot entirely.
"Nuh-uh-uh," he tutted, stepping behind her, large hands covering hers, guiding her fingers with exaggerated patience. "Like this—watch. One loop. Under. Tighten."
His breath ghosted against the nape of her neck. She shivered, trying to focus on the fabric, not the heat of his skin brushing her back.
"I'm trying," she grumbled.
"You keep messing it up," he said in that low, amused murmur.
"I'll get it right eventually," she insisted.
He leaned closer, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "You need punishment."
She froze.
Then slowly turned her head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And what punishment?" she asked, voice dry, already knowing it was a mistake to engage.
Yen's grin unfurled like a stormcloud on the horizon—mischievous, beautiful, and wildly unholy.
The look alone wiped the breath from her lungs.
"Yen. No," she warned, trying for regal, trying for firm—but her voice wavered.
Too late.
He lunged.
Lily shrieked, darting sideways in a flash of white silk, nearly tripping over the hem of her nightgown. But his arms were faster—iron and velvet all at once. He swept her up in one smooth, smug motion, cradling her like a prize, laughing into her hair as he carried her straight back to the bed.
"No! Yen, don't you dare—!" she kicked, flailed, punched his chest half-heartedly.
"You wanted punishment," he said, far too pleased with himself.
And then—he tickled.
Mercilessly.
His fingers found every sensitive spot she tried to guard—her sides, her ribs, the soft hollows under her arms. She screamed, gasped, twisted in his arms, laughter bubbling out of her like a flood, helpless and breathless and red-faced.
"Yen—stop—stop! Mercy! Mercy!" she wheezed, nearly sobbing from laughter.
"Wrong knot again," he said, mock-serious. "That's five more seconds."
"I'll kill you—!"
He kissed her cheek sweetly, still grinning. "You'll learn."
-----
Later, they ate with plates balanced on their knees, seated cross-legged beside each other like gossiping children rather than rulers of an empire. Both half-dressed—Lily in a loose robe slipping off one shoulder, Yen in nothing but his inner layer, half-tied. Their hair was still a mess. Their smiles wouldn't fade.
Lily snorted through a mouthful of steamed vegetables as Yen sneakily poked her side again.
"Yen—stop it!" she cried, swatting at him with her chopsticks. "My body hurts."
"You mean this body?" he teased, hand sliding beneath the table to trail up her thigh, slow and knowing.
She slapped his hand away and glared at him. "You're too big and restless. It's your fault I'm sore."
He perked up. "Oh? I should massage you, then." His voice dipped like honey in warm tea as he leaned closer, one hand creeping back under the table to knead her thigh again—slow, suggestive, already edging toward filthy.
"Did I satisfy you last night?" he asked in a low rumble, pupils dilated, already watching her squirm.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back with ruthless affection, and shoved a piece of roasted meat straight into his smug mouth.
He nearly choked laughing.
"You kept shivering," she mumbled, cheeks red.
"Mmm," he hummed around the food, chewing slowly, eyes never leaving her flushed face. "That's because it felt so good inside you—"
She slapped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed. "Yen!"
His laughter vibrated against her palm, wicked and delighted.
They collapsed into giggles, tangled in limbs and heat and love, shoulders pressed close, warm in ways even the sun couldn't replicate.