The Hidden Queen

My sister and I were married on the same day. After the weddings, we each kept to our own duties and lived in peace. But who could predict the storms of fate? My husband was unexpectedly injured and fell into a coma. The Empress, my sister, came to me late that night, proposing we swap identities. As I stood there stunned, my husband on the bed murmured a name in his delirium—"Rosalind." That was my sister's given name.

1

My sister and I donned our bridal veils on the same day.

My sister married the Emperor, becoming the Empress who presided over the realm. I married the Emperor's younger brother, becoming the Princess of the Jing Palace.

Everyone said that twin brothers marrying twin sisters was a blessing upon blessings, a perfect match of fate and fortune.

But my sister and I were vastly different. She had dimples on her cheeks; I did not. I had a teardrop mole beside my eye; she did not. Just as I could always tell the Emperor from the Prince at a single glance. Others claimed we looked alike, but I secretly thought their eyesight was terribly flawed.

On our wedding night, the red veil covered my head, and all I could see was darkness. I could only look down at my embroidered shoes. What a grueling day it had been—dressing and styling since before dawn, not a single grain of rice passing my lips the entire day. Though a maid had secretly slipped me two pieces of pastry, my stomach was still hollow after eating them.

As night deepened and the third watch approached, the Prince had yet to appear. I was faint from hunger. But then I thought: today I am a bride, the most beautiful day of my life. I must present my best self to the Prince. So I rallied my spirits, straightened my back, and sat upright again under the weight of my jeweled crown.

The Prince... my husband. Heh.

Just thinking the word "husband" made my cheeks burn with heat.

I debated with myself: when he lifted my veil, should I cast my eyes down shyly and softly call him "husband"? Or should I meet his gaze, smile radiantly, and greet him with joy?

Before I could decide, a pair of dark red boots appeared before my embroidered shoes. The thick smell of alcohol made me frown slightly, but I thought: it's a happy day! A few extra drinks were understandable.

My heart pounded like a drum, fluttering with nervousness. What should I do? I still hadn't decided how to address him!

He lifted my red veil. I put on what I thought was my most beautiful smile and softly called out, "Hus—"

The look in his eyes was as cold as frost. The word "husband" froze on my lips before it could escape.

He had drunk too much. His face was flushed, his steps unsteady. One hand gripped the bedpost while the other lifted my chin. With drunken, hazy eyes, he studied me for a long time.

He was handsome. Being gazed at like this made me shy. I lowered my eyes, not daring to meet his.

His hand traced along my cheek, finally stopping at the teardrop mole beside my eye. He lingered there, his fingertip gently brushing against it.

"Look at me." His voice was low and hoarse.

I obediently raised my eyes to him. I saw that his gaze had softened, no longer as frightening as before. Summoning my courage, I smiled and called him "husband" again.

That did it. His face darkened again, all trace of tenderness gone.

He withdrew his hand, no longer looking at me. Turning, he walked toward the door, tossing over his shoulder: "Princess, rest well."

He left. On our wedding night, he abandoned me like that.

And... he seemed angry?

But I hadn't done anything to provoke him! How strange!

2

Three days later came the day to pay respects at the palace. It was also the second time I saw the Prince.

My husband, Julian Warrington.

He stood before the carriage. When I came out, he stared at me blankly for a long time. I smiled and greeted him. He frowned slightly, then turned his head away.

Huh? Did he not like my smile?

I didn't think much of it and climbed into the carriage, sitting across from him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the carriage—whether from fatigue or unwillingness to acknowledge me, I couldn't tell. I had the good sense to stay silent.

The entire journey passed in wordless silence.

My sister had become the Empress, quite different from before. She had always been beautiful, but now she carried an added grace and dignity.

The Emperor, Marcus Warrington, was the Prince's elder brother. The two looked alike, though the Emperor had always been frail and much thinner than the Prince. At that moment, he sat beside my sister, gazing at her with eyes so tender it would melt anyone's heart.

It was clear the Emperor cherished my sister greatly.

I stole a glance at Julian beside me. I thought to myself that I probably wasn't fortunate enough to earn my husband's affection. A silent sigh escaped me.

Strangely, my sister didn't seem happy. Though she wore a smile, having grown up with her, I could tell whether she was truly pleased.

