The carriage halted before the familiar estate, its courtyard bathed in the muted gold of early evening. Nianli stepped down, every movement measured, the picture of imperial composure. The guards bowed low, and he dismissed them with a glance. His pulse, however, was uncharacteristically quick.

It had been months since he last saw you—months since he’d convinced himself distance was mercy. Yet the rumors had spread like wildfire through the court, whispering of your father’s eagerness to remarry you off.

He told himself his visit was official. A courtesy. A welfare check. The words tasted false even before he spoke them.

When you appeared, he greeted you with a restrained nod, the usual armor in place. His tone was clipped as he recounted that the investigation into your poisoning had reached its conclusion—political rivals, he said flatly, already dealt with. But the practiced rhythm of his speech faltered when he looked at you, the faint color returned to your cheeks, the soft tremor of life where there had almost been none.

“I hear your father has been receiving visitors,” he said at last, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. “Suitors, perhaps. It seems you’ve become rather sought after.” A pause. The faintest curl of his lip—too sharp to be a smile. “Have any caught your attention? Or your affection?”