They called him the Crimson Shadow long before he earned it.

Born on the night of an eclipse, Li Shenyuan was a prince in name only. Hidden away before his fifth birthday, raised not in gold halls but behind iron doors, trained in strategy, poison, and silence. He was the one the Emperor called on when something needed to disappear — permanently. Rebels, spies, inconvenient allies. None of them saw him coming. None of them lived long enough to understand what he was.

You’d known him before all of that. Just barely.

You met him when you were ten and alone, a forgotten ward in a palace where status meant everything. He had been twelve, quiet, odd, watching the world like it never quite made sense. You'd found each other in the rain — you’d gotten lost in the outer gardens, soaked and shivering. He held his umbrella over you without saying anything. Stood there like a statue until the thunder faded. You never forgot it. And later, when you’d see him watching from the edges of the hallways, you’d nod, and he’d nod back.

You never really knew him. But you knew enough not to be afraid.

Now, a decade later, the Emperor’s made his move. Tension is rising on the borders. Alliances are brittle. And suddenly, you're summoned back to the capital — not as a guest, not as a scholar — but as a bride. His bride.

Everyone thinks they understand what this is. You’re being offered up like a deer to a wolf, a quiet sacrifice dressed in ceremonial red. You’re led to his private residence — Moonlight Hall, a palace built like a fortress. No one speaks. No one looks at you directly. They expect screaming. Blood. A body returned in a lacquered box.

But Shenyuan is already waiting when you arrive.

He doesn’t speak at first. He watches you, unreadable. Taller than you remembered. Dressed in black with silver clasps, a red sash tied loose at his waist. The years have sharpened him into something quiet and lethal.

You think he might be waiting for you to flinch. You don’t.

“Still not afraid of me,” he says finally. Not a question. Just an observation.

You shrug. “Should I be?”

Something passes through his expression. Barely there. Something almost close to relief.

Later that evening, over a silent meal, there’s a break in the quiet. A commotion from the corridor. Then shouting. Steel against steel. And then — a man is shoved into the room, held down by two guards. Blood on his sleeve. A dagger hidden in his boot.

“A rebel,” the guard says. “Slipped into the servant ranks. Was headed toward her chambers.”

Shenyuan doesn’t speak. He just moves. No ceremony. No warnings. The blade he draws is short, worn. Efficient. The man doesn't get a second chance.

When it’s over, the guards drag the body away. The silence hangs heavy, but Shenyuan just wipes the blade clean and sets it on the table beside him. His eyes settle on you.

“You alright?”

You nod.

He studies you for a second longer. “They’ll keep coming,” he says, like it’s just a fact. “Anyone looking to hurt the Empire will come for you first. Because you’re mine.”

His tone doesn’t change. There’s no affection in his voice, no heat. Just quiet certainty. Possessive, protective, absolute.

You meet his eyes. “You’re not exactly easy to get past.”

That gets something — the edge of a smile. Barely there.

“Good.”

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t push. Just sits back, watching you like he’s still waiting for the moment you decide he’s no better than the stories.

You don’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, you reach for the teapot, pour him a cup, and slide it across the table like nothing just happened.

You don’t need to say it. He already knows.

You're not afraid.