There was no joy of a new bride in her eyes. Instead, she looked toward a certain direction with sorrow and longing. I followed her gaze and saw that she was looking at my husband.

Julian Warrington.

And at that moment, my husband's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on my sister—burning, intense, as if something was about to burst forth.

They gazed at each other openly, as if no one else existed.

I was so startled that my hand shook, spilling soup all over my clothes. That drew everyone's attention to me. I was mortified, not knowing what to do with myself. Beside me, Julian frowned. But the Emperor just smiled and told my sister to take me to change clothes.

While my sister helped me dress, I couldn't help asking if she had known the Prince before. Her hands paused as she adjusted my clothes. She only said she had met him a few times.

I wanted to ask if she liked him. But then I thought: we were both married now, and she was the Empress. It wouldn't be appropriate to ask, and I was afraid she might misunderstand. So I kept quiet.

The room fell silent, the only sound the rustling of my sister adjusting my garments.

"Clara... does the Prince treat you well?"

The question brought all my grievances rushing back. I remembered waiting for him until the third watch on our wedding night. I remembered him abandoning me on our first night together. I remembered him leaving me alone in the palace, ignoring me, even inexplicably giving me the cold shoulder. It all felt so unfair.

But when the words reached my lips, all I said was a bland, "The Prince treats me very well." Not for any particular reason—I was no longer a child now that I was married, and my sister wasn't our mother who could always protect me. Even our mother couldn't interfere in matters between husband and wife. So why should I say anything to trouble my beloved sister?

My sister stood behind me. I couldn't see her expression. I only heard her say softly, "That's good, then."

On the way back, a palace attendant informed me that the Prince had gone ahead on business and that I should take the carriage back alone. Hearing this, I felt a pang of loneliness. I simply acknowledged it.

But after walking a few steps, I realized my hairpin was missing. Our mother had given it to me before the wedding—my sister and I each had one. I searched with several attendants along the path we had taken, but couldn't find it anywhere.

Then I looked up and saw Marcus standing on the other side of the flower bushes, watching me with curved brows. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

I bowed and told him I was looking for my hairpin.

Marcus nodded. Then he took an object from his sleeve—it was my missing hairpin. He said he had found it on the path earlier. He remembered my sister had worn one like it, but she wasn't wearing it today, so he knew it must be mine.

I took the hairpin with both hands and thanked him profusely. Just as I was about to leave, Marcus called me back.

He said he hoped I would visit Rosalind often when I had time. She hadn't been happy since entering the palace. He thought that since we were sisters, if we spent more time together, she might cheer up.

He smiled—a shy smile, like a young man experiencing his first love.

I quickly agreed.

Suddenly, I felt very envious of my sister. To have such a good husband who cared for her, who thought of her wellbeing. How wonderful that must be.

3

Our mother had warned me: even if a husband and wife couldn't love each other until old age, they should at least respect each other. That way, life would go smoothly.

I thought Mother was right.

But was it truly impossible for Julian and me to love each other until old age?

After all, who didn't want to be deeply in love with their husband?

Since our marriage, we had exchanged fewer than ten words, all of them polite and formal. He didn't even know me yet. I thought that perhaps once he got to know me, he might come to like me.

So I learned to be a virtuous wife. I made Julian soup, lit lamps for him while he worked, ground ink for his brush—all the things a wife should do.

And Julian? He was like a stone that couldn't be warmed. He still ignored me, even frowned slightly when he saw me.

I felt he not only didn't like me but might even dislike me.

During this time, I followed Marcus's suggestion and often visited my sister at the palace. Every time, one of the Prince's guards would hand me a lunchbox and tell me to bring it to my sister.

Inside were all of my sister's favorite foods. Julian knew her tastes even better than I did!

I couldn't describe the feeling that rose in me. I only knew I was furious! It felt like a stone was lodged in my chest.

The first few times, I didn't give the lunchbox to my sister. I ate everything in the carriage, leaving nothing for her.

As a result, I either nearly choked to death on the food or was too stuffed to walk. I was really tormenting myself.

Later, I stopped eating them. I gave the lunchbox to my sister untouched. I still remember how her eyes glistened when she opened it and saw the pastries inside—as if she held a thousand miles of longing.

Watching her, I felt uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable. Later, I learned that this discomfort was called jealousy.

