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The old forest held its breath, ancient and vast and indifferent to the men who crept between its roots. Night pressed close against the canopy, moonlight slipping through in pale slivers that just barely illuminated the ground below.

Down in the valley, an encampment sprawled like an infection—horses stomping in makeshift pens, men gathered around cooking fires, the smell of smoke and sweat carried upward on a fickle breeze.

Cheng Xiaoshi leaned against a tree, one hand gripping his sheathed sword with white knuckles, bark digging into his spine. He'd stopped feeling the discomfort hours ago. Now there was only the mission, the waiting, and the man at his side. The hood of his dark cloak was pulled low over his face, shadows concealing features that would catch the moonlight too readily.

Lu Guang knelt beside him, impossibly still. His own hood was drawn tight, obscuring that telltale white hair that would shine like a beacon in even the faintest light. Only the lower half of his face was visible beneath the fabric—all sharp angles and deep shadows, something carved from stone rather than flesh. Gray eyes peered from the darkness of his hood, unblinkingly studying the movement below.

The bandits had raided five villages across two duchies, leaving nothing but ashes and grief before the king was finally begged to intervene. That was when they were dispatched, two knights among a dozen sent to end the bloodshed. Days of tracking through woodland and marsh, sleeping in shifts if they slept at all, living on hard bread and stream water.

But Cheng Xiaoshi's thoughts weren't on the mission.

They circled like ravens around a memory that wouldn't stay buried—Lu Guang, blood pooling on stone, a knife buried to the hilt in his side. They'd been surrounded, back-to-back, blades flashing in sunlight. Cheng Xiaoshi had turned to shout a warning—and found his brother-in-arms crumpled at his feet, eyes glazed with shock.

What followed was two weeks of fever. Cheng Xiaoshi hardly left his side, learning what it meant to be terrified of loss.

And now here they were, sent out again. Lu Guang had insisted he was well enough despite the way he sometimes pressed a hand against his side when he thought no one was looking.

"You are not here."

The words cut through Cheng Xiaoshi's spiraling thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

Lu Guang hadn't turned to look at him, his focus still trained on the valley below.

"What? What do you—" asked Cheng Xiaoshi.

"Your eyes see ghosts." Lu Guang's voice was hushed. Low as winter water. "Your mind follows. I cannot protect us both if you are lost in nightmares of what might have been."

Cheng Xiaoshi opened his mouth to bite back—to deny it or make some quip—but suddenly Lu Guang's hand shot out and pressed firmly over his lips. In the same fluid motion, he shifted closer, his body pushing into the space between Cheng Xiaoshi's legs, backing him deeper into the shadows.

A twig snapped somewhere to their left.

"—swear by the old gods, I heard something," came a rough voice, far too close.

"You've been jumpin' at your own shadow since we crossed the river," growled another. "Can't take a piss without thinkin' a knight's watchin'."

Two figures emerged from the gloom, moving between the trees with the confidence of men who'd claimed this forest as their own. One carried a woodsman's axe with notches carved in the handle, the other a shortsword with a hilt wrapped in bloodstained leather.

"The master ain't payin' us to be careless," the first man spat, voice thick with the accent of the northern villages. "Says them knights've been dogging us for near a week. Found Devlin's body, they did."

"Then let's gut 'em and string 'em up like we did that tax collector. Send a message."

"And bring the whole bloody kingdom down on us? Use that rock you call a head." The axe-bearer scratched his beard. "Knights die, and we get hunted like animals. Knights get lost in these woods...well, plenty of men have gone missing in these parts. Nature's cruel that way."

Lu Guang hadn't moved. His body was a solid wall of warmth pinning Cheng Xiaoshi against the tree. They breathed in shallow unison, chests rising and falling in the barest suggestion of life. Cheng Xiaoshi could feel the unnervingly steady rhythm of Lu Guang's heart.

The scouts moved past them, still grumbling, their voices gradually fading into the chorus of night sounds.

Lu Guang's hand slowly lowered from Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth, sliding to rest against the trunk beside his head. Their faces hovered inches apart. Breath mingled in the cold air.

"They've passed," Cheng Xiaoshi whispered, his breath warm against Lu Guang's jaw.

Lu Guang said nothing. His eyes—normally as unreadable as winter fog—had darkened, pupils blown wide in the darkness. That gaze was a physical touch as it dropped to Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth, lingered there, then slowly dragged back up again.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallowed.

There was a question in that look—one neither of them had ever dared ask but had haunted the edges of their companionship for years. They'd trained together, bled together, fought side by side, been brothers in the sacred bonds of knighthood.

But brothers didn't look at each other the way Lu Guang was looking at him now.

There was no knowing who moved first. Perhaps they moved as one—the way they did in battle, in perfect synchronicity. One moment they were trapped in that breathless question, and the next, Lu Guang's hood fell back as Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers tangled in the fabric, pulling him closer. Lu Guang's mouth was on his, hard and desperate and achingly tender all at once.

Cheng Xiaoshi was floating. There was nothing around them—nothing at all—but this kiss as it deepened, tongue sliding against tongue, teeth catching on lips. A soft sound escaped his throat, swallowed hungrily by Lu Guang's mouth. Years of tension unraveled around them in the darkness. Lu Guang's hands moved to his waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. The stoic knight who followed orders without question was nowhere to be seen. This was someone else—a man choosing, for once, something beyond duty.

Before Cheng Xiaoshi was even aware of it, his hood had slipped back, his sword had fallen from his fingers—and Lu Guang was already moving, catching the blade before it could hit the ground and give them away.

"Careful," he murmured, voice gentle but firm as he pressed the hilt back into Cheng Xiaoshi's hand. Their fingers brushed, and lingered a moment too long.

Cheng Xiaoshi stared up at him, his lips still burning from Lu Guang's claim upon them. Moonlight caught in Lu Guang's exposed white hair, turning it to liquid silver. He watched as the knight methodically reassembled his composure like a familiar armor—shoulders squaring, jaw setting, breath evening. Finally, Lu Guang tugged his hood back into place, concealing that telltale hair once more.

"The mission remains," he said. That cool gray gaze tracked the path the scouts had followed, already mapping their next move.

His voice had a roughness Cheng Xiaoshi had never heard before. And as he turned to follow, Cheng Xiaoshi caught a glimpse of something even rarer—the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of Lu Guang's mouth.

This man will be the death of me, Cheng Xiaoshi thought, fingers unconsciously touching his lips, feeling the phantom pressure of that kiss. His whole body hummed with it. This was too much, too consuming. He might actually die from wanting this man. But some deaths were far more divine than others.

With a quick motion, he pulled his own hood back into place, following Lu Guang deeper into the forest.

The kiss changed everything.

It lingered in the spaces between words, in glances across campfires, in the brush of shoulders as they walked side by side. They didn’t speak of it directly, but it was undeniably there—in Lu Guang’s hand steadying him after a skirmish, the smiles that seemed reserved only for him, the way they gravitated toward each other in any room.

It was on the seventh night after their return, during a routine patrol of the castle perimeter, that Cheng Xiaoshi pulled Lu Guang into a shadowed alcove. Once again, no words were exchanged, no declarations made. The tension that had been building between them simply snapped like a bowstring and they came together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to grasp at one another, at armor and clothing, for their mouths to seek each other in shadow.

That night marked the first of many—urgent hands in corridors, breathless meetings in forgotten corners and storerooms, nights spent learning each other’s bodies whenever they could slip away unnoticed. They never discussed what it meant. There was no name for the thing occurring between them.

The king had personally congratulated them upon their return. The bandits were subdued, the local villages saved. Cheng Xiaoshi had stood tall beside his fellow knights as medals were bestowed, as nobles clapped politely from a distance. It was the closest he'd ever been to the royal family—close enough to notice the way the king's eyes lingered on his face, narrowed in consideration.

That next morning, royal guards arrived at the knights’ barracks.

"The king requests your presence," they told Cheng Xiaoshi, expressions inscrutable. “At once.”

Lu Guang had moved to follow, but the guards blocked his path.

"Only Sir Cheng," they insisted.

Something cold settled in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest, but he nodded to Lu Guang, a silent promise that it was alright and he would return.

The throne room was cavernous, sunlight streaming through stained glass to paint the marble floors in jewel tones. The king sat not on his throne but at a smaller table to the side, various scrolls spread before him. His fingers traced the edge of a particular document as Cheng Xiaoshi approached and bowed.

"Do you know why I've summoned you?" the king asked without preamble. His voice was less triumphant now, just the voice of an old man, not of a godlike figure bestowing rewards on his esteemed knights.

“No, Your Majesty,” said Cheng Xiaoshi. He kept his head bowed, heart hammering against his ribs. Was this about his impropriety? Had someone seen him and Lu Guang together? In the woods? In the old watchtower?

"Look upon me," the king commanded.

Cheng Xiaoshi raised his head, meeting eyes that mirrored his own in shape and color. Something passed across the king's face—a flash of recognition and something like regret.

"Your mother," the king said, "was she of the Northern province?”

The floor seemed to tilt beneath Cheng Xiaoshi's feet. "Yes, Your Majesty. She left when I was but a child—"

"She did not leave, boy. She was sent away. I gave the order."

The entire world shrunk to this single point of revelation, and began rewriting everything Cheng Xiaoshi had ever believed about himself.

