Hengxin drew in a slow breath, her heart steady despite the tension tightening her chest. With her eyes carefully lowered, she stepped through the grand carved doors of the Great Hall (太和殿, Tàihé Diàn), the polished wooden floor smooth and cool beneath her delicate silk slippers. Two senior maids followed at a respectful distance, their faces expressionless, their pale blue robes subdued enough to fade into the background.

  The hall was immense, supported by towering pillars carved intricately with coiling dragons. Above, wooden beams painted in vibrant reds and golds stretched across the ceiling, a majestic display befitting Rui State’s royal grandeur. Rows of bronze lanterns hung along each wall, bathing the hall in warm, flickering golden light. Incense burned softly, filling the air with the calming scents of sandalwood and jasmine, but Hengxin felt neither comfort nor calm.

  At the far end of the hall, atop a raised dais, sat her father, Rui King Jin Zhiqiang. His deep blue royal robes, embroidered meticulously with silver dragons, shimmered beneath the lanterns’ glow, each thread a stark reminder of his authority and power. His thick beard, neatly groomed with silver streaks, framed a face etched with lines of responsibility and the relentless weight of leadership. He watched Hengxin approach, his expression guarded.

  To the sides of the hall stood the gathered ministers, princes, and princesses, arranged strictly by rank. Near the front stood her maternal grandfather, Zhang Yizhou, tall and imposing in black robes embroidered fiercely with silver tigers. His stark white hair and beard accentuated the cold fury in his dark eyes, which fixed on her father with barely concealed rage. Zhang Yizhou had not hidden his anger since Hengxin’s selection as the hostage was announced. Her father’s decision was a deliberate insult to the powerful Zhang family, thinly disguised under the pretense of their esteemed lineage being necessary to placate Rong State. Her grandfather saw clearly: Hengxin was chosen not because she was prestigious, but because she was expendable.

  At the foot of the dais, arranged formally to the King’s left, stood Ji Heng and his companions, Xiao Yunqi and Zhao Mingyu. Ji Heng wore black robes embroidered subtly with silver, his bearing composed, nearly indifferent. He held himself with a quiet authority that belied his low rank, eyes calmly observing everything, revealing nothing.

  Each step toward the dais was measured and precise, Hengxin’s silk skirts whispering softly against the polished floor. Tradition dictated each movement—the slow pace intended to remind all present of the gravity of this moment. Her ceremonial robes, dense with heavy embroidery of golden phoenixes soaring among blooming peonies, dragged slightly behind her, adding weight to every deliberate step. Her breath stayed steady, her expression serene, but beneath the surface, anger and humiliation simmered.

  Reaching the appropriate distance, Hengxin gracefully knelt before her father, her posture perfectly straight, elegant yet humble. “Your daughter, Jin Héngxīn, Princess of Hidden Orchids, greets my royal father,” she spoke clearly, her voice steady and calm, echoing slightly in the vast silence of the hall. She lowered herself into a deep bow, forehead nearly touching the floor, holding the position as tradition demanded.

  “Rise, Jin Héngxīn,” the king’s voice came after a pause, strong yet edged with tension. “Today, Rui State acknowledges your sacrifice for the sake of peace with Rong State. You carry the dignity and honor of our kingdom. Serve with grace and integrity, as befits a Princess of Hidden Orchids.”

  Hengxin rose slowly from her deep bow, carefully keeping her gaze lowered as tradition required. “Your daughter understands her duty and will fulfill it with honor,” she replied softly.

  Glancing upward briefly, she caught a fleeting look of regret on her father’s face. The brief flash of emotion tightened her chest, causing an unexpected lump to form in her throat. Anger and bitterness rose quickly to push it away. Regret? After nineteen years of indifference, neglect, and disregard, what did his regret mean now? She glanced subtly to her siblings—her sisters elegantly composed, her brothers detached—and felt the sting of her position even sharper. She was the one chosen, the one discarded. His regret was meaningless when he had already made clear who mattered and who did not.

  Hengxin turned slowly, continuing the ritual greetings to the assembled ministers, bowing respectfully to each group according to rank. When she approached the representatives from Rong, her heartbeat quickened slightly, though her face remained serene.

  Finally, she stood before Ji Heng, carefully avoiding his gaze, bowing deeply. “Princess Jin Héngxīn greets Prince Ji Heng of Rong State.”

  Ji Heng inclined his head respectfully, his voice calm and measured. “Princess Jin Héngxīn, your courtesy honors Rong State.”

  The ceremonial greetings completed, an official stepped forward, reading formally from a prepared scroll, reiterating Hengxin’s duty and sacrifice. The words blurred together in Hengxin’s ears as she maintained her composed posture, eyes lowered.

  Then, unexpectedly, Ji Heng spoke again. “Your Majesty, my royal father sends a gift to Princess Jin Héngxīn as a symbol of gratitude and goodwill. May I present it?”

  The king nodded stiffly, wary eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Ji Heng motioned silently to Mingyu, who handed him an ornate box of polished lacquer. Ji Heng stepped forward, halting far closer to Hengxin than was proper. She swiftly shuffled back, eyes widened slightly, alarmed at his brazen disregard for decorum. She heard whispers ripple through the court, felt her grandfather’s furious gaze, saw her father’s jaw tighten in barely suppressed anger.

