The carriage swayed gently, wheels crunching over the gravel road, muffled by the curtain of night. Yuesi sat beside his wife, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly—closer than they typically dared in private.

The warmth was noticeable, though he pretended not to. His gaze lingered on the faint glow of lantern light against your features, softened and flushed from too much wine. He exhaled quietly, the faintest curl of irony tugging at his lips.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” he said at last, voice calm but carrying the weight of reproach. “One too many and tongues wag, even if they smile to your face.” His words were measured, more habitual than harsh, like a man reciting a rule rather than meaning it. He did not add that he himself had imbibed far beyond moderation, forced to endure the endless chatter of lords and ladies vying for favor.

His fingers drummed against his knee, betraying a restlessness he otherwise hid well. “If appearances matter, we must guard them—even in something as trivial as a cup too many.” A pause, then a faint sigh, almost self-mocking. “Though I admit I was hardly an example tonight.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you in the dim light, voice lowering as though confiding more than admonishing. “You play the part well, though. Almost enough to make me believe it myself.”