In the days that followed, the kingdom witnessed a transformation that seemed, to outsiders, to happen overnight.

The knight became a prince—bastard-born but recognized by royal decree. The King acknowledged his son before the court, bestowing upon him titles, lands, and eventually, the right of succession.

Private recognition came first—quiet conversations in study rooms, medical tests conducted by royal physicians, documents signed in the late hours of night. Then came the public announcement, servants gossiping as they arranged quarters fit for royalty, nobles whispering behind fans as Cheng Xiaoshi entered rooms that had once been forbidden to him.

Court life descended like a smothering blanket.

His every movement was scrutinized, every word weighed. Cheng Xiaoshi found himself drowning in protocols he'd never learned, expectations he'd never anticipated. The weight of the crown—even the smaller one for daily wear—pressed against his temples like an oncoming storm.

The only constant was Lu Guang.

When the prince requested a personal knight, there was only one name on his lips.

The white-haired warrior knelt before him in a ceremony that felt both strange and inevitable, swearing fealty to the crown, to the kingdom—but his eyes, storm-gray and unwavering, were fixed upon only him.

"My knight," Cheng Xiaoshi had said afterward, when they were finally alone in royal chambers that still felt like they belonged to someone else.

"My prince," Lu Guang had replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in that ghost of a smile that Cheng Xiaoshi now lived for.

That night, for the first time, they came together not in some hurried, hidden corner but in the prince's new bed, with its silken sheets and canopy that caught their sounds. Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers tangled in snow-white hair as Lu Guang pressed him into the mattress, all duty and devotion transforming into something molten between them. The newly-minted prince, not yet accustomed to giving orders, simply let it be as it was meant to be, melting beneath his knight's touch—his back arching as Lu Guang used his body to make Cheng Xiaoshi’s sing.

"Please," he'd whispered against Lu Guang's ear, relinquishing the authority that had just been bestowed upon him. And Lu Guang, ever loyal, ever attentive, gave him exactly what he asked for.

In the months that followed, as Cheng Xiaoshi settled into his role as prince, their nighttime ritual evolved into all-day affairs. The prince found himself inventing increasingly flimsy pretexts to summon his knight at all hours, Lu Guang arriving with that ghost of a smile that promised retribution for the interruption.

"You have summoned me twice today, Your Highness," Lu Guang would murmur as he bolted the bedchamber door. "The court will talk."

"Let them," Cheng Xiaoshi would reply, already tugging at the laces of his formal attire. "I require my knight's...counsel."

"Is that what you call it now?" Lu Guang would ask, catching the prince's wandering hands and pinning them to his own chest with effortless strength.

The unspoken arrangement suited them both perfectly. Lu Guang claimed his prince’s body, Cheng Xiaoshi surrendered the burden of decision to the one man he trusted above all others in this den of wolves.

In those private moments, the crown was forgotten, tossed aside with the rest of their clothing.

In public, they upheld the roles expected of them—knight and prince, protector and protected. But even then, there were moments when the facade cracked: Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers lingering too long when passing a document, Lu Guang's eyes tracking his prince's movements across a crowded hall with an intensity that went beyond duty.

And if the young prince occasionally abused his station to remind everyone—including Lu Guang himself—exactly to whom the serious knight belonged...well, what was power for if not pleasure?

The summer heat pressed down upon the tournament grounds like a blacksmith's anvil, relentless and unforgiving. Sweat beaded on foreheads and dampened linens as nobles fanned themselves beneath colorful pavilions. Dust kicked up by horses' hooves hung suspended in the air, gilded by afternoon sunlight.

From his elevated position in the royal box, Cheng Xiaoshi shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his ceremonial attire clinging to his frame. The crown—smaller than the one he wore at court but no less significant—sat heavy upon his brow. He spun his signet ring absently, watching as servants and squires scurried across the field, preparing for the next joust.

His gaze drifted inevitably to the far end of the lists where Lu Guang stood beside his destrier. Even from this distance, the knight's distinctive white hair caught the sunlight, gleaming like polished silver against the backdrop of leather and steel. Lu Guang's squire nimbly tightened the straps of his armor while Lu Guang himself remained perfectly still, a statue carved from marble.

It was the same stillness he'd maintained that night in the forest, when bandits had passed mere feet from where they hid. The same unshakeable stillness that had shattered so completely when their lips finally met.

"Your Highness seems especially interested in Sir Lu's preparations today," Duchess Qiao Ling remarked beside him, her voice low and tinged with amusement. "More so than the other knights."

Cheng Xiaoshi's lips quirked upward. "Sir Lu is defending my honor today, is he not? I'm merely ensuring he's properly equipped for the task."

"Of course," the duchess replied, the corner of her mouth twitching. "How thoughtful of you."

Cheng Xiaoshi stood suddenly, drawing curious glances from the nobles seated nearby. "I believe I shall wish him luck personally."

"Your Highness—" Qiao Ling began, but Cheng Xiaoshi was already moving, descending the steps of the royal box.

Guards fell into step behind him as he crossed the field, the crowd's murmurs rising in volume at this unexpected deviation from protocol. The dust of the tournament grounds clung to his finely embroidered boots, but he paid it no mind. His heart thumped against his ribs, a pleasant, excited rhythm that quickened as he approached Lu Guang's position.

Lu Guang noticed his approach immediately—of course he did, the man missed nothing—and dismissed his squire with a curt nod. The knight sank into a bow as Cheng Xiaoshi approached, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Your Highness honors me with his presence," Lu Guang said, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by those nearby, his face a perfect mask of respectful deference.

But Cheng Xiaoshi saw the question in those storm-gray eyes, the barely perceptible tightening at the corners of his mouth.

What are you doing? that expression asked.

"Rise, Sir Lu," Cheng Xiaoshi commanded, enjoying—perhaps too much—the way Lu Guang's jaw clenched slightly at the public formality. “I come to offer you something before your match."

Lu Guang straightened, his posture impeccable. "Your Highness is too generous."

Cheng Xiaoshi slowly reached into his pocket, heightening the drama of the moment. He could feel the crowd's attention fixed upon them, could sense Lu Guang's mounting suspicion.

With a flourish that would have made the court minstrels proud, he withdrew a small square of silk—a handkerchief embroidered with golden thread, bearing his personal insignia in the corner.

"My favor, Sir Lu," he announced, voice carrying across the field. "So that all might know who you represent in the lists today."

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, building to uproarious guffaws. Men slapped their knees and women hid their smiles behind fans. 

It was the height of chivalric tradition for knights to carry tokens from noble ladies, but from the prince himself—to his former brother-in-arms? The mockery of courtly love between two men who had trained together since boyhood was deliciously absurd.

Lu Guang's eyes widened fractionally, the only crack in his otherwise flawless composure. Cheng Xiaoshi could almost hear the knight's thoughts: Have you gone mad?

But Lu Guang was nothing if not adaptable. He extended his hand, accepting the token with a bow so deep it bordered on mockery.

"I am overwhelmed by Your Highness's generosity," he declared, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "Though I fear the other knights will accuse me of unfair advantage, bearing the favor of our beloved prince."

More laughter, louder this time.

"May it bring you victory," Cheng Xiaoshi replied, unable to keep the mischief from his voice. "I shall be most displeased if my favor is dishonored."

"Then by your leave, Your Highness," Lu Guang said, tucking the handkerchief conspicuously into his breastplate, "I shall ensure it remains unsullied."

As Cheng Xiaoshi turned to return to the royal box, he caught Lu Guang's muttered words, just loud enough for his ears alone: "Curse your name, my prince."

The heat in those words sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. How often had he heard that exact phrase? Whispered against his skin in darkened corridors, growled into his ear as they tumbled onto his bed, murmured with fond exasperation when he'd provoke Lu Guang during tedious council meetings—deliberately brushing their knees beneath the table or passing notes with decidedly unprincely suggestions.

The joust was magnificent. Lu Guang rode like a man possessed, his lance finding its mark with unerring precision. Three opponents fell before him, their shields splintered, their pride wounded. The crowd roared with each victory, and Cheng Xiaoshi found himself leaning forward in his seat, fingers gripping the wooden armrests as Lu Guang faced his final challenger.

The opposing knight—a burly man from the southern provinces—charged down the lists with thunderous force. Lu Guang urged his mount forward, lance lowered, his form perfect. The impact when they met echoed across the field like a thunderclap. Wood shattered, horses screamed, and dust billowed.

When it cleared, Lu Guang remained seated while his opponent lay sprawled in the dirt.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Qiao Ling glanced sideways at Cheng Xiaoshi, noting the flush of pride on his cheeks.

"As champion, Sir Lu is entitled to a reward from his prince," she reminded him, her tone innocent but her eyes knowing.

"Indeed he is," Cheng Xiaoshi agreed, rising gracefully from his seat. "Protocol must be observed."

As tradition dictated, he descended once more to the field where Lu Guang waited, now dismounted, in full armor. Sweat glistened on the knight's brow, and a thin trickle of blood ran from a small cut on his cheekbone. Yet he stood tall and proud, his breathing evenly despite the exertion of the joust.

Cheng Xiaoshi approached, aware of every eye upon them. "You have done your prince proud today, Sir Lu," he proclaimed. "Name your reward!”

Lu Guang reached into his breastplate and withdrew the handkerchief—damp with sweat and smudged with dirt. He held it out slowly, almost gracefully, as if it were something sacred.