I couldn't say when it started, but I began to deliberately imitate my sister—the way she spoke, the way she walked, the way she looked at people.

Sometimes even Marcus would pause when he saw me. "The Princess of Jing and the Empress truly look alike," he would say. "Sometimes even I can't tell them apart."

I felt a secret thrill. But then Marcus said something that made my heart sink.

"If not for the Princess's teardrop mole and the Empress's dimples," he said, "I fear no one could distinguish them."

That night, I sat before my bronze mirror. I used powder to cover the mole beside my eye. I took a long, thin silver hairpin and pressed its tip against my cheek, trying to create dimples like my sister's. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. The pin's tip broke my skin, and beads of blood welled up. I watched them drip onto the table like little red pearls.

Suddenly, I felt ridiculous. Before, I had always wanted to be different from my sister. She was Rosalind, and I was Clara. But now Clara wanted to become a second Rosalind.

Still, I persisted. Since I couldn't make dimples, I would cover my mole.

When I appeared before Julian like this, he froze. He instinctively called out a name, then caught himself and said nothing more. He just looked at me with a complicated expression.

But my efforts weren't entirely wasted. Julian's attitude toward me improved significantly. He was no longer as cold as before. At meals, he would even put food on my plate.

I finally saw a glimmer of hope. I thought that if I kept trying, maybe one day he would come to like me.

4

But then something happened that made me realize I should never have hoped for that day to come.

That day, I went to see my sister as usual. During a meal, she suddenly felt nauseous. The imperial physician was summoned. After taking her pulse, his face lit up with joy as he offered his congratulations.

My sister was pregnant—over two months along.

Everyone in the palace was overjoyed. My sister stared blankly at her belly, expressionless. Perhaps she was too happy to react at first.

When Marcus heard the news, he rushed over immediately after court, his joy overflowing.

He held my sister's hand. "Rosalind, we're going to have a child. We'll watch this child grow up together."

Though my sister smiled, there was little joy in her eyes. She simply replied obediently, "Yes."

When I returned home, the steward was waiting for me at the gate, his face anxious. I didn't know what had happened.

He told me that the Prince had been sullen ever since returning from court. He had locked himself in his room and was drinking. No one had been allowed in all day. He asked me to go and persuade the Prince.

I stood before the Prince's door. Since our wedding, we had always slept in separate rooms. This was my first time at his door.

I called out to him softly. In response, I heard the crash of porcelain against the floor, followed by his roar: "Get out! Without my orders, no one disturbs me!"

His shout made my head ring. Half my heart turned cold. I stood there for a long moment, then left.

As I passed the steward, I told him the Prince was in a bad mood today and to let him be. Don't disturb him again.

The steward hesitated but agreed.

On my way back to my room, my legs felt heavy. Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn't wipe them away fast enough.

The next day, before dawn, the Prince led a company of men to suppress bandits.

He left in haste, without telling me, without reporting to the court.

Two months later, the Prince returned to the capital, gravely wounded.

The general who had followed him said the Prince had charged ahead as if he didn't care whether he lived or died. No amount of persuasion could stop him. An arrow had struck him in the chest. The army surgeon couldn't handle it, so they had no choice but to send him back. Perhaps the best physicians in the palace could still save him.

In those two months, the Prince had grown very thin. His injury had left him pale and bloodless, his brow tightly furrowed in pain.

The palace sent so many physicians that they filled the entire room. They treated him day and night for several days. I stayed by his side through it all, my eyes red from sleeplessness, until one of the physicians finally said the danger had passed. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief.

During those days, the palace sent frequent inquiries about Julian's condition. The Emperor's people came twice. My sister's people came five times.

Before leaving, the head physician instructed me that although the most dangerous period was over, the Prince had not yet woken. He still needed careful watching. Only when he woke would he truly be safe.

I thanked the physicians profusely and saw them out. When I returned to Julian, he was still weak and haggard, though his face looked more peaceful.

I tended to him without rest for several more days, until I was so weak I could barely stand. At one point, I wondered if Julian didn't wake up soon, I might go before him.

I thought that when he woke and saw how devotedly I had cared for him, he might be deeply moved. Perhaps he would even fall in love with me.

So I threw myself even more fervently into caring for him.

That night, an uninvited guest arrived at the palace.

My sister.

