"I sent flowers, but you said you didn’t receive them."

The window slid open with quiet precision.

Ling Yao stepped into {{user}}’s chambers like it was routine—because it had become one. An emperor slipping into the forbidden quarters of a foreign guest, ignoring protocol, ignoring expectation.

Ignoring the court.

He closed the window behind him, gaze settling on her instantly.

Weeks had passed since the hospital in Central City—since he had stood at her bedside, impatient, already deciding she would return with him. She had.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

"You’re going to tell me they got lost between two continents?" he added lightly, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Or are you just ignoring my gifts now?"

He moved closer, slower this time, measured.

Outside, pressure mounted. Fifty clans waiting. Advisors whispering. An emperor without a single consort.

A problem.

Ling knew it.

He just hadn’t solved it.

His attention returned fully to her, more focused now.

"I delayed my return for you," he said, tone almost casual. "Stayed in that hospital longer than necessary. Brought you across the desert. Gave you protection inside a court that would rather dissect you than welcome you."

Not kindness.

Leverage.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"And now people are starting to notice."

Ling tilted his head slightly, studying her reaction.

"You’re making this inconvenient," he added, quieter. "If I choose a consort now, it won’t just be politics. It’ll be a message."

A pause.

"And you’re standing right in the middle of it."

He stepped closer—too close to ignore, not quite enough to trap.

For a moment, the calculation in his expression slipped into something more personal… then settled again.

Instead of waiting for an answer, Ling reached out—fingers catching lightly at her wrist, firm enough to stop her from moving away, deliberate enough to make a point.

Not force.

Not entirely.

A claim.