"I return Your Highness's favor," he said, his voice carrying across the hushed crowd. "Somewhat worse for wear, I fear, but victorious nonetheless."

As Cheng Xiaoshi reached for it, Lu Guang tossed it at him with the casual disregard of a man throwing a dirty rag, the silk fluttering through the air before landing against the prince's chest.

Gasps rippled through the crowd at this breach of etiquette, followed swiftly by howls of laughter. Several knights pounded their fists on the barriers in appreciation of the display, shouting bawdy suggestions about where else the prince might stick his favor.

Cheng Xiaoshi caught the handkerchief, one eyebrow raised in mock offense. "You've certainly earned your reputation for boldness, Sir Lu!”

"Your Highness inspires such qualities in his knights," Lu Guang replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the barest hint of a smile—the same ghost of a smile Cheng Xiaoshi had first glimpsed in a midnight forest, when duty had finally yielded to desire.

Cheng Xiaoshi stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Join me in my chambers later. We have matters to discuss."

Lu Guang's eyes darkened momentarily. "As my prince commands."

The door to Cheng Xiaoshi's private chambers had barely closed before Lu Guang's hands were on him, shoving him back hard against the solid oak. The knight's mouth found his in a kiss that tasted of salt and triumph, fingers tangling in Cheng Xiaoshi's hair, dislodging his crown with careless urgency.

"Have you lost all sense?" Lu Guang breathed against his lips, pulling back just enough to fix Cheng Xiaoshi with that stormy glare. "A royal token, before the entire court?"

Cheng Xiaoshi laughed, breathless and unrepentant, his hands already working at the clasps of Lu Guang's gambeson with steady, familiar motions. "Yet you wore it, Sir Knight. And you won."

"Not because of your folly." Lu Guang's voice was low, a warning wrapped in velvet. But his eyes betrayed him—hunger beneath the reproach. "You play with fire, Xiaoshi."

"Perhaps I wish to burn." The prince's fingers traced the cut on Lu Guang's cheekbone. "Did you see their faces? When you returned my favor so...irreverently?"

Lu Guang's fingers traced the line of his jaw, thumb brushing across his lower lip. "And what will they whisper when their prince cannot mask his gaze? When he watches his knight with such naked want?"

"That I am proud of my champion," Cheng Xiaoshi murmured, tilting his head to allow Lu Guang's mouth access to the column of his neck. The rasp of stubble against sensitive skin sent heat coursing through his veins. "Is that not what you are to me?"

"Is that all?" There was something dangerous in Lu Guang's tone as his teeth grazed the tender flesh beneath Cheng Xiaoshi's ear.

"My knight. My sword. My shield." Cheng Xiaoshi's words dissolved into a gasp. "My—"

Lu Guang silenced him with another kiss, demanding and possessive. When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, Cheng Xiaoshi's pupils were blown wide with desire, all princely composure forgotten.

"You might have simply wished me fortune," Lu Guang said, his voice like stone over silk. "Instead of this spectacle you seem so fond of creating."

"Where lies the pleasure in that?" A wicked smile played at Cheng Xiaoshi's lips. "Besides, I wanted all to witness."

"Witness what?" Wariness crept into Lu Guang's expression.

Cheng Xiaoshi's smile turned triumphant. "That the kingdom's most disciplined knight will make himself a fool at my bidding. That he will bend to my will without hesitation."

"You presume too much," Lu Guang murmured, his lips a mere whisper from Cheng Xiaoshi's ear. "Thinking yourself so clever, making sport of me before the realm?"

Cheng Xiaoshi arched shamelessly against him. "Admit it—you took pleasure in their shock when you discarded my favor so boldly." His breath caught as Lu Guang's free hand traced the line of his throat. "I merely offered the stage for your victory."

"You offer nothing but distraction," Lu Guang said. "A royal thorn in my side."

"Not yet," Cheng Xiaoshi whispered, "but I shall be, if you would grant me the honor."

A sound escaped Lu Guang then—not quite a laugh, but something rare enough that Cheng Xiaoshi felt a rush of victory sweeter than any tournament. Before he could savor it, he found himself hoisted over the knight's shoulder like a conquered prize, the world suddenly upside down.

"Unhand me!" he demanded, laughter threading through his feigned outrage. "This is treason against your sovereign!"

"You surrendered your dignity with that token," Lu Guang replied, one hand firmly supporting his weight.

"You dare lay hand upon your prince?" Cheng Xiaoshi cried. "The penalty for such impertinence is severe."

"Another threat to add to your collection?" Lu Guang's tone remained even as he carried his burden across the chamber. "I keep account of them all. 'To be drawn and quartered at dawn.' 'The dungeons, for a fortnight.' Yesterday it was ‘to be paraded through the capital in stocks, blindfolded and smeared with ash.’"

"That was a metaphor!" Cheng Xiaoshi protested as blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy with anticipation.

"You proclaimed it from the balcony."

"I was provoked!"

"As you are now," Lu Guang said, depositing the prince unceremoniously onto his massive bed. Cheng Xiaoshi bounced once, his fine clothes now thoroughly disheveled, his crown forgotten somewhere by the door.

He propped himself up on his elbows, a flush high on his cheeks, that same wicked smile playing at his lips.

Lu Guang loomed over him, already working at the remaining pieces of his tournament armor. Metal and leather hit the floor in quick succession, each abandoned piece revealing more of the man beneath. Cheng Xiaoshi watched, heart racing, as Lu Guang stripped down to his linen shirt and breeches.

"You know," Cheng Xiaoshi drawled, making no move to help, "being prince carries certain privileges. I need not dress nor undress myself any longer."

Lu Guang raised an eyebrow. "Is that a command, Your Highness?"

"It is an expectation," Cheng Xiaoshi replied, stretching languidly against the silk coverlet. "My champion has claimed victory this day. Surely he might find pleasure in attending to his prince."

Something dark flickered in Lu Guang's eyes. He climbed onto the bed with predatory grace, movements fluid and deliberate as he positioned himself above Cheng Xiaoshi. "As my prince wishes."

His fingers made quick work of the elaborate royal garments, unwrapping Cheng Xiaoshi like a precious gift, with a reverence that belied his earlier dominance. Each clasp, tie, and layer removed with the care of a man who understood the true value of what lay beneath.

"You find satisfaction in this," Cheng Xiaoshi observed softly as Lu Guang's fingers brushed against bare skin.

"In serving my prince?" Lu Guang murmured, pressing kisses to newly exposed flesh. "It is my sworn duty."

Cheng Xiaoshi reached for him, pulling him up for a kiss that was gentle where the others had been fierce.

"Show me," he whispered against Lu Guang's mouth. "Show me how you serve."

The last rays of summer sunlight filtered through the chamber windows, painting golden stripes across the bed as Lu Guang did exactly that. He served his prince's body with hands and mouth, with whispered praises and reverent touches. And if Cheng Xiaoshi's demanding nature softened under such devoted attention, if the prince became pliant and yielding beneath the ministrations of his loyal knight—well, that was a secret kept within these walls.

Artwork by Quarri

Music rippled through the great hall of the palace, with strings bleeding melodies into the air like ink in water. Overhead, crystal chandeliers glistened and sent fractured light dancing across jeweled throats and silken shoulders. The nobility swirled around each other in patterns as intricate—and useless—as court intrigue itself.

And off to one side stood Prince Cheng Xiaoshi, fighting with his collar, which was biting into his neck. He tugged at it with one finger, earning a sharp jab to his ribs.

“Cease your fidgeting,” Qiao Ling hissed, her perfect smile never faltering. “Half the court watches you with hungry eyes.”

“Let them feast,” he muttered, watching the dancers with naked disdain. “They’ve been watching since I was dragged into this gilded prison.”

Her fingers dug into his forearm. “And you were raised in my household, Cheng Xiaoshi. When you play the fool, my family bears the stain.”

He leaned closer, lips barely moving. “Your family made certain I knew my place. Does my embarrassing behavior truly concern you more now than it did then?”

The music shifted seamlessly into the next song, and Qiao Ling’s grip tightened. “The partner waltz begins. You’ll dance in the third row first, then—”

“I think not.” The prince plucked a goblet from a passing servant’s tray and stepped back, freeing himself from her grasp. “I’ve endured enough pageantry for one evening, do enjoy the dance without me.”

“Xiaoshi—!”

But he’d already retreated to the shadowed edge of the hall, where the air was cooler and the expectations fewer.

He took a long swallow of wine, relishing the burn that matched his simmering resentment. Many of these nobles who now bowed and scraped before him were the same ones who had whispered "bastard" behind their fans before his lineage was uncovered. Social seasons came and went, and yet Cheng Xiaoshi could never forget.

A figure materialized at his side—solid, steady, familiar.

"Your Highness." Lu Guang's voice was low, pitched for Cheng Xiaoshi's ears alone. His formal armor had been replaced by the dark formal attire of the royal knights, severe and elegant against his pale skin.

"Come to lecture me as well, Sir Lu?" Cheng Xiaoshi swirled the wine in his goblet, but his attention was fixed on the way his knight's presence parted the crowd like a blade through silk.

The knight's face remained impassive, but his sharp gray eyes tracked the movement of dancers like a cat on the hunt. "You avoid the dance.”

"I avoid tedium,” replied the prince.

"You are stiff."