She stood before me. For a moment, I thought I was seeing things. I rubbed my eyes. But it was really her.

My sister grabbed my hand. Tears streamed down her face like a broken string of pearls. "Clara," she said, "take me to see him."

I had never seen my sister cry so bitterly. My heart softened.

When my sister saw the Prince, she threw herself onto him, sobbing, "Brother Julian."

Suddenly, I remembered. Long ago, in our maiden chambers.

My sister had blushed and told me about a young man she had met. She called him "Brother Julian." Back then, I thought she meant the Li boy next door and teased her for having a crush.

I never imagined it was Julian.

Perhaps it was the call of his beloved. Julian, who had been unconscious for so long, murmured in his delirium: "Rosalind."

That single word stirred a tempest of emotions in me. Watching my sister's joyful face, I felt suffocated. The heart in my chest slowly turned cold.

At that moment, I finally accepted reality.

My sister made a request: she wanted to stay and care for Julian.

I was so shocked I couldn't speak. "Sister," I said, "you're the Empress! Leaving the palace without permission is already against the rules. How can you not return?"

My sister took my hand and pleaded in a low voice, her eyes filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks, leaving large wet stains on her clothes. "Clara, we're twins. If we're careful, no one will notice. I'm not asking for anything else. I just want to stay until he's better. Then we'll switch back immediately."

I didn't speak. I didn't look at her. I stared at my own shoes.

My sister paused, then continued: "Clara, since you married into the palace, the Prince hasn't treated you well. I believe you know why." I finally looked up at her. She went on, "It's because of me. Clara, I'm not here to rekindle an old flame with Brother Julian. I know our love runs deep but our fate is shallow. I can't bear to let go of this feeling, but I also don't want to see him do dangerous things because of me again. So Brother Julian and I need an ending. An ending where I cut this bond with my own hands."

My sister said, "Clara, just this once. After this, he and I will be strangers. I will have no further dealings with him. I will never come between you two again."

I saw my reflection in her clear, autumn-water eyes. Perhaps it was the unwavering determination I saw in them that moved me. As if possessed, I nodded and agreed.

If only I had known that this decision would bring so many more troubles in the future, I would never have consented.

5

Once I was in the palace, I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles.

My sister had said that as long as I was careful, no one would notice. Besides, I had visited her palace frequently these past months and knew everyone there well. I had also learned to imitate her mannerisms almost perfectly. Surely there wouldn't be any major problems.

I lay nervously on my sister's bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep all night.

Only when the sky began to lighten did I finally feel drowsy. Hazel, my sister's maid who had grown up with us, gently woke me. She was the only one who knew about our swap. Even if she hadn't been told, after so many years together, she could tell us apart at a glance.

Hazel told me that soon the ladies of the palace would come to pay their respects to the Empress as usual. She asked if I wanted to see them.

I told Hazel that until my sister and I switched back, I would try not to see anyone. I would say the Empress was pregnant and feeling unwell and would cancel all the morning audiences for now.

Hazel nodded.

I thought this would be enough to get by. But I never expected that my excuse of illness would create problems.

When Marcus heard that the Empress was unwell, he rushed over immediately after court.

I had forgotten how much Marcus cared for my sister.

I sat across from Marcus, pretending to be my sister, my heart pounding with panic. I had to force myself to stay calm. I worried about whether the mole beside my eye was properly covered. I constantly reminded myself not to smile—if he noticed I had no dimples, he would know I wasn't my sister, and I would be in serious trouble.

Marcus took my hand, concern in his eyes. "Rosalind, where do you feel unwell? Let me call the physician to examine you."

His palm was thick and strong. The touch of his skin and the warmth of his hand made me nervous. I was even starting to sweat. This was the first time in my life a man had held my hand—and he wasn't even my husband.

I subtly pulled my hand away and lowered my head. "Your Majesty, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well. I'm a bit tired."

Marcus let out a relieved breath. His gaze fell on me tenderly. "That's good. If anything troubles you, you must tell me."

In the following days, Marcus became even more attentive. He came to see me almost every day, chatting with me, playing chess with me. He seemed completely unaware that anything was wrong.

This made me think my disguise was quite good. My worries eased somewhat. Still, I hoped my sister would return soon. Only when we were back in our proper places could I truly relax.

