300 BCE

  State of Rui

  Summer

  The evening was quiet in the guest pavilion of Rui State, famous for its beautiful gold jewelry and delicate porcelain. It was late summer, and outside, the air was still warm, scented faintly with jasmine from the gardens.

  But inside, the peace was broken by the rough, urgent sounds of bodies moving together, harsh breaths mingling with gasps and low grunts. Bronze lamps shaped like lotus blossoms cast flickering shadows on lacquered walls and silk curtains, the soft golden glow trembling in the heat.

  Ji Heng, a Prince of the Third Rank from Rong State—known for its disciplined warriors and fine silk embroidery—was kneeling on the bed, his body tense and slick with sweat. His dark robes lay discarded around him, forgotten in the urgency of the moment. His usually neat black hair was wild, falling loose from his silver headpiece, strands clinging to his flushed face. His eyes, always sharp and cautious, now burned with an intensity he rarely showed, completely absorbed by the figure in front of him.

  Beneath him, the maid trembled on her hands and knees, her naked skin flushed and glistening, her breaths ragged and uneven as he thrust into her with a rhythm that had shed its cold precision for something wilder, more consuming.

  The tension wound tighter, unbearable, his groans growing louder, more primal, until it snapped—his hips stuttering as a guttural growl ripped from his throat, his climax crashing through him with a force that left him shaking, buried deep within her.

  And as the wave broke, overwhelming and unrestrained, all he could see were those cold, unyielding dark eyes of the woman he’d met earlier that day—her defiance, sharp and clear in her face. Princess Hengxin.

  ?───────?°???°?───────?

  Earlier

  Jin Hengxin sat silently before the polished bronze mirror, her reflection shimmering faintly beneath its cool surface. Her features were striking—high cheekbones framed her face, drawing attention to lips that were full yet unsmiling. Her eyes, slightly slanted and dark, held a cold, guarded expression, as if she had learned long ago not to reveal her true thoughts.

  Behind her, a senior maid worked meticulously, fingers deftly arranging intricate hairpins of pure gold, each adorned with flawlessly carved jade blossoms—ornaments so elaborate and exquisite they set trends throughout the States. Her junior maids stood quietly nearby, heads bowed respectfully, their hair neatly pulled back into simple knots, their robes plain shades of muted blue—an intentional sign of their lower rank, meant never to outshine the princess they served.

  The chamber around Hengxin embodied both elegance and restraint: lacquered screens intricately carved with soaring phoenixes and coiling dragons; jade-green silk curtains stirring gently in the late summer breeze. Gilt bronze lanterns, shaped like delicate lotus blossoms, cast soft pools of golden light upon walls covered in fine silk embroidery. The rich scents of sandalwood and jasmine drifted lazily from burning incense, blending with the faint, crisp fragrance of fresh lotus petals floating gently in porcelain bowls scattered throughout the room.

  Beyond the privacy of her quarters came muted voices—the soft padding of servants’ feet across polished wooden floors, the distant clink of porcelain cups, murmured instructions exchanged with careful politeness. Hengxin’s jaw tightened slightly, bitterness simmering beneath her composed exterior. Always the servants, always the whispers—voices layered endlessly with demands, obligations, conspiracies —the relentless spiral of court life.

  None of the maids or eunuchs serving Hengxin bore true loyalty to her beyond professional courtesy. Her maternal grandfather had grown too powerful; her father too cautious. Neither man had genuine affection for her, except as a pawn in their political maneuvers. Each year her attendants changed, replaced before any deeper bond could form. Paid well enough to show respect, they were inevitably spies—sent either by her father, her maternal grandfather, or the consorts who navigated court intrigues like chess pieces.

  Finally, a maid called quietly from beyond the jade-green curtains, her voice respectful and subdued. “Princess, the Royal Sedan Chair is ready for you.”

  Hengxin rose smoothly, her ceremonial robes heavy upon her shoulders, embroidered silk dense with threads of pure gold and intricate jade beadwork. Her gown, a deep, rich crimson, depicted phoenixes soaring among blooming peonies—symbols of royal femininity and virtue, though today they felt more like chains, burdens suited perfectly to her status as Rui State’s royal hostage. Immediately, attendants stepped forward, silently fulfilling their roles. Two junior maids carefully lifted the hem of her elaborate robes, their cautious fingers ensuring not even a single golden thread touched the polished floor. Her senior maid, eyes carefully downcast with practiced detachment, extended a steadying hand as Hengxin crossed the raised threshold into the softly lit corridor.

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  Outside, beneath gently swaying bronze lanterns, waited the Royal Sedan Chair—carved richly from fragrant sandalwood, draped in heavy silks of imperial blue and shimmering gold, meticulously embroidered with phoenixes mid-flight above lotus blossoms floating gracefully upon swirling waters. Its curved roof bore silken tassels swaying softly, whispering mournfully in the summer night air, echoing her quiet resignation. Eight sedan bearers stood silently, heads respectfully bowed, postures disciplined and tense.

