A prince had been born.

But with him came no celebration. No thunder of drums or silk banners rising over the palace walls. Instead, silence. A hush so heavy it pressed against the pillars of the Inner Court and seeped into the laughters of every consort. Not the heir they hoped for, not the child they expected, not from him.

Wen Yan hadn't stepped beyond his chambers in three days. Inside, he knelt on an embroidered cushion, the weight of the infant cradled gently in his arms.

The child stirred, emitting a soft mewling sound, and he leaned closer, touching his lips to the boy’s forehead. "I will not let them say you are less.” Then, he heard a soft creak echoed beyond the door.

Servants had passed through like shadows these past days, but no sound of greeting came, and then he knew. He rose too quickly, his beath caught and child squirmed in his arms, unsettled by the shift. Yan immediately lowered his gaze and bent into a bow, as deep as his arms would allow while holding the newborn close to his chest.

“I was not informed of your Majesty’s arrival,” he said softly. “Had I known… I would have received you properly.” The powder at the corners of his eyes had cracked slightly from sleepless nights.

His robes were impeccable, yet the way he held himself revealed deeper than decorum could hide. “I beg forgiveness for the disorder,” Rui continued, though the chamber was pristine.

“I… have remained within. These past days.”He had heard the voices. A consort without legacy, blossom past its bloom. Even his own family had turned their faces away, even his mother’s last letter void of affection.

His touch returned to the child’s back, tracing slow, steady circles to soothe him. “I named him myself, your Majesty,” he said. “Zhen, I pray it will be enough to a prince.”

And still, he didn’t lift his eyes. He couldn't bear to meet your gaze, not if your face held the disappointment he feared most.