He was writing, and I was grinding ink for him. Marcus had excellent handwriting—his brushstrokes were strong and powerful, his control precise. Julian's calligraphy, by contrast, was more thunderous and forceful, with sharp, cutting edges. The writing reveals the man—how true that saying was.

Sunlight flickered through the tree branches, catching my eye. I looked up and saw a rain of apricot blossoms outside the window. It was beautiful. I was so captivated that I stopped moving my hand.

A soft laugh brought me back to reality. He was smiling broadly. I asked what he was laughing at, but he wouldn't tell me. He just kept smiling. I pouted and resumed grinding the inkstone, round and round.

He caught my hand. His smiling eyes reflected my face. "Don't be angry. Let me paint you a picture to make amends, shall I?"

Without waiting for my agreement, he had me lean against the bed table, ready to paint me. I suddenly didn't know what to do with my hands or feet. He just told me to make myself comfortable—the painting would take a while.

I sat stiffly, my back ramrod straight. Marcus looked at me and laughed helplessly. "If you sit like that, you'll be sore before half an incense stick burns. Relax... yes, more relaxed. Rest your hand on the table. Don't hide your face with the fan. Yes, that's perfect."

After Marcus arranged my pose, he bent his head to paint, occasionally looking up at me, then back down to add a few strokes.

Now I could finally look at him openly.

There was always a smile in Marcus's eyes, like spring water that had melted the winter ice, warming my heart. I was curious—Marcus was so good, so gentle. Why didn't my sister like him?

"What are you thinking about? Why is your face so red? Were you looking at me?" He was carefully tracing something on the paper, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he teased me.

Caught red-handed, my face grew even redder. I shot him an indignant glare. "No, I'm not! Your Majesty, I'm just hot from the weather!"

He didn't answer. He just curved his lips, his eyes full of laughter.

I couldn't help it—I fell asleep. When I groggily opened my eyes, a face was extremely close to mine. I nearly screamed, but managed to hold it in.

He smiled, his eyes soft. "Awake? The painting is done. Come see."

Marcus was famous for his painting.

In the painting, a figure leaned half against the table. Outside the window, apricot blossoms fell like snow, one branch reaching in through the window. It was perfectly harmonious.

But the way he had painted me—why did my eyes look so... full of longing?

Had I really looked like that?

Suddenly, Marcus leaned in from behind, trapping me against the table. I was enveloped in his presence, my back touching his slender chest. My mind went blank, everything in chaos.

His throat moved. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky. "These past days have made me very happy. Can we stay like this forever?"

I could feel his warm breath on my neck, moist and hot, sending tiny shivers across my skin. My heart pounded like a drum. I reached out and deliberately knocked over a cup on the table. I quickly grabbed the painting to save it from the tea, using the opportunity to escape his embrace.

I held the painting to my chest and knelt to apologize, not daring to look up at him. I was sure he would be angry.

The room was silent. After a long moment, I heard him sigh. He said it was nothing, that he wasn't angry.

Then he reached out his hand to me. I followed his slender fingers and stole a glance upward.

He really didn't seem angry. But his eyes were clouded, as if covered by a veil.

Marcus was angry. I was certain of it.

He hadn't come to see me for two days.

He had also taken the painting away.

I asked Hazel if the Emperor used to visit my sister's palace every day. Hazel said no—he had only been coming more frequently recently. When my sister was here, the Emperor came too, but they would sit together without speaking, and he would leave quickly. These past days, the Emperor had been spending most of the day with me.

As she finished speaking, Hazel lowered her voice, her expression grave. "Princess, this can't continue. When the Empress returns, it will be very easy for the Emperor to discover the truth."

I thought Hazel was right. I needed to keep my distance from Marcus. That was the safest option.

I asked Hazel if the Prince was feeling better.

Hazel said the Prince still hadn't woken.

I found that strange. On the night my sister came, the Prince had shown signs of waking. Five or six days had passed—why hadn't he woken yet?

Hazel stammered something about the Prince being too severely injured, which made it hard for him to wake quickly.

I looked at her, suspicion in my heart, but I didn't press further.

6

To avoid anyone discovering the secret of our swap, I stayed cooped up in the courtyard and didn't go out. After a few days of this, Hazel worried I was bored and had a swing set up in the yard.

