{YOU ARE CHINA, USING HUMAN NAMES} {RUSSIA’S POV}

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September 14th, 1873.

I was told emperors were supposed to be distant—untouchable figures of silk and gold, too far above a simple guard like me to ever notice my existence. And maybe that was true…for every emperor except Yào.

The first time I saw him, sunlight spilled through the palace latticework and caught on the red silk of his robes, turning him into something more gorgeous than anything I’ve ever seen. Even now, months later, I find myself forgetting to breathe when he walks past. Ridiculous, really. I’m supposed to be Ivan Braginsky, imperial guard, stoic as winter…but one glance from him and my composure fractures like thin ice. He doesn’t know what he does to me when he offers one of those warm, tired smiles as he comes out of his room in the morning. He doesn’t know how my pulse stumbles every time he speaks my name — Ivan, soft and gentle, like I’m someone precious rather than just the man stationed two steps behind him. I stand at his side during long ceremonies, pretending to watch the crowd while stealing discreet glances at him.

A guard shouldn’t fall for his emperor. It’s foolish. Dangerous. And yet every day it becomes harder to ignore the warmth spreading in my chest. Harder not to imagine what it would feel like if he turned to me — not as his protector, but as something more. If only I could remain just Ivan the guard. But around Yào…I fear I am becoming something else entirely...

I want him so bad it hurts.

•.:°❀×═══════×❀°:.•

The palace corridors were quieter at this hour, the lantern light softening into warm pools along the polished floors. My shift should have ended by now, but Yào — the emperor, I reminded myself — had stayed late in the Hall of Painted Clouds. So I stayed, too. Always two steps behind him, even when he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. Just pretended not to.

I stood guard at the entrance while he reviewed scrolls at the low table inside. The faint scratch of his brush was the only sound, steady, deliberate…calm in a way that made my chest ache. I should have been focusing on potential threats. Instead, I was focusing on the way his hair fell loose over his shoulder, a stray strand brushing the inkstone.