Days blurred, just like that.
Yen's smile never faltered whenever he saw her—an automatic thing now, like breathing. Their routines remained unbroken. Lily would dress him in the morning with trembling fingers and a quiet mouth. At night, he bathed her in silence, his hands reverent, possessive. They dined side by side, the plates between them untouched some evenings. When she refused to eat, he fed her himself, guiding spoon to lip with an eerie tenderness.
They ruled the court together, two figures on a gilded stage. But Lily—once sharp-tongued and proud—had grown silent beside him. And still, behind palace doors, others whispered that she must be the kind of empress who gives her emperor a piece of her mind in private.
But no. Behind closed doors, she gasped. She moaned. She choked on the sweet, twisted things he murmured into her mouth, his lips curving against her teeth like a lover's and a captor's both.
Yen and Lily.
To some, they were inseparable—lovebirds, the kind that made onlookers pause and smile, charmed and envious.
To others, especially those who knew better, there was something else. They kept their heads lowered, but they knew. They felt the quiet war of control and surrender humming beneath the surface.
Both versions were true.
And tonight, they made their entrance at The Gathering, an ancient affair held deep beneath the central plains—a sacred place layered in old magic and older blood. Here, heirs and highborns mingled, weaving pleasantries and poison behind their smiles.
The host was a dryad, so the hall bloomed with enchanted greenery—walls draped in moss and flowers that blinked open like eyes. The air smelled of dew and secrets.
Yen was speaking with nobles—elves, beastfolk, spirits wrapped in human skin. One hand remained on Lily's waist the entire time, fingers idly stroking her ribs as if to remind her—and everyone else—that she was his.
She stood beside him quietly. She was used to this now. Listening. Smiling when necessary. Answering when spoken to. Her face was serene, her silence mistaken for grace.
But her eyes drifted downward, to the hand at her side. The slow circles he traced. His fingertips ghosted over a sensitive spot beneath her ribs, and her fingers clenched into a fist.
He noticed.
"Are you alright, my love?" he murmured, leaning down.
She smiled. A polished, mechanical thing. She patted his hand.
But he leaned closer—too close. Close enough that the others around them fell silent, their attention drawn to the quiet intensity between them.
"Why do I smell something… familiar?" he sniffed once, his voice light but his tone curdling.
Before he could frown, an elf approached, bowing with impeccable timing. They spoke in the ancient tongue—quick, sharp syllables exchanged like blades. Yen's hand slipped from her waist, but found her fingers instead. He squeezed.
Then, abruptly: "I need a moment with my wife," he said, dismissing the group with all the subtlety of a guillotine.
He turned and walked. Lily followed—because if she didn't, he would drag her. She had no doubt.
They moved swiftly through the halls, down carved stone steps, past flickering enchanted lights, until they reached the chamber assigned to them. The moment the door closed, Lily's hands reached for her sleeves. She began to fidget, tugging at the fabric—a nervous tic she'd developed in recent weeks.
Shadows bloomed around the room like oil spreading over water—thick and impenetrable. They smothered the light, swallowed all magic, silenced every possible witness.
Then, he caught her wrist and shoved her backwards onto the bed.
"Y-Yen, let me talk—" she began, but his hands were already beneath her skirt. Fingers traced her thighs, parted them, moved aside her undergarments, and then paused—
Because he felt it.
He pulled back and looked at his hand. Blood.
His expression twisted.
"You're not delayed." His voice was calm. Accusing. "You did something."
He spread her legs wider and saw the truth of it.
Blood. Menstrual blood.
His eye twitched.
"I drank tea. To regulate my menstruation," Lily confessed, her voice shaking. "We're not ready. Not after what happened to her—our daughter's death, it broke us. It broke you, Yen. Look at what it's done to you—"
"I've mourned the child," he snapped. "What I want now is you. And me. To try again. Like we used to. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"But you're too much," Lily sobbed, curling into herself, knees drawn to her chest. "You're not the man I loved. You're… different. You don't even see me anymore."
Yen laughed. A sound low and cold. Then he lifted his bloodstained fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. He wasn't disgusted—he was reverent.
"Didn't I tell you?" he said softly. "Control and obedience. Things were perfect when you listened. Nothing went wrong when we started living like that, did it?"
"No," she whispered, trembling. "Because I stopped being a person. I don't even know who I am anymore. I feel like I'm disappearing—like I'm a doll in your hands. Please… let me go. Just for a moment. Let me breathe."
"No," he said, voice iron. "You are mine. I am yours. That's all that matters. Why do you keep fighting what's already true?"
The shadows began to shrink, crawling back toward him like frightened beasts. His eyes shimmered faintly with unnatural light.
Nothing good ever came when his madness looked like that.
Lily scrambled forward onto her knees and pressed her hands to his chest, trying to ground him. She rubbed her palms over his muscle then succumbed to hugging him—trying to stop whatever storm brewed behind his skin.
"Don't," she begged, wrapping her arms around him. "Please. Don't become that again."
He exhaled through his nose, then returned the embrace—too tightly.
"You know I love you," he murmured, brushing his cheek against her temple. "But I don't trust you anymore."
His arms crushed tighter. She opened her mouth just to breathe.
"Eat what I give. Sleep when I say. And never leave my sight. Understand?"
He didn't wait for a reply. Just continued.
"I'll give you the west gardens. And the back one. You can wander there. I won't interrupt."
Lily tried to push him back, but he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and stayed there. Breathing her in. Clinging like a man afraid of drowning.
"…Stay," he murmured. "I'll get you cotton pads for the bleeding."