When we were children, the Tang estate had a swing too. My sister and I used to play on it often, competing to see who could swing higher. But later, when our mother began teaching us proper manners, we were no longer allowed to play all day, and the swing was dismantled.

So when I sat on the swing again, I felt genuine joy.

Hazel pushed me from behind. The wind rushed past my ears, and I felt so light, as if I had no weight at all. All my worries blurred in the wind.

I laughed and told Hazel to push me higher, farther. The swing rose higher and higher. I could see beyond the walls of the Empress's palace. I thought that if I swung even higher, I might see even farther. I might see the Prince's palace. I might see the Tang estate. I might even see our mother.

But I saw none of those things. What I saw was Marcus, standing under a willow tree not far away. I didn't know how long he had been there. His dark, ink-like eyes were deep and unfathomable, fixed on me.

I panicked and told Hazel to stop the swing.

I got off and straightened my clothes. Marcus had reached me by then. I bowed my head low and paid my respects.

He didn't speak. I didn't dare move, maintaining my position.

After a long moment, he told me to rise. "Walk with me," he said.

Marcus walked ahead, and I followed behind. He didn't speak, and neither did I. We had spent quiet time together before, but today's silence carried a strange unease and anxiety.

I thought he would remain silent, but then he spoke. "A few days ago, when the Prince of Jing was unconscious, you were very worried. But these past days, you haven't asked about him at all."

My heart skipped a beat. Had he discovered something about my sister and the Prince?

Before I could think of a response, Marcus asked again: "Why don't you speak? Is the question so difficult?"

His voice was calm, neither warm nor cold, but it sent a cold sweat down my back.

I lowered my head respectfully, my mind racing to organize my words. Carefully, I said, "The Prince is Your Majesty's own brother. I heard he was in grave danger during those days. As his sister-in-law, it was natural for me to worry. The Prince is also Clara's husband. Clara grew up under my mother's and my protection. She had never experienced anything like this. I was worried that Clara might be overcome with grief over the Prince's injury, so I had to pay attention."

I thought my answer was thorough enough. I stole a glance at Marcus's expression.

He stood by a lotus pond, his expression calm as he gazed at the distant water. I couldn't tell if he was satisfied with my answer.

His gaze was distant, and his voice became ethereal. He told me, "I heard that the Prince of Jing woke three days ago. The Princess of Jing stayed by his bedside, caring for him day and night. The Prince was deeply moved. Before, the Prince was cold to the Princess, but now the two are deeply in love."

He turned to me, studying my every expression. Though my heart was churning like a stormy sea, I forced myself to remain composed, not showing a single crack. I forced a smile. "That's... wonderful news."

I don't know when he left. Perhaps after I said that. Perhaps he stayed a while longer.

I stood by the pond, staring at the occasionally rippling water. My eyes were dry and sore before I remembered to blink. When Hazel came to find me, I followed her back.

7

Three days later, the Emperor summoned the Prince and Princess of Jing to the palace.

And so a ridiculous scene unfolded. I sat beside Marcus, wearing my sister's Empress robes. My sister and Julian sat below me.

Just like the first time I had entered the palace to see my sister.

My sister wore my clothes. She had painted a teardrop mole beside her eye, just like mine. She imitated my mannerisms, sitting meekly beside Julian. But she looked flustered, visibly uneasy. When she looked at me, there was guilt in her eyes.

Julian never once looked at me. He held my sister's hand, as if telling her that everything would be all right.

See? No matter whose side my sister was on, she was always treated with the utmost tenderness.

I raised my wine cup and drank. I stopped listening to what they were saying. Cup after cup, I poured wine down my throat. Before long, my face was flushed with drink. I refilled my cup and was about to bring it to my lips when a hand suddenly reached out and pressed down on my wrist. I turned my head. Marcus was frowning at me.

"This wine has a strong aftereffect. Drink less."

Fine. I wouldn't drink.

But Marcus didn't let go of my hand. Instead, his hand slid down and firmly grasped mine. His hands wrapped around mine, warm and solid. For a moment, I felt a sense of security.

This open display was naturally not lost on my sister and Julian.

As the banquet drew to a close, I watched my sister force a smile. She said that these past days she had been busy caring for the Prince and hadn't seen me for a long time. She missed me. She wanted to keep me company for a while.

