The Lotus Courtyard didn't sleep.
It just waited.
It lay there under the moonlight, too quiet, like breath held too long and forgotten. Still in a way that made the silence feel heavy. Wrong.
The silk lanterns creaked slightly in the breeze, but not enough to stir the hush. The pond reflected light in broken, streaky lines like it didn't know how to settle. The stone path curled toward the east wing. Polished. Untouched. Like a secret no one wanted to admit they knew.
She walked it alone.
Consort Rui.
No falter in her steps. No sound of sigh or rustle. She just moved slow, steady, cool and unbothered.
Like a painting someone forgot to finish. Or a memory wearing silk.
It had been, what? a season? Maybe more, since the Emperor last touched her hand. His warmth drifted elsewhere now. To some younger thing. Fresh-faced, all laughter and eyes full of fake innocence.
Consort Rui didn't complain.
She dressed without flaw. Sat through meals without fidgeting. Recited poetry with the right pauses, the right inflections. And when she walked the courtyard at dusk, she did it like she was walking through something already gone.
The maids whispered about her grace.
But none of them followed too close behind her shadow.
Then he came.
They called him Jue.
No rank. No backstory. Just a name. And silence that came with him like a second skin.
Broad-shouldered. Scarless, oddly enough. He moved like he didn't need to make noise to be known. Like he could kill and walk away before you felt the blood.
They said he came from the north, where winters killed faster than swords.
He didn't smile.
Didn't decorate himself.
Didn't even frown.
But when he looked at you, it was hard not to flinch. Like he could see every secret you tried not to think about.
His orders were simple.
Protect the Consort.
That was it.
The first time she really noticed him, she wasn't wearing shoes.
The path still held the day's heat. She'd sent her maids away, tired of their hovering, their eyes. Tired of being tended like a flower already past bloom.
She padded along the stone, bare-footed, not looking for anything.
Then he stepped from behind a pillar. No warning. No sound.
She stopped. Sharp breath. A little startled.
He bowed. Quick. Wordless.
She raised a brow. Not offended. Just… tired. "No greeting?"
Nothing.
He didn't blink. Didn't drop his gaze either.
Something in her chest that hollow, quiet part she didn't check on anymore, shifted. Like a breath hitting something cold.
She walked past him. Said nothing else.
But that night, staring at herself in the mirror, she touched the hollow of her throat. It hurt. Just a little.
She didn't know why.
After that, he was always there.
Three steps behind.
Never closer. Never farther.
He didn't talk. Barely seemed to breathe. But she began to notice things.
He never stepped on petals. His hands twitched when she lingered too long by the flowering branches.
His head tilted but barely, when she read aloud from her scrolls, like he was listening even if he didn't understand the words.
So she pushed.
Not cruelly. Just… enough.
She let her robe slip off one shoulder and didn't fix it. She dropped her fan and didn't pick it up. She moved slower than she had to.
His eyes followed. She felt it.
But he never crossed the line.
That held-back heat? It burned worse than any hungry touch.
On the eleventh night, it rained.
Soft rain. The kind that crept into bones and made everything ache a little.
She didn't light any lamps. Didn't bother with servants or tea.
Just walked the covered paths barefoot again, robe damp from the air. Lavender silk clung to her in places that would've caused scandal if anyone else saw. She let it.
He stood at the edge of the walkway. Still. Barely more than a shadow.
She stepped into view.
"You can speak," she said. Not demanding. Not sure.
He didn't answer.
She moved closer. Two steps. Enough to feel how tense the air had gone.
"You're not mute."
"…No."
The word hit her harder than it should have.
She reached out. Pressed her fingers gently against the center of his chest.
His heart was steady. Of course it was.
"Then why don't you?"
His throat moved, like the words were crawling up too slowly.
"If I speak," he said, low, rough, "I'll say something I can't take back."
That night, she left her door unlatched.
Not a signal. Not a cry for help.
Just unlocked.
Just… waiting.
He came late. When the moon had risen too high and the night had gotten too quiet.
He didn't knock. Just stood in the doorway, hand on the frame.
She didn't turn around. She stood by the window, robe sliding low on one arm.
"Are you here to kill me?" she asked.
"No."
"To protect me?"
"Yes."
She turned.
No tears. No fear. Just a tired, open face.
"Then stay," she said.
He didn't rush.
But when he stepped forward, the air changed. Something thick fell between them. Want, maybe. Or truth.
He stopped in front of her.
She didn't move.
Their lips touched once. Unsure.
Then again. Warmer.
Then again. And it wasn't either of those things anymore.
He kissed her slow, like someone testing if the world would allow it.
His hand found her waist. Hesitated.
Her fingers shook when she pulled at the knot on his shoulder. They both saw it. Neither said anything.
Their silks tangled as they moved. Their breaths broke in strange places. The kiss ended with a soft laugh of hers. Quiet. Nervous.
He smiled. Just a little. One corner of his mouth.
That was all.
They kissed again.
Nothing was perfect.
They bumped knees. The bed creaked too loud. Her hair got caught in his fingers. He murmured something half-formed. She gasped too sharp, flushed with heat and not sure if it was want or fear.
But they didn't stop.
They moved like people learning skin for the first time.
When he touched her and froze, afraid of going too far, she pulled his hand back gently.
When she trembled, he slowed.
When she pressed her forehead to his chest, he let her stay there as long as she needed.
Afterward, they didn't speak.
Her fingers traced along his back, aimless at first but full of thought.
He let her.
She made a soft sound, not even a word. He pressed his lips to her temple.
Maybe it was a promise.
Maybe just a way to stay quiet together a little longer.
The moon hung too long in the sky.
The courtyard didn't move.
And below the window, the lotus flowers bloomed messy, late, and wide open.
Just like her.