  Ji Heng opened the box, turning away from her, back to face the Rui King. Gasps filled the hall, sharp murmurs spreading rapidly. Her father rose suddenly, smashing a porcelain teacup violently against the ground.

  “How dare you?!” Jin Zhiqiang roared, face crimson with fury.

  Ji Heng stood calm and unmoved, turning slowly to face the king. “A gift from my royal father,” he explained smoothly, his eyes coolly challenging. The Rui King’s face paled slightly, rage clearly warring with caution as he forced himself back into his seat.

  Ji Heng finally turned, holding the box so Hengxin could see clearly. Her breath stopped.

  Inside lay a pair of golden handcuffs.

  Nausea twisted sharply in her stomach, the insult almost unbearable. Ji Heng smiled politely, his eyes coldly triumphant. “My royal father even took the trouble to have these crafted from Rui State’s own gold.”

  Her grandfather’s fists clenched visibly, his expression dangerously livid, fury barely contained. Hengxin saw her father’s face darken further, fear sparking in her chest. He was seconds from plunging their state into ruin with an outburst they could not afford.

  Before her father could respond, Hengxin stepped quickly forward, kneeling gracefully once more. She extended both hands respectfully. “Hengxin receives this gift from the King of Rong. I am unworthy of such a precious item.”

  Ji Heng’s eyes widened briefly in surprise, and silence blanketed the hall.

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  Recovering swiftly, Ji Heng closed the gap entirely, leaning in scandalously close as he placed the box into her hands. Hengxin felt every nerve scream at her to recoil but forced herself still, heart thudding painfully. She heard his soft, mocking laugh, felt it grate against her pride.

  Rage flared uncontrollably. Before she could stop herself, she raised her eyes, glaring directly into his.

  Ji Heng’s dark eyes widened for a heartbeat in surprise. But then swiftly narrowed, a smirk twitching at his lips. The cold intensity in his gaze sent an alarming jolt through her, immediately forcing her eyes downward again, and yet Hengxin felt anger simmering furiously within her chest, fists clenching subtly beneath her wide sleeves.

  With deliberate calm, Hengxin widened the distance between them to proper decorum. Her senior maid stepped forward silently, accepting the box from her trembling hands.

  Her father’s voice broke the tense silence, strained and tight. “Please send our thanks to the King of Rong.”

  Ji Heng bowed deeply, expression unreadable.

  An official finally announced the ceremony’s conclusion, and servants began preparing the hall swiftly for the banquet. Hengxin retreated silently to her designated place, heart still pounding fiercely. She cursed herself inwardly for her reckless show of defiance.

  She glanced briefly towards Ji Heng. He was watching her, eyes calculating, smirk lingering faintly. Fear tightened her stomach again.

  She had just antagonized the very man she now depended on for survival. Her throat dry, she wondered if her pride had just cost her everything.

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  The banquet unfolded with meticulous precision, embodying all the extravagance and decorum expected of Rui State’s royal court. Within the Great Hall (太和殿, Tàihé Diàn), long rows of polished lacquer tables were arranged according to rank, their dark surfaces gleaming under flickering bronze lanterns. Silk banners embroidered with silver cranes and golden dragons—symbols of prosperity and imperial might—hung from lofty beams, softly shifting with the warm night breeze that drifted through open corridors. Delicate sandalwood incense mingled gently with the mouthwatering aromas of roasted meats and fragrant broths.

  Prince Ji Heng sat prominently to the right of King Jin Zhiqiang, the seat of highest honor reserved for Rui’s most esteemed guest. Though each dish served before him was exquisite—roasted pheasant glazed with honey, delicate steamed fish adorned with fragrant herbs, bowls of rich duck soup studded with lotus seeds and mushrooms—he barely registered the flavors. Etiquette dictated that guests of his rank eat sparingly, demonstrating restraint and dignity. He lifted his bronze chopsticks occasionally, taking small, symbolic bites, enough to show appreciation without indulging.

  His companions, standing discreetly behind him, enjoyed more freedom. Xiao Yunqi, in his imposing iron armor, and Zhao Mingyu, neatly dressed in his understated yet high-quality robes, ate quietly from smaller porcelain plates provided discreetly by the palace eunuchs. Their portions were modest but sufficient, and Ji Heng envied them slightly as he glimpsed Mingyu subtly enjoying the delicate pork dumplings and Yunqi savoring steamed buns filled with savory minced meats.

  Conversation around him was carefully choreographed, a subtle dance of diplomacy and veiled intentions. Ji Heng exchanged formal pleasantries with King Jin Zhiqiang, his manner flawlessly courteous even as he quietly observed the Rui monarch's strained composure. The King’s dark blue robes shimmered under the lantern glow, intricate silver dragons embroidered prominently across his chest, declaring authority that seemed faintly diminished by his barely concealed anxiety. Beside him, senior ministers sat in tense silence, eyes carefully lowered but ears alert to every word spoken.