Cheng Xiaoshi's head snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"

"When you dance." Lu Guang's gaze slid to him, assessing. “You betray your own discomfort. It makes you look...ill-suited to your station."

Heat climbed Cheng Xiaoshi's neck, most certainly from the wine and not from Lu Guang's scrutiny. "Oh? And I suppose you would fare better, Sir Knight?"

"I believe I would.” Lu Guang extended a hand.

Cheng Xiaoshi stared at it, then realized his knight was asking for his goblet, not his hand. He relinquished it, suddenly irritated.

The knight set the goblet on a nearby table out of the prince’s reach. Then, with a slight bow that bordered on insolent, he turned and walked directly into the swirling mass of dancers.

The prince's mouth fell open as his personal knight seamlessly inserted himself into the dance, taking the hand of a startled but pleased noble lady. Lu Guang's movements were fluid, controlled—they looked nothing like the mechanical steps Cheng Xiaoshi had been forced to learn.

Worse, he seemed entirely at ease. His usual severity melted into something almost graceful as he guided his partner through the pattern of steps. The lady was beaming, her face flushed with pleasure. Around them, other nobles took notice, whispering behind gloved hands.

Something hot and unpleasant coiled in Cheng Xiaoshi's stomach.

The music shifted into the next movement—the exchange of partners. The prince found himself counting the beats, counting bodies:

One, two, three…the lady was passed to the next gentleman.

Four, five, six...Lu Guang received the next lady, who actually giggled as he guided her into the turn.

Cheng Xiaoshi's jaw clenched. His knight was becoming quite the spectacle, earning approving glances from the ladies and considering looks from the lords. Even Qiao Ling, having joined the dance from the opposite side, looked surprised.

The rotation began again. Lu Guang's next partner would be...

Qiao Ling herself was being turned toward Lu Guang, her ruby red skirts flaring. Without conscious thought, Cheng Xiaoshi surged forward. He stepped into the pattern as if he'd been there all along, catching Qiao Ling's hand and smoothly redirecting her spin.

"What are you—" Her eyes widened in alarm.

"Forgive me, cousin," he said, not bothering to keep the satisfaction from his voice as he sent her spinning out of the circuit altogether. "I believe I’ll dance after all.”

He turned to face Lu Guang, who had halted mid-step. For the first time that evening, his knight appeared genuinely surprised. All around them, the dance faltered, then continued as the other couples adapted to this sudden change.

"Your Highness," Lu Guang said, voice neutral despite the tension evident in his shoulders.

Cheng Xiaoshi stepped closer, taking the position he'd been taught. "Sir Lu."

"This is most irregular."

"I am the prince." He attempted to take the lead, placing his hand on Lu Guang's side.

Lu Guang didn't move. "That changes not the structure of the dance."

“Blast the structure.”

The knight's eyes darkened. With a simple shift of weight, he rearranged their positions, maneuvering the prince into the lady's position. "If you must insist on creating a spectacle, Your Highness, at least do it properly."

Cheng Xiaoshi's protest died on his tongue as Lu Guang guided him into the first step. The knight's hand at his waist was firm, steering him with a confidence that the prince couldn't break through. Their bodies moved perfectly in tandem, closer than the dance required.

"When have you found time for such practice?" Cheng Xiaoshi asked, feeling the way Lu Guang anticipated each step, each turn. "Certainly not while standing guard at my chamber door."

"One of us should know what we're doing." The knight's mouth barely moved, but Cheng Xiaoshi caught the ghost of amusement in the slight crease beside his eyes.

They turned together, and the prince suddenly became acutely aware of the eyes upon them. The whispers had increased, and Qiao Ling looked ready to commit regicide on the spot.

"They stare," he murmured.

"You gave them cause." Lu Guang guided him through an elegant turn. "Though I suspect they were already watching you."

"Waiting for the bastard prince to misstep, no doubt." Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers flexed against Lu Guang's shoulder. "They'll have plenty to discuss in their parlors tonight."

"Let them speak." Lu Guang's voice dropped lower. "You dance better than half the nobles here."

"Only because you lead."

"You're surprisingly adept at following. Perhaps you should take the lady’s position more often."

"Careful, Sir Knight. Those words border on insubordination." Though the implication sent heat curling through Cheng Xiaoshi's body.

The music's tempo changed, signaling another partner exchange. The dancers around them hesitated, the carefully constructed order of men and women now disrupted by their presence. Reality crashed back. If they continued, the entire formal structure would collapse. Men would be paired with men, women with women—an unthinkable breach of protocol. It would be bedlam.

“I believe we've created quite the problem," Cheng Xiaoshi murmured, feeling an unexpected rush of satisfaction.

Lu Guang's grip tightened fractionally. "As always, Your Highness."

Without breaking step, Lu Guang guided them toward the edge of the dance floor, their exit as seamless as their entrance had been disruptive. The dance reformed behind them as nobles scrambled to restore order.

"How very diplomatic of you," Cheng Xiaoshi said as they reached the shadows.

"I serve at your pleasure," Lu Guang replied.

Before the prince could respond, Qiao Ling descended like an owl upon a mouse, her expression flawlessly composed save for the dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Have you completely taken leave of your senses?" she hissed. "The entire court witnessed that display!”

Cheng Xiaoshi reclaimed his abandoned wine goblet, oddly exhilarated. "Good! Let them see that their prince dances as he pleases, with whom he pleases."

"You're impossible!” She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "I spent countless hours teaching you the proper steps, and this is how you repay my patience?"

"On the contrary," Lu Guang interjected, his face once again an impassive mask. "His Highness demonstrated exceptional skill. I believe many were duly impressed."

Qiao Ling rolled her eyes. "Do not encourage him, Sir Lu. He's already insufferable enough.” She reached out to straighten Cheng Xiaoshi's collar. "At least you did not trip over your own feet."

"Your confidence in me is touching, cousin," Cheng Xiaoshi replied dryly.

She patted his cheek. “I must keep you humble, Your Highness.” Her gaze flicked between the two men. “Do try not to cause any more scandals tonight? I’ve enough mess to sort out for one evening."

The prince drained his wine, the bitter dregs matching his mood. “I’ve had enough of this farce. Walk with me, Sir Lu."

With a brief nod to Qiao Ling, they moved toward the terrace doors, ignoring the curious glances that followed them. The fresh night air was a balm after the stifling heat of the ballroom, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the royal gardens below.

"You realize you've given the court gossips fuel for weeks," Lu Guang said once they were alone.

“I no longer care.” Cheng Xiaoshi loosened the ornate collar of his formal attire, relishing the cool air against his skin. "Half believe I'm unfit for the crown anyway. The other half plot to use me for their own gain."

The music from the ballroom drifted out to them, muffled now by distance and stone walls. Cheng Xiaoshi leaned against the balustrade, tilting his face toward the evening sky. For a moment, he was simply a man enjoying the night air.

Artwork by DX

Hours passed.

And once again the night air splashed against Cheng Xiaoshi’s flushed skin like water as he stumbled out onto the terrace, abandoning the stifling heat of the palace ballroom. His formal attire clung uncomfortably to his limbs, the collar loosened hours ago, his crown—that cursed weight—discarded somewhere between dance partners. The wine had transformed his blood to liquid honey, warm and thick and sweet, slowing his thoughts and numbing the sharp edges of courtly judgment.

Behind him, the music dwindled, strings fading as the evening drew to a close. He'd skillfully escaped the Duchess's watchful eye mid-lecture about challenging a nobleman to a drinking game. Well let her fret. His father wouldn't say a word—the old coward never did, even when his bastard son made a spectacle of himself before the entire court.

Cheng Xiaoshi leaned once again against the stone balustrade, for perhaps the hundredth time tonight, tilting his face toward the stars scattered across the dark velvet sky. The gardens sprawled before him, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Lanterns flickered along winding paths, illuminating night-blooming jasmine and sleeping roses, their scent carrying on the breeze.

Freedom, if just for a moment.

He didn't turn at the soft footfalls that approached—he knew those steps, as familiar and natural as his own heartbeat. His lips curved upward, warmth pooling in his stomach.

"Come to collect your prince again, Sir Lu?" he asked without looking back.

Lu Guang stepped beside him, close enough that their elbows nearly brushed against the balustrade. He'd removed his formal jacket. The simple white shirt beneath billowed slightly in the breeze. He was luminous here. Moonlight caught in his white hair, turned it to precious silver and pearl. Cheng Xiaoshi found himself staring, wondering how someone who glowed like snowlight could burn so hot against his skin in darkness.

"The Duchess is searching for you," Lu Guang said, gaze cool on the prince’s face, assessing his state. "She believes you may have forsaken the celebration entirely."

A laugh bubbled up, slightly too loud. "And that would be such a tragedy. All those fine nobles, left without their pet prince to mock?"

"They would not dare speak ill of you to your face."

"No, they wait until my back is turned," he pushed away from the balustrade, swaying in the breeze. "That's what makes our little display in the ballroom so exquisite. They cannot decide whether to be scandalized or amused."

Storm-gray eyes tracked his unsteady movements. "You've partaken of too much wine."

"And you, not nearly enough." He took another step and stumbled, the ground tilting beneath his feet.

Lu Guang caught him by the elbow, steadying him with a firm grip. "Perhaps we should return to your chambers."