Before my sister could respond, Julian cut in with the most respectful tone imaginable. "Your Majesty, my health has only just begun to improve. I cannot be without Clara right now. Perhaps in a few days, we can summon Clara to the palace to visit you."

I looked steadily at Julian. "But I truly miss her," I said, word by word.

Julian lowered his eyes. "Your Majesty, please wait a few more days. I truly cannot be without her."

Julian didn't want my sister to return. They had only just reunited. He didn't want me to tear them apart.

Now I was the unreasonable one.

I clenched my fingers, my nails digging into my palms. I could feel a slickness there.

"Since you can't bear to part," Marcus said, "let the Princess of Jing come another day. You both live in the capital. It's not as if you'll never see each other again. There's no need to make it seem like a farewell of life and death." He waved his hand, dismissing the banquet, and pulled me up to leave.

I had just stood up when a wave of dizziness hit me. I had drunk too much. The wine was going to my head. My feet felt unsteady, and I stumbled against a table, gasping at the pain.

Marcus bent down and lifted me into his arms. I curled up like a cat in his embrace.

This gesture was not proper, but he didn't care about the strange looks from others. He strode past them. As he passed Julian, Marcus paused. "The Empress is drunk. Forgive the spectacle, Prince and Princess of Jing. But I must say—she is mine. If I don't cherish her, who will?"

Once outside, I curled into a small ball and murmured, "Thank you." My voice was so soft I could barely hear it myself.

That night, my sister sent a message through Hazel. She said she was sorry. She would return in a few days.

Hazel hesitated, then continued, "Princess, please don't misunderstand the Empress. She wants to come back. It's just that the Prince has been keeping her by his side, preventing her from leaving. That's why she's delayed..." Her voice trailed off.

I didn't respond. I just turned over and went back to sleep.

8

Perhaps because of what had happened that day, my mood had been terrible. I just wanted to stay in my room and be alone.

But Marcus insisted on dragging me out.

I thought that Marcus was far too idle as an emperor. I was perfectly fine in my room, but he had to drag me out to... go boating. At night.

I couldn't refuse. After all, he was the emperor.

I sat at the bow of the boat, my chin resting on my hand, watching Marcus pole the boat. Left, right. The water trailed behind the pole in long lines, leaving ripples in its wake.

I hadn't expected the emperor to know how to row a boat. I couldn't help asking.

Marcus smiled. "When my heart is troubled, I look for a quiet place. But no matter where I go, there are always people guarding me. I stumbled upon this place by accident. No one can disturb me here." He changed the direction of his pole and dipped it into the water. "You're the first person to come here."

I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. I turned my head away, pretending not to have heard, avoiding his gaze.

He wasn't strong. After a few strokes, he was slightly out of breath. He put down the pole and sat beside me, looking up at the sky. I didn't know what he was looking at. The sky was covered with dark clouds, obscuring the moon. What was there to see? But when I turned to look at him, I saw the elegant line of his jaw and neck. For a moment, I was lost.

Sensing my gaze, he turned to me. There was only a thin layer of air between us. I felt as if I had been shocked by electricity and pulled back. The movement was too sudden, and the small boat rocked violently. Marcus instinctively wrapped his arm around my waist, and I fell against his chest.

Pressed against his chest, I could hear his heart beating—strong and rapid. His warmth seeped through his clothes, slowly reaching me. It wasn't until a distant crow called out that I snapped out of my daze. I struggled out of his embrace, flustered, not daring to look at him. I could still feel his gaze on me. I stammered a thank you.

"What did you hear just now?" he asked. "When you were pressed against my chest, what did you hear?"

His arm was still around my waist, tightening inch by inch. At that moment, the clouds parted, revealing the bright moonlight. His eyes reflected the moon's light, shining brilliantly.

I answered dully, "A... heartbeat."

He pressed on. "What kind of heartbeat?"

I didn't know what he was trying to get at. I answered honestly. "Like a drum. Thumping, thumping... very chaotic."

"These past days, I've been troubled by a question. Now, I finally know the answer." A hint of动人的 red appeared on his usually pale face. His voice was light, as if freed from a heavy shackle.

He pulled me into his embrace, one hand cradling the back of my neck. My chin rested in the hollow of his shoulder. My eyes were wide, my body stiff as stone.

Marcus sensed my resistance and