  Throughout the evening, Ji Heng found his gaze repeatedly drifting towards Princess Hengxin. She sat demurely several seats to her father’s left, gaze consistently averted, posture perfect. Her deep crimson robes, embroidered with golden phoenixes and jade-green accents, highlighted her delicate frame and flawless complexion. Her dark hair, painstakingly arranged with jade and gold ornaments, cascaded elegantly down her shoulders, framing her carefully neutral expression.

  Though Hengxin never looked his way, Ji Heng was captivated by her disciplined calm, vividly recalling the fierce flash of defiance that had briefly illuminated her dark eyes. He smiled inwardly, remembering the heat of that glare—her momentary loss of control intriguing him far more than any practiced display of composure. The handcuffs, golden and delicately engraved yet deliberately humiliating, sprang unbidden into his thoughts. He imagined them clasped tightly around her delicate wrists, the cold metal pressing against her soft skin, a vivid image that stirred something primal and unsettling within him. His lips twitched subtly into a smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the pleasure of breaking down her carefully guarded resistance.

  A polite cough from King Jin Zhiqiang brought Ji Heng sharply back to the present, reminding him of their earlier political discussion. “Prince Ji Heng, regarding the troops stationed at our eastern border,” the King began cautiously, “Rui State is deeply grateful for Rong State’s continued support. However, with Qin State’s rising aggression, perhaps your esteemed father might consider providing additional support.”

  Ji Heng tilted his head slightly, offering a carefully neutral smile. He allowed a silence to stretch, brief yet uncomfortable, before responding in a measured voice. “Rong State, of course, understands Rui State’s concerns. Indeed, my royal father remains committed to your protection, particularly given the history between Rui and Qin.”

  His words carried subtle yet unmistakable sharpness, referencing a shameful event from decades past—one Rui State would prefer to forget. Over forty years earlier, Rui had covertly attempted to forge an alliance with Qin State, hoping to shift dependence away from Rong State’s military might. Qin State had seemed welcoming at first, promising mutual protection and prosperity. But the promises had swiftly dissolved into betrayal, with Qin State aiming not to ally with Rui, but to absorb and dominate it.

  When Rui, abandoned and vulnerable, returned to Rong, humiliated and desperate, Rong State's response had been calculatedly harsh. Rong agreed to continue providing military support but demanded political hostages—specifically princesses from Rui, emphasizing that they would no longer consider Rui’s daughters worthy of strategic marriages, only suitable as guarantees of submission. Ji Heng’s mother had been the rare exception, forcibly married to the current Rong King only because the former Rong King had sought to atone for the disgraceful conduct of his son—Ji Heng’s father—towards a Rui princess.

  Ji Heng’s carefully chosen words landed with quiet force, King Jin Zhiqiang’s jaw tightening visibly, though he maintained decorum. “Your royal father’s kindness is greatly appreciated,” he managed, voice tight with restrained anger.

  The banquet continued under tense politeness, conversation carefully avoiding sensitive political terrain. Ji Heng kept half his attention on Hengxin, noting how she maintained her poised indifference, gracefully declining dishes offered by servants with soft murmurs and small gestures. Her apparent calm was impressive, though he saw the faintest tremble of her fingers as she lifted her porcelain tea cup. It made his pulse quicken with quiet satisfaction.

  As the meal progressed, ceremonial toasts began, each carefully orchestrated to affirm mutual respect and feigned goodwill. Ji Heng raised his bronze cup filled with warm millet wine in a respectful gesture towards King Jin Zhiqiang. The King returned the toast, murmuring gracious words of friendship and alliance, though neither man truly believed the hollow pleasantries. Ministers followed suit, each toast reinforcing subtle hierarchies and concealed tensions beneath courteous words.

  Ji Heng’s companions were not permitted to join in the formal toasts or conversations, but discreetly they received servings of wine from eunuchs who silently traversed the hall. Mingyu maintained watchful composure, alert to every nuance, while Yunqi, stoic and reserved, projected a reassuring military strength, his mere presence quietly reinforcing Rong State’s power.

  Throughout, other royal family members—princes, princesses, and favored consorts—remained largely silent, though occasionally murmurs and polite comments filled brief lulls. Hengxin herself was conspicuously quiet, her lowered eyes never meeting his gaze, her silence a clear signal of proper decorum and emotional restraint. Yet Ji Heng felt her presence acutely, his fascination deepening with every carefully controlled movement she made.

  Eventually, the servants began clearing tables discreetly, signaling the banquet’s conclusion. Ji Heng watched Hengxin rise gracefully, her senior maids attending silently, escorting her towards the exit with practiced efficiency. Her retreating figure, dignified and aloof, stirred another flash of quiet desire within him, intensifying his anticipation of their imminent journey to Rong.

  As Ji Heng stood and respectfully bid the King goodnight, exchanging perfunctory promises of continued friendship, he allowed himself one last glance toward the direction Hengxin had departed. A faint, barely discernible smile curved his lips.

  Tomorrow, she would be entirely in his care—and entirely at his mercy. And he was very much looking forward to it.

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