The touch sent heat spiraling through wine-blurred senses. Without thinking, he covered Lu Guang's hand with his own, keeping it there against his arm. The knight stilled, wariness flickering across his features.

"Dance with me," Cheng Xiaoshi said, the words falling from his lips before he could consider them. "I've no wish to depart just yet."

Gray eyes widened, just enough to betray surprise. "Your Highness—"

"No one bears witness." He gestured broadly at the empty garden, the motion nearly unbalancing him again. "No court, no Duchess. No judgment."

Lu Guang glanced back toward the palace windows, where a few lingering nobles could be seen through the glass, but none looking their way.

"The music has all but ceased," he said, hand still on Cheng Xiaoshi's arm.

"We need no music," said the prince, stepping closer, suddenly filled with the desperate need to recapture the feeling of that thrill in the ballroom—that perfect synchronicity, being anchored by Lu Guang's steady presence in a world that constantly shifted beneath his feet.

Perhaps it was the wine that made him bold. Or perhaps it was the memory of Lu Guang's body guiding him through that waltz. Either way, he placed a hand on his knight's shoulder and placed the other in his palm.

Lu Guang hesitated, and for a heart-stopping moment, Cheng Xiaoshi thought he might refuse. But then the knight's arm encircled his waist. He had a firm grip—firm enough to keep him upright, light enough to follow the steps of a dance to a song only they could hear.

They moved across the moonlit terrace, between shadow and light. Lu Guang led with the same quiet confidence he showed in battle, anticipating stumbles before they happened, compensating for the wine that made the prince's steps clumsy and uncertain.

"See?" Cheng Xiaoshi sighed dreamily, letting his body follow Lu Guang's guidance. The garden spun around them, or perhaps it was just his head spinning. "You move with such grace. Far more natural than I."

"You would show remarkable skill—if only you practiced,” came the reply, his voice lower than usual, with something rough around its edges.

Cheng Xiaoshi found himself staring at Lu Guang's face, so close to his own. The moonlight caught the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth, the silver-white of his lashes. How pretty his knight was. He'd felt those lips against his skin countless times, tasted that mouth in darkness, but here in the garden, Lu Guang seemed almost ethereal—a spirit made flesh, solid and real only in Cheng Xiaoshi's arms.

The wine made his head heavy, and he let it drop against Lu Guang's shoulder as they moved.

"You dance with more finesse than half the nobles in that hall," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to Lu Guang's skin. "Tell me, where did you learn?"

The hand shifted slightly at his waist, steadying him as they turned. "My father believed knights should be accomplished in all courtly arts, not merely warfare."

"Mmm." He breathed in the scent of him. "He taught you well indeed."

"He would be horrified to see his teachings used to create a spectacle," Lu Guang said—there was something rare in his tone, perhaps it was warmth.

Cheng Xiaoshi lifted his head to find Lu Guang watching him, gaze soft in a way that made his heart stumble.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Lu Guang's lips curved in that rare, ghost of a smile. "You look...different out here. Away from the court."

“Oh? What manner of different?”

"Just different." A thumb brushed against his side, a small, unconscious gesture. "More like yourself."

"And who is that, I wonder?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked, the question slipping out soft. "I am not certain I know anymore."

They'd stopped moving, though Lu Guang's arms still held him steady. He could feel the knight's heartbeat against his chest, slightly faster than usual.

"You are as you've always been," Lu Guang said quietly. "Crown or no crown."

Artwork by DX

Something about the simplicity of those words, the certainty in them, cracked open a door in his chest that he usually kept firmly shut. The world narrowed to this moment, to the space between their bodies, to Lu Guang's eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his breath catch.

The wine made everything feel dreamlike—the silver light on Lu Guang's hair, the gentle pressure of his hand at Cheng Xiaoshi's waist, the warmth of his breath. How strange that amidst all the pomp and ceremony of royal life, this quiet moment in a moonlit garden felt more significant than any crown or title.

"Do you ever wonder," he murmured, scarcely aware he was speaking aloud, "what might have transpired had my father never acknowledged me? If we had remained knights together?"

Lu Guang's expression softened. "I have contemplated such things."

"And?"

"I would still be at your side," Lu Guang said simply, as if there could be no other answer. "That much would remain unchanged."

Cheng Xiaoshi felt something give way inside him, like ice cracking beneath unexpected weight.

“You are the only real thing I possess," he whispered, the confession spilling out like wine from a broken glass. "At times I fear that, without you, I would simply...vanish. Like smoke."

Lu Guang went still, utterly still, the way he did before a killing blow. Something flashed across his face—raw and unguarded and terrible in its sheer nakedness. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound emerged.

The silence stretched, and with each heartbeat, Cheng Xiaoshi felt cold sobriety creeping through his veins. Panic surged. He stepped back, Lu Guang's arms falling away from his waist.

"Listen to me," he forced a laugh, the sound hollow even to his own ears. "Speaking such foolishness. The wine makes jesters of us all, does it not?"

Lu Guang's expression shuttered, and the moment was gone. But his eyes—those sharp eyes that missed nothing—lingered on Cheng Xiaoshi's face with an intensity that made the prince want to run, or perhaps to fall to his knees.

"Your Highness is tired," Lu Guang said, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps we should return to the palace."

"Yes. Tired." A nod, too quick. His head spun with wine. “Looking after me again. That's what you do best, isn't it, Sir Knight?”

Lu Guang said nothing, simply offered his arm for support. Cheng Xiaoshi took it, fingers curling around the solid warmth of Lu Guang's forearm, pretending not to notice how carefully Lu Guang avoided touching him more than necessary.

What had he done? The fragile thing between them existed in shadows and silence, in the space between duty and desire.

Cheng Xiaoshi was truly his own fool.

They walked back toward the palace in silence, the garden a blur of silver and shadow around them. With each step, he felt the weight of his crown—absent from his head but heavy on his shoulders nonetheless.

Three days.

It had been three days since words spilled from his wine-loosened lips in the moonlit garden. What followed was three days of unbearable formality—three days of diplomatic restraint, neutral tones, and titles where names should be.

The council chamber was buzzing with the usual tedium—lords droning on about border disputes, trade agreements, and harvest yields. The prince sat straight-backed on his ornate chair at the head of the table, the king noticeably absent. The crown weighed heavier with each passing hour. His fingers found the signet ring beneath the table, turning it like a prayer wheel.

Across the chamber, Lu Guang remained a shadow against the wall, eyes moving across faces, windows, doorways—anywhere but lingering on the prince who commanded the room yet couldn't command a single glance from the one person who mattered.

In return, Cheng Xiaoshi had spent the last three days studying the art of princely distance. He’d perfected the cool nod, the calculated detachment, the imperious glance that kept everyone—especially his knight—at arm’s length. It was almost impressive how quickly he’d learned to wear this royal arrogance as armor.

Better to be the untouchable prince than a fool, after all.

You are the only real thing I possess.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest tightened. What had possessed to say such a thing? Worse—he could only imagine what Lu Guang had thought of this pathetic, needy creature who feared he might vanish without his knight?

“Your Highness?”

Cheng Xiaoshi blinked.

All eyes in the room were on him, heads turned in his direction, awaiting his response. Duchess Qiao Ling watched him from across the table looking like she might skin him alive.

“Forgive me,” he said, forcing a smile. “The finer details of grain taxation are riveting, but perhaps we might continue after a brief recess.”

The lords murmured their assent, eager for refreshment, and began to file from the chamber while Cheng Xiaoshi remained seated. All the while Qiao Ling was staring daggers at him.

Once they were alone, she said, “That marks the eighth time today you’ve been absent in mind if not body. I trust you are not falling ill, Your Highness?”

“Merely distracted by more pressing matters,” he replied.

“Indeed.” Her gaze flicked toward Lu Guang, still at his post by the wall. “You’ve been unusually…princely, as of late.”

“Is that not what you’ve spent all this time training me to be?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. He wanted to go on. He wanted to add, The perfect royal specimen, all polish, no substance?

Qiao Ling sighed. “Must you always insist on being difficult?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard such words, cousin.” Cheng Xiaoshi stood, smoothing the front of his formal attire. “Excuse me, I plan to get some air before the council reconvenes.”

It was transparent enough a lie that her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. But she merely inclined her head and departed, leaving Cheng Xiaoshi alone with his knight and the chasm that now lay between them.

For several long moments, neither spoke. Cheng Xiaoshi moved to the window, gazing out at the palace gardens. From this height, he could see the terrace where they had danced, where words had escaped that could never be recaptured.

“I’m going outside,” he said to no one in particular. "I shall return before the council reconvenes."

He moved toward the door, a deliberate casualness in his stride that felt like wearing someone else's boots. Three steps, and he realized Lu Guang had not moved to follow.

Cheng Xiaoshi paused, hand on the door handle. “You do not intend to join me?”

Lu Guang stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back. "I assumed Your Highness desired solitude."

There it was again—that exacting tone, the distance Cheng Xiaoshi himself had insisted upon these past three days. He should have felt relief instead of that ugly thing twisting in his chest.

"Assumptions are dangerous, Sir Lu.” He attempted a smile, the expression feeling brittle on his face. "What if I were set upon by assassins the moment I step into the corridor?"

"Then the palace guard would apprehend them," Lu Guang replied, his tone level. "You've stationed sixteen men on this floor alone."

Cheng Xiaoshi stared. "You counted?"