  Hengxin approached, face serene though her pulse quickened beneath her calm demeanor. Her senior maid stepped forward once more, carefully smoothing the thick silk cushion inside the sedan—as if the slightest crease might mar what remained of Rui State’s dignity. Then she gently assisted Hengxin into the sedan, guiding her until she was settled upon the plush cushion. The sedan’s interior enclosed her instantly, a cocoon of muted luxury, both sheltering and suffocating, isolating her from the outside world.

  As the heavy silk curtains fell closed, muffling the murmurs of servants, the sedan lifted smoothly, swaying gently forward as it carried her toward the Great Hall (太和殿, Tàihé Diàn).

  Today, Rong State had come to collect their hostage, deliberately sending the most insulting emissary imaginable:

  Prince Ji Heng, born from the rape of Rong State’s last hostage by their current King. A prince merely of the Third Rank—unloved, powerless—the ultimate humiliation for Rui State, a calculated punishment designed to cut deep.

  But Hengxin was determined to bear it. She had no choice. While she couldn’t control what they did with her, or to her, she could at least control how she reacted to them—all of them, including her father.

  And she was not going to let them see her break.

  ?───────?°???°?───────?

  Ji Heng waited as Rui State’s servants carefully lowered the ornate sedan to the ground at the base of the grand staircase leading to the Great Hall (太和殿, Tàihé Diàn). The sedan, intricately carved from fragrant sandalwood, was draped in silk the deep blue of Rong State’s colors, embroidered with golden phoenixes and lotus blossoms that shimmered subtly in the fading sunlight. Rui State’s servants, dressed plainly in muted green robes—typical attire for low-ranking eunuchs tasked with such duties—stood respectfully with their eyes downcast.

  The journey to the palace had been tiresome. Heng had arrived earlier that afternoon in a richly decorated carriage escorted by Rong’s soldiers, halting at Rui Palace’s outer gates.

  There, Rui’s officials formally greeted him with careful politeness before transferring him to the sedan for the final approach through the expansive palace grounds. This was customary—a respectful gesture to Rong State’s visiting royal—yet beneath the courteous welcome simmered deep insult and resentment. Ji Heng was the living embodiment of Rong State’s humiliation of Rui: the son born from the violent rape of the previous Rui royal hostage sent twenty years ago. His mother, a cousin to the current Rui King, had been brutally dishonored, and Rong State’s former King had forced his own son—the current Rong King—to take her as a royal concubine. Sending Ji Heng, a mere Prince of the Third Rank born from such disgrace, was an intentional and calculated affront.

  Heng’s closest companions stood ready nearby, having walked beside his sedan from the gates. To his left stood Xiao Yunqi, Deputy General of the Elite Cavalry, his godfather’s eldest son and his trusted friend. Yunqi was tall, broad-shouldered, half a head taller than Heng, clean-shaven with a square jaw that suited his stoic temperament. His hair was neatly bound beneath a practical bronze military coronet, and he wore polished iron scale armor—robust, dignified, clearly conveying Rong’s military strength.

  To Heng’s right was Zhao Mingyu, his personal assistant since childhood. Mingyu had served Heng loyally since he was eight, descending from a family that had served Yunqi’s lineage for generations. Mingyu was a little shorter than Heng and lighter in build, his features gentle yet sharply intelligent. He wore modest but finely made robes of dark grey, simple enough to show humility but clearly high-quality enough to mark him as a respected attendant rather than a eunuch.

  As Heng stepped from the sedan, he swayed slightly and coughed delicately. Mingyu’s hand shot out discreetly, supporting him with practiced ease as Heng deliberately leaned close. The prince muttered under his breath, barely audible, “I’m fucking starving.”

  Mingyu suppressed a smirk, responding quietly, “Patience. Once the greetings are done, the banquet will follow. You won’t die.”Heng’s expression soured slightly, his voice petulant. “Eight days trapped in that stupid carriage. Are you sure?”

  Ji Heng despised carriages—they made him nauseated. But the facade of his frailty had to be meticulously maintained, which meant his preferred travel method, by horseback, was impossible.

  Feigning fatigue, Heng wiped a hand lightly across his forehead and straightened slowly, catching the anxious glances of two Rui Royal Escorts who stood waiting respectfully. Both were older officials, grey-haired with neatly trimmed beards, their royal-blue court robes elaborately embroidered with silver cranes—a sign of their high status. One, named Minister Li Zhiyuan, stepped forward, concern in his eyes.

  “Prince Heng, are you well?” Minister Li asked, his voice gentle and carefully polite.

  “Y-yes,” Heng responded weakly, his voice deliberately shaky. “Just…the travel was difficult.”

  “We should not keep the King waiting,” he added quickly, nodding slightly towards Mingyu. “Make sure to bring the gifts.”

  At Ji Heng’s signal, Minister Li swiftly gestured to nearby Rui eunuchs, instructing them to receive the tribute gifts carefully carried by Rong’s servants, who had followed silently alongside the sedan during its procession.

  Ji Heng turned his gaze upward, towards the sweeping stairs of the Great Hall, hiding a subtle, satisfied smile. A great show was about to begin, and he was very much looking forward to it.