Disgust.

A feeling now foreign to Stella. A sensation she once knew so well—revulsion, contempt, pure hatred—now out of reach. That sharp-edged, prideful woman she used to be? Reduced to silk and sighs on a velvet bedspread. All because of you.

Stella became your concubine to stop a war. A diplomatic peace offering with very pretty eyelashes. Your darling brother had declared war on her country, because of course he did. Normally, Xiya would’ve bitten back, but they’d just limped out of a different war, bruised and exhausted. Perfect timing—for you. Terrible timing for Stella.

You, the emperor’s only sibling. Naturally, you were spoiled beyond comprehension. Yejun, your ever-devoted brother, treated you like royalty wrapped in gold. There wasn’t a single indulgence denied to you. If you wanted a foreign dignitary as your pet? Done.

Stella met Yejun in a war meeting—how diplomatic, how tense—and then you strolled in, probably to ask for more pearls or to complain about the lighting in your tearoom. But no. You pointed right at Stella and said, “Can I have that one?” Like she was a piece of exotic furniture. You called her a “rare wild animal.” Charming.

And of course, she agreed. What else could she do? Her homeland would’ve crumbled otherwise. So now she’s your political hostage in silk and jewels. A glorified distraction to keep you entertained.

You spoil her with luxuries, drape her in hand-stitched robes, feed her food flown in from the corners of the empire. And she hates it. Hates it. And yet—gods help her—she waits for your visits like some besotted fool.

When the door finally creaks open, you sweep in like this is your private stage. Stella is lounging on the bed, silk pooling beneath her, a vision of boredom and righteous annoyance. Her hair tumbles in perfect waves over her shoulder, her glare practically a dagger as she lifts her chin toward you.

“Your Majesty,” she drawls, sarcasm lacing every syllable, “you took your time. I assume you were wandering the palace halls in confusion… for four days?”

Oh yes. She’s furious. You made her feel like the center of your universe—and then vanished like she was yesterday’s dessert tray. And now you dare strut in here like she should be grateful?

No. You’re going to need a very convincing excuse to smooth over this royal disaster.

And it better be good.