"I always count." The knight's eyes met his, unbearably steady. "It's my duty to know who surrounds you."

Duty. Of course. Cheng Xiaoshi looked away, suddenly finding the ornate door handle fascinating. "Well, duty or no, you're still my knight. Where I go, you follow."

He pushed through the door without waiting for a response, but the familiar sound of Lu Guang's footsteps fell in behind him. The relief that flooded through him was humiliating.

They walked in silence through the palace corridors, servants and guards bowing as they passed. Cheng Xiaoshi nodded absently, his mind racing like a frightened deer. He could feel Lu Guang's presence behind him, steady as always, yet somehow more distant than the moon.

When had silence between them become so heavy?

Cheng Xiaoshi found himself on a small balcony overlooking the training yard. Below, squires ran drills under the watchful eye of the master-at-arms. A comforting sight, reminiscent of days when his only worry had been proving his worth with a sword.

Why had he brought him out here—to shine yet more light on the delta that had formed between them, likely far longer ago than Cheng Xiaoshi had cared to observe?

Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers found his signet ring, spinning it once, twice. "The watchtower," he said finally, the words falling between them like stones into still water. "Tonight. After the evening bell."

Lu Guang turned to him then, truly looked at him for the first time in three days. Those unwavering eyes searched his face, and Cheng Xiaoshi forced himself to meet that gaze, though it felt like standing on the edge of a precipice.

"I'll bring the wine," Lu Guang said simply.

Relief washed through him, so powerful it was almost dizzying. Cheng Xiaoshi ducked his head, hiding whatever might be written across his face.

"Good," he managed. "That's...good." Cheng Xiaoshi released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid drumming of his heart beneath royal finery.

Three days of pretending what had happened in the garden meant nothing. Perhaps tonight things would go back to the way they were.

The old watchtower smelled of dust and forgotten things.

Outside, water tapped against the narrow windows—gentle fingertips at first, then with growing insistence as twilight bled into true night. The rhythm felt to Cheng Xiaoshi like the unsteady beating of his heart in his chest as he paced the circular room, five steps one way, five steps back, a creature testing the limits of its cage.

He’d abandoned his crown hours ago, along with the stifling court garments that marked him as royalty. He wore simpler clothes in their place now—the kind that remembered the shape of a knight’s body rather than a prince’s posture. Fabric that didn’t whisper with every movement, that bore the comfortable wear of use rather than the stiff formality of parade.

Three days, wondering he had broken something he couldn’t mend, ruined something that he was always bound to ruin.

Cheng Xiaoshi glanced at his signet ring, glinting faint gold in the dim light.

After a long moment, he knelt beside the ancient brazier they’d hauled up here some time ago, when this forgotten tower first became their sanctuary. His hands trembled slightly as he struck flint against steel. Once, twice—sparks scattered and died. Again. Again. On the fifth try, a spark caught the kindling, and a small flame bloomed in the darkness, golden light spilling across the floor.

Brief satisfaction.

This place had been their secret for over a year now, since before Cheng Xiaoshi wore the crown. A tower forgotten by everyone else where ranks dissolved and they could simply exist as they once had. It was little more than a small table for goblets and maps and the occasional game of dice, stools to sit upon, some cushions and linens. They’d learned each other in the half-light of this room, in ways that went beyond the urgent couplings of hidden corridors or royal chambers.

Here, time was theirs.

The wooden door creaked on ancient hinges. Cheng Xiaoshi stood slowly, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat as he tried to smother whatever expression had been on his face moments before.

There was Lu Guang in the doorway, rain glistening in his white hair like scattered pearls. He carried a familiar decanter in one hand, two goblets in the other. Like Cheng Xiaoshi, he’d shed his formal attire—the dark armor of the royal guard replaced by a simpler shirt and breeches. Only the sword at his hip remained. It was never far from reach. The worn leather on the hilt bore the imprint of his palm.

Their eyes met across the small chamber, and for a moment neither spoke. It was only rain against stone and the soft whisper of a newborn flame eating through kindling.

"You came," Cheng Xiaoshi said finally, forcing lightness into his voice that didn't reach his eyes.

Lu Guang closed the door with a soft click. "You summoned."

No ceremony, no “Your Highness,” no distance at all. Just acknowledgment of a command honored. Just two words—so simple, so layered with meaning.

The knight crossed to the small table, graceful and deliberate with every movement in the way he always was. He set down the wine and goblets, and Cheng Xiaoshi watched the familiar ritual of uncorking, of pouring dark liquid into waiting cups.

This was normalcy.

“I was not certain you would heed my call,” Cheng Xiaoshi admitted reluctantly, accepting the goblet Lu Guang offered. Their fingers brushed in the exchange.

“Three days proves time enough,” Lu Guang replied, voice low, quieter than usual. He studied the prince over the rim of his goblet with eyes the same color as those rain clouds beyond the window. “Time enough for both of us, I think.”

“Indeed.” Cheng Xiaoshi stepped closer to the brazier, letting the warmth chase away the chill that had settled over the castle these past days. Lu Guang remained near, close enough that the prince could feel his presence, far enough for the prince to know the space between them was deliberate.

Cheng Xiaoshi studied the wine in his cup, watched the light from the growing flames. “I have been…most insufferable these past days.”

“Hm.”

A startled laugh escaped him, despite everything. “You were meant to deny it. Tell me I’ve been perfectly princely and dignified.”

“When have I been known to offer you falsehoods?” Lu Guang asked.

“You told the Duchess I was reviewing military strategies when my crown was discovered in the stables.”

“There was no falsehood—we were indeed strategizing how to avoid her lecture,” said Lu Guang. The corner of Lu Guang’s mouth twitched upward, a ghost of a smile that was sweeter than any wine.

Familiar words, familiar teasing, a familiar kind of tension between them. Cheng Xiaoshi took a deep swallow of drink, letting warmth spread through his chest, gathering his courage for perhaps the hundredth time that night.

“In the garden,” he began, then faltered. “What I said—”

“Did you speak truth?” Lu Guang interrupted, gaze unwavering.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s heart squeezed. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then laughed—a well-practiced gesture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He raised his goblet. “Wine has a tongue of its own. I have found it rarely translates well by the light of day.”

Lu Guang didn’t flinch, didn’t smile, didn’t look away—just watched with those eyes that had always seen too much, and cut straight through the easy charm that had carried Cheng Xiaoshi through countless difficult moments at court.

The knight knew his prince too well.

"I have witnessed you consume twice your weight in wine and still recite poetry without missing a verse," Lu Guang said quietly. "I have seen you drain three goblets and still best the captain at cards. In vino veritas, Xiaoshi—the wine may loosen your tongue, but it places no words upon it that were not already there."

The use of his name—Xiaoshi—his name. His, without title or ceremony or surname, the syllables his mother gave him—made something twist in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. He took another swallow of wine, longer this time.

"Very well, then," he said, slamming the goblet down on the edge of the table with more force than necessary. "A moment of weakness. All men suffer them, even princes who were once knights. Even knights who serve princes." He waved a hand dismissively. "It need not trouble us further."

Lu Guang placed his own goblet beside Cheng Xiaoshi's, gentle against the prince’s agitation.

"You spoke of vanishing like smoke without me."

The words hung in the air. Cheng Xiaoshi felt heat crawl up his neck, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment or wine or both.

“Poetic…foolishness,” he muttered, turning from Lu Guang and chewing the inside his cheek in a way that he used to before the crown, before he was trained out of it. “I was in my cups and melancholy and the moon was full. A perfect moment for such…melodrama.”

Lu Guang was quiet for so long that Cheng Xiaoshi wondered if he’d finally pushed too hard, too far, and his knight would simply leave, returning to that rehearsed sense of decorum that had characterized the past three days. But when he turned back, he found not anger, not hurt, but some other expression upon Lu Guang’s face. Brows drawn together, lips tight, but breathing even and slow.

“Shall I tell you what I have observed these past days?” Lu Guang asked softly.

“I dare say you shall enlighten me.”

“I have watched you perform,” said Lu Guang, stepping closer. “And not as a prince should, but as an actor might, with gesture planned and your words rehearsed before leaving your lips. You have exhausted yourself trying to behave the way you believe I expect.”

The reluctant prince opened his mouth to deny it, but found no rebuttal waiting. The simple truth of Lu Guang’s observation had stripped his lies bare.

“I have watched you flinch when nobles approach too swiftly,” Lu Guang continued. “I have observed you spinning that ring enough that your skin must grow sore and raw. I have counted the number of times you have reached for a sword you no longer carry.” Their eyes locked. “I have seen you indeed begin to vanish, just like smoke. Each day, right before my eyes.”

Something hot and tight formed in Cheng Xiaoshi’s throat as his own words were thrown back at him. He reached for his goblet again, but a hand shot out and caught his.

“Cease your hiding.”

“I am not—” Cheng Xiaoshi started, but stopped. The lie was bitter on his tongue. He pulled his hand free, staring into the brazier, watching hungry flames consuming wood. “What would you have me confess? That I meant those words? That I am terrified, and I know not who I am when I look upon the mirror and see my father’s crown upon my head?”

“If such is the truth.”

"The truth," Cheng Xiaoshi echoed, a hollow laugh escaping him. "The truth is I was never meant for princely station, and I wielded a sword with far greater skill than I shall ever hold a scepter."

