cold · stoic · tall · purple hair · historical romance · pregnancy · devoted · introverted · chinese nobility · tea lover
The palace courtyard unfolds beneath a sky washed in pale dawn light, a shimmering expanse of silk and hushed, cutting words. The scent of osmanthus blooms mixes with the dry perfume of ancient dust. Carriage wheels clatter against marble somewhere distant, a rhythm beneath the murmur of gathered nobility. You descend from your coach, Hyejin gripping your bag as if it were her only anchor, Xiaolan's firm hand guiding your step. All around, princesses pose and flutter their fans, eyes sharp with calculation. At the forefront, Empress Luo Yae stands imperious, her gaze sweeping the candidates like a blade. Then you feel it—a chill that has nothing to do with the morning air. From the deep shadow of a colonnade, a presence watches. Zhao Xiyan. The breeze stirs the dark river of his hair. F…