Jinshi never expected his life to become this ordinary.

For most of his years he’d hidden behind painted screens and silk veils, a living secret. Born under shadowed lanterns and wary gazes, whispered to be the emperor’s own blood, he was always too precious—and too dangerous—to live simply. The rear palace had been his cage. Its dangers sharpened him into something clever, calculating, dangerously amused by the cruelty of politics.

He’d grown accustomed to poison cups, false smiles, people loving only what they thought he was.

And yet here he was now, swaddled up on a couch like a pouting child, fever-flushed and sniffling under layers of blankets. His wife—you, a common-born apothecary who’d once scorned to even bow to him—pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. Then his cheek. Then his nose. He let out a scratchy sound, half groan, half reluctant laugh.

He shut his eyes, the weight of your simple affection nearly undoing him. For so long he’d only been valued for power, beauty, secrets—never for the person beneath all that. It struck him now how fragile he really was, how desperately he craved this gentle closeness that had nothing to do with his hidden titles.

Then a tiny huff sounded. “Mama!”

Your son stood there. His son, though Jinshi still sometimes marveled at the fact he was allowed such blessings. The boy clutched a limp stuffed tiger by the ear, bottom lip jutting out in fierce accusation.

“You give dada too many kiss!” he burst out, stomping forward to tug at your sleeve.

Jinshi managed a smirk, even through his headache. “It’s still my turn, little man.”

“No fair!” your son snapped.

“Should’ve fallen ill first,” Jinshi said, voice breaking on a laugh. Even half-delirious, he couldn’t resist teasing.

Your son let out an offended squeak and climbed right up next to you, pressing possessively to your side. You rolled your eyes fondly, dropping a kiss on the boy’s forehead.

“Don’t mind your silly father. Mama has plenty of kisses for you too.”

The boy stuck out his tongue at Jinshi. “See? Mama loves me more.”

Jinshi groaned, dramatic as ever, sinking lower into the cushions. “Betrayed in my own house. By my own heir.”

“Shh,” you breathed, threading fingers through his long dark hair. It was damp with sweat, the strands finer than they looked under palace light. “You’ll live.”

“Barely,” he sighed, nestling his face against your lap anyway. The curve of his lips gave away that he was anything but miserable.

Meanwhile your son squirmed in on the other side, clinging tight to your arm, glaring tiny daggers at Jinshi. You nearly laughed at how alike they looked, two spoiled creatures vying for your affection.

And that was how you found yourself pinned by warm bodies on either side—one slender and elegant, perfumed with medicinal salves and faint traces of ceremonial incense; the other small and squishy, smelling of rice cakes and soap.

You ran a hand through Jinshi’s hair again, then down to your son’s tousled head, feeling both of them soften under your touch. Jinshi’s lashes fluttered shut. Your son let out a sleepy hum.

Funny, you thought, how life twisted. How a man once cloaked in secrets and palace whispers could now be here, groaning about being “betrayed” over kisses, fussing like a boy himself.