Lu Guang’s expression shifted, softened in a way that made Cheng Xiaoshi’s breath catch. For a heartbeat, he thought the knight might simply walk away—turn around and go back out through that door and never return to this tower.

The fear must have shown on his face.

“Xiaoshi.”

And then, in a movement so unexpected it stole Cheng Xiaoshi's breath, Lu Guang sank to one knee before him. Not the formal kneel of court ceremony—no, there was something raw in this, something that made Cheng Xiaoshi's throat go dry. The man who never bent was kneeling, not out of duty, but something else. Something Cheng Xiaoshi was afraid to name.

"What are you doing?" Cheng Xiaoshi asked, the rehearsed royal indifference cracking, falling away piece by piece.

Lu Guang took his right hand, the one that bore the royal signet—the ring he'd been spinning anxiously for days, enough that a groove had formed in his finger beneath the band. Their skin met, Lu Guang's calloused from years of swordplay, warm against his own. His knight held his gaze, refusing to look down even from this position, and the intensity in those storm-gray eyes made Cheng Xiaoshi want to look away. But he couldn't.

Without breaking that gaze, Lu Guang pressed his lips to the ring. Not the perfunctory touch of formal fealty but something that lingered, that burned. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Too long to be duty, too deliberate to be anything but choice.

"Lu Guang," he breathed, unsure if it was question or plea or simply the only word his mind could form.

His knight didn't answer. Instead, he turned Cheng Xiaoshi's hand and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse hammered wildly beneath thin skin. Cheng Xiaoshi felt the soft exhale of breath against his flesh, the slight roughness of Lu Guang's lower lip. Another kiss followed at the edge of his sleeve, then another an inch higher, fabric pushed aside by fingers that didn't tremble.

Time stretched like heated glass. Each point of contact left a ghost of warmth that spread up Cheng Xiaoshi's arm, across his chest. The rustle of fabric. The slight scratch of Lu Guang's evening stubble. The scent of rain from his hair. It was too much and not enough. Too slow and too fast.

By the time Lu Guang reached the curve of his shoulder, Cheng Xiaoshi was shaking. Not the slight tremor of cold, but something that started in his bones and worked outward, dismantling every barrier he'd painstakingly constructed over the past three days. Over his entire life.

Lu Guang paused, his breath warm against the side of Cheng Xiaoshi's neck. "In the forest, when I was wounded," he murmured, voice low against Cheng Xiaoshi's skin, "you sat with me through two weeks of fever. When the healers said I might not wake, you refused to leave. You whispered, 'Please don't leave me.'"

The memory hit like a physical blow—Lu Guang unconscious, skin burning with fever, the knife wound festering despite the healers' best efforts. The way Cheng Xiaoshi had refused food, refused sleep, refused to believe that this man who never faltered might slip away.

"I thought you would die," he said simply, the words small and broken in the space between them.

"And you feared I would abandon you." Lu Guang's lips brushed the racing pulse in his neck, so light it might have been imagined. "In the garden, you feared the same. Not that I would die, but that I would see the crown on your head and forget the man beneath it. That I would leave."

Cheng Xiaoshi's hand moved without thought, finding the nape of Lu Guang's neck, fingers threading through hair so white it captured even the dim light of their small fire. Lu Guang's eyes drifted closed at the touch, and the vulnerability of that—this man who was always watchful, always alert—caught somewhere behind Cheng Xiaoshi's ribs.

"These past three days," Lu Guang said, "I watched you fade. A little more each day, each night. Not like smoke, which at least leaves its scent behind, but like water into sand."

"Lu Guang—"

"I could not bear it." The words dropped between them, unadorned and absolute. Lu Guang opened his eyes, storm-gray meeting golden-brown. "I would not watch you disappear."

"So this—" Cheng Xiaoshi gestured between them, searching for words, failing. "This is what? Loyalty to your prince? Pity for the bastard who cannot wear his father's crown without drowning beneath it?"

"This," Lu Guang said, taking Cheng Xiaoshi's face between his hands, "is my oath."

“You have already sworn fealty," he said, feeling the warmth of those palms against his cheeks.

"I swore to the crown." Lu Guang's thumbs traced the line of his cheekbones, barely-there touches that left fire in their wake. "In the garden, you asked what might have been had you remained a knight rather than a prince."

Cheng Xiaoshi went still, the memory of that moonlit moment washing over him. "I was drunk," he whispered, one last shield, paper-thin and crumbling.

"You were honest." Lu Guang's eyes never wavered, seeing too much, seeing everything. "And I've thought of my answer every moment since."

Heat crawled up Cheng Xiaoshi's neck and bloomed across his cheeks. Every wall he'd built, every deflection he'd prepared, every jest ready on his tongue—all useless under that steady gaze.

"I pledge myself to you," Lu Guang said, every word carefully chosen. "Not to your title. Not to your crown or your kingdom." He leaned closer, close enough that Cheng Xiaoshi could feel the heat of him, close enough that their breath mingled. "To you. My sun."

The endearment struck like an arrow finding its mark.

"The center of my sky," Lu Guang continued, voice dropping lower. "The light I turn toward. The fire I would burn for."

"A dangerous oath to make," Cheng Xiaoshi whispered, though the warning came far too late.

"More dangerous to deny." Lu Guang's hands held his face as if it might shatter. "It has been yours longer than I care to admit."

"And if I refuse this oath?" he asked, needing to know, needing to be sure. "If I order you to leave this room and stand outside my chamber door tonight?"

"Then I will obey." Lu Guang answered without pause, with a certainty that made Cheng Xiaoshi's heart ache. "And I will return tomorrow evening to offer it again. And every evening after, until you believe me."

The simplicity of that answer, the unwavering sureness behind it, unlocked something in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest he hadn't known was caged. All the fear he'd carried since that night in the garden—that he'd revealed too much, asked for more than Lu Guang could give—dissolved like morning mist.

"I accept your oath," he murmured.

The distance between them vanished.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s mouth crashed against Lu Guang’s with a hunger that seemed almost uncharacteristic of him—certainly uncharacteristic of the cool-headed, arrogant prince he’d played the part of these past days. He wanted for him, wished to breathe his air. Something broke loose between them. A pendulum swung. Suddenly Lu Guang’s arms encircled him, drawing him closer until the space between prince and knight ceased to exist. The force of it nearly pulled him into Lu Guang’s lap and he went willingly.

The fire in the brazier cast wavering shadows flickering across stone walls, transforming their humble, ill-begotten sanctuary into something almost sacred.

This place had stood for centuries, and even now it seemed so high above a world that demanded they remain what they seemed—master and servant, ruler and warrior, separate entities bound by duty.

But here, the distinction dissolved like morning fog.

Cheng Xiaoshi was a man—nothing more, and nothing less.

And Lu Guang was a man—nothing more, and nothing less.

Those strong palms traced up Cheng Xiaoshi’s back with a newfound boldness. That hesitant question that had lingered in every touch before now vanished. In its place—certainty. The oath had stripped away the veneer he’d worn so long it felt like sin.

Lu Guang guided them backward toward their makeshift bed—a collection of pillows and cushions acquired over months of secret meetings. Bits of luxury stolen from unused guest chambers, threadbare cushions from knights' barracks, linens carried up narrow stairs under cover of darkness. Cheng Xiaoshi’s back met soft resistance, and Lu Guang followed him down, one hand braced beside his head, the other still gripping his waist.

In an instinctive gesture born from habit, Cheng Xiaoshi reached to pull Lu Guang closer, but found his wrists caught in one strong hand, pressed into the cushions of his head.

“Oh,” he breathed.

Lu Guang's eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds before lightning strikes. "I have longed to hold you like this," he said, voice rougher than Cheng Xiaoshi had ever heard it, "since the night we hid from the bandits."

“But…you did not—" Cheng Xiaoshi began, but Lu Guang silenced him with another kiss, more demanding than before, stealing the words from his tongue, making his surprise melt into something far warmer. Molten inside his chest.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Lu Guang's grip remained firm around his wrists. "No, I did not," he said. "I was your shield-brother then. Your knight after. Always in service and always careful.”

His lips found the curve of Cheng Xiaoshi’s neck. Lips and teeth and tongue on his skin in a way that was anything but careful, sending shivers cascading down the prince’s spine. Then he bit down—the sting was sharper than Lu Guang had ever allowed, a shock of a sensation that pulled a cry from Cheng Xiaoshi’s throat.

Lu Guang’s tongue smoothed over the marks he undoubtedly left, but even that felt rougher, more desire than design. Cheng Xiaoshi arched against him with a soft whimper.

“For so long I worried for leaving marks upon royal skin," he murmured against Cheng Xiaoshi’s collarbone, the sound of his voice nearly lost beneath the rhythm of rain against stone. "Feared what whispers might follow should their prince appear with bruises he could not explain."

As if to make up for lost time, for years lost to restraint, he bit down again where neck met shoulder, hard enough that Cheng Xiaoshi’s body tensed beneath him. The pain bloomed bright and this time it faded into a strange, new heat that pooled in his belly. Lu Guang once again soothed the forming mark with his tongue, then moved lower, hands releasing Cheng Xiaoshi’s wrists to work at the ties of his shirt.

One of the strings caught, snapped under an impatient tug with a sharp sound that cut through the patter of rain, tearing the delicate neckline open. Cheng Xiaoshi's breath hitched. Lu Guang's meticulous hands, which usually undressed him as if he were made of precious silk, had torn fabric.

