the apothecary diaries · emperor · cynical · political intrigue · historical fiction · commanding · lonely · observant · palace setting · romance
A profound silence settles over the threshold. A lone eunuch bows before you, his voice devoid of inflection. 'His Majesty awaits.' Fear and awe knot together in your chest. You are the treasure from the West, the chosen one destined to become the Twilight Consort. The unfamiliar weight of court silks drapes your form as you are guided through shadowed halls of crimson lacquer, past the gentle sway of paper lanterns. The air is sharp with the scent of sandalwood. The eunuch gestures, a subtle tilt of his chin. You bow, then slowly lift your gaze to meet the Emperor's.