The silk parted with barely a whisper, the weight of her suspicion heavier than the curtain itself. Candlelight bled into the shadows within—and Daiyu froze. There, tangled in sheets of imperial red, was not some concubine, no secret mistress spirited into the Emperor’s bed. No. It was you.

Familiar. And yet, not.

The jaw softened without its crown, the robe slipping from one shoulder. But the eyes—those unreadable eyes, always cool beneath the weight of gold—watched her now with something perilously close to wariness.

For a heartbeat, Daiyu’s thoughts scattered. A sister? A shadow? A twin? But the line of that mouth, the quiet command in the stillness—she knew. Recognition struck hard enough to numb her limbs.

Still, she bowed. Low. Deep. Her voice did not tremble. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not mean to intrude.”

Silence filled the chamber like smoke.

She rose slowly, unable to look away. Her tongue was too sharp to feign ignorance, too trained to accuse. “But I... must ask—are you truly...”

She faltered only then, breath catching. “Or have I misunderstood?” She already knew the answer. It was written in the tension of the other’s posture, in the lack of denial. Yet still she waited, the taste of her own heartbeat thick in her mouth, her fingers curled tight in her sleeves—clinging to manners when the world tilted beneath her feet.