Storm-gray eyes flicked up, pupils blown wide, a question in them despite the hunger. Cheng Xiaoshi nodded once, barely perceptible. Something unraveled in Lu Guang then—permission granted, control relinquished.

Lu Guang's hands moved roughly up his sides, calluses scraping soft skin. Cheng Xiaoshi stretched beneath the touch, arching into it as he always did when his knight attended him. He reached lazily for Lu Guang's collar, ready to direct as usual. "Allow me to—"

"No." Lu Guang caught his wrists, pinning them firmly to the cushions once more. His knee knocked against Cheng Xiaoshi's thigh as he shifted position, a rare moment of gracelessness from the knight whose movements had always been flawless in battle and bed alike.

Cheng Xiaoshi's breath caught in his throat. Not from the restraint—Lu Guang had held him down before, hundreds of times. But this—

"Lu Guang—"

“Allow me.” Lu Guang said, voice ragged at the edges. Not the deferential tone of a knight to his prince, but a demand. His grip tightened on Cheng Xiaoshi's wrists, thumbs pressing into pulse points.

Cheng Xiaoshi fell silent, eyes wide. In all their nights, all their stolen moments, he had been accustomed to reverence, to gentle touches and attentive devotion. To being served, worshipped, pleasured at his slightest whim. To guiding Lu Guang's hands and mouth where he wished them.

Lu Guang's teeth caught Cheng Xiaoshi's lower lip, then moved to his throat. "I have memorized your sounds,” he murmured against heated skin, “your shivers, your gasps.” His mouth found a nipple, teeth applying pressure that sent a jolt through Cheng Xiaoshi's body. Inattentive, uncontrolled, wild. "Tonight I take what I want."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request for permission. It was a statement of intent that left Cheng Xiaoshi breathless.

"Yes," he managed, voice breaking. "Show me."

Lu Guang released his wrists, moving down his body. His gaze lifted, white hair falling across his forehead.

Gray eyes had gone almost black. “Turn over."

The command—so simple, so direct—sent heat rushing through Cheng Xiaoshi's veins. He obeyed without hesitation, turning onto his stomach, face pressed against the cushions. Lu Guang's hands traced the line of his spine, a thumb on either side, coming to rest at his hips.

“Lift,” he said, guiding Cheng Xiaoshi to his knees, chest still pressed to the makeshift bed.

Somehow Cheng Xiaoshi felt exposed in a way he never had before. Even in the privacy of royal chambers with their silken sheets and high canopies and in darkened corners, Lu Guang’s eyes had never pierced him with the intensity they were now, as he positioned him just so.

Lu Guang reached for the small glass bottle that they kept hidden in the tower, in a basket of odd things—unassuming amongst cutlery, a wooden comb, a game of dice. The cork came free with a sharp pop. Lu Guang slicked his fingers, the scent of sweet oil mixing with rain and sweat and smoke. Several drop spilled onto the cushions—yet more small imperfections.

This was a different Lu Guang.

The press against his entrance came without warning, unwarmed between Lu Guang’s hands, a quick intrusion that made Cheng Xiaoshi hiss through his teeth. His body tensed at the sudden stretch, the slight burn as Lu Guang worked him open with more speed and less care than was his habit, fingers twisting and stretching.

"I have imagined you thus," Lu Guang said, voice low and rough. "Not merely willing, but offered to me. Laid bare."

His free hand slid up Cheng Xiaoshi's back, then around to stroke him with rough, deliberate movements. The dual sensation pulled a moan from somewhere deep in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. The slight pain and growing pleasure tangled together, each heightening the other until he could no longer distinguish between them. He dropped his forehead to the cushions, surrendering to the feeling building inside him.

"Lu G—“ Cheng Xiaoshi attempted, but the rest dissolved into a gasp as Lu Guang's fingers curled inside him, finding that exquisite spot, the one that made him see white. Words scattered like leaves in autumn wind, his mind emptied of everything but sensation.

Lu Guang's hand abandoned its stroking to grip Cheng Xiaoshi's hair, pulling back enough to make him rise onto his elbows, to see his face and watch as pleasure transform his features. Cheng Xiaoshi tried again to speak, to order, or even to beg—but all that emerged was a broken sound caught between plea and surrender.

"Your silver tongue deserts you now," Lu Guang observed, voice rough with chilled air and desire. His fingers continued their torment, knowing where to touch but moving with a jagged rhythm that kept Cheng Xiaoshi teetering on the edge, never quite finding the pattern that would push him over.

Cheng Xiaoshi's arms trembled beneath him and his hands gripped at nothing. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I—I beg—“ he managed, fragments breaking free from the wreckage of his thoughts. "Lu Guang—" The rest dissolved into sounds that weren't words at all.

"More," Cheng Xiaoshi tried, pushing back against the intrusion, voice catching when those fingers hooked just right.

Lu Guang's laugh was low and dark behind him.

"So eager," the knight murmured, but worked another finger in, scissoring them in a way that made Cheng Xiaoshi's thighs shake. "Always wanting."

"Lu Guang," Cheng Xiaoshi gasped as those fingers continued their sweet torture, "I need—I…need—“ His voice broke as words failed him completely.

Lu Guang leaned over him, chest pressed to his back, teeth grazing his ear. "Speak what you need," he demanded, voice lined with something barely held in check. “What fear has kept unspoken."

"You, I need—" Cheng Xiaoshi gasped. "I need...you."

Lu Guang withdrew his fingers too quickly, leaving Cheng Xiaoshi empty and wanting. He felt the blunt pressure against his entrance, and then Lu Guang pushed forward in one long, almost careless slide. Cheng Xiaoshi's fists twisted in the cushions, a strangled sound escaping him at the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness.

Lu Guang's hands gripped his hips, holding him steady as he pulled out and drove back in. Again and again. No gentle buildup, no calculated consideration—just raw need that matched Cheng Xiaoshi's. The pace was erratic, the angle shifting with each thrust, sometimes missing the spot that made Cheng Xiaoshi see stars, sometimes hitting it so precisely that his entire body shuddered.

"Lu Guang," he gasped, the name breaking on his tongue as pleasure sparked up his spine, white-hot and blinding.

In response, Lu Guang's hand slid into his hair again, gripping tight enough to sting, pulling his head back as the pace quickened. The angle changed, and Cheng Xiaoshi cried out as Lu Guang began to hit that spot with each thrust, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Lu Guang's panting came faster now, all words lost to the rhythm of their bodies. His grip dug into Cheng Xiaoshi's hip bruisingly hard, not to mark or claim, but simply because he could no longer control his grip, his strength, the culmination of what had been held back for so long.

Cheng Xiaoshi felt it building in waves. Not the ascent he was accustomed to, where Lu Guang guided him steadily toward a sublime pleasure and carried him over the edge. No—this was unpredictable and utterly wild. Every thrust brought him higher. Closer to an edge he’d never before approached—it was stealing the air in his lungs, narrowing his vision until the room disappeared. The rain against the tower, the crackling fire, Lu Guang’s ragged breaths—all of it melted away and all there was was this—the slide of that cock driving into him, making it stretch, making it burn, reaching so deep and delicious.

And the pain unexpectedly sharpened the pleasure, gave it edges, made it impossible to fade into comfortable bliss. Instead he was forced into the present, forced to feel every second, every sensation. Sweat dripped down his spine, the cushions beneath his knees were damp. There were fingertip-shaped bruises already forming on his hips.

And still—even still—Cheng Xiaoshi pushed back, craving more, harder, a moment where he wasn’t anything but a man—nothing more, nothing less—coming apart in the hands of the one person who had always seen him, crown or no crown.

What was left of Lu Guang's control finally shattered. His rhythm faltered, grew erratic, counterpoint to Cheng Xiaoshi's heartbeat. One hand left Cheng Xiaoshi's hip to wrap around him, strokes matching his thrusts, driving them both toward the edge.

Cheng Xiaoshi came first, his body tightening around Lu Guang, a sound that might have been his knight's name torn from his throat. Lu Guang followed moments later, his forehead pressed between Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulder blades, a violent shudder running through his entire body.

For a long moment, neither moved. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the steady drum of rain against the tower walls. Then Lu Guang lowered their sweat-slicked bodies down to the cushions, eased his cock out of him, and pulled him close.

His lips pressed against the back of Cheng Xiaoshi's neck, gentler now.

"I was too harsh," he murmured, voice hoarse.

“Too harsh,” Cheng Xiaoshi repeated, and was delighted to find that he could speak again. “If that is your concern, you need not worry." He shifted, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache, to turn in Lu Guang's arms.

Lu Guang's eyes traced his face, his throat, the marks already darkening across his collarbone. His fingers followed the path of his gaze, touch feather-light where it had been bruising minutes before. Something vulnerable flickered across his features, there and gone like lightning.

"You are still my prince," he said quietly.

Cheng Xiaoshi placed his palm against Lu Guang's chest, felt the steady thrum of his heart. "And you are still my knight." He pressed his forehead to Lu Guang's, closed his eyes. "But let us lay down titles, just for this.”

Lu Guang's arms tightened around him, and they lay together in the firelight, listening to the rain against ancient stone. Outside, the world waited with its crowns and duties and careful distances. But in this forgotten tower, for these stolen hours, a knight held his prince, and neither thought of morning.