Chapter Text
“You will become mother of the nation.”
Mother.
Her voice never seemed to fade even when they weren’t in each other’s presence. Its influence was forever there, buried deep into the fabric of her being, shaping everything.
Even past actions like the sound of a stone lightly tapping the game board echoed from within. It assaulted the wayward daughter from time to time. Teaching her lessons upon lessons along the board’s grid.
Those lines wavered, though, causing the world to bend reality at its intersecting lines. Territory claimed and territory lost. Constant moves and strategy. Thinking ahead, anticipating.
Any chance of autonomy had been left behind in the womb.
That stone. That was what she was. The daughter was just a piece in her mother’s game.
From the moment Maomao was born, she had no choice but to learn Go and, quietly, the ways of a courtesan. How to be alluring, how to tease but not give. To anticipate, adapt, trap. All so she could reach a pinnacle point—to become a high-ranking consort for the Emperor.
And…
“You will become mother of the nation…you will be empress.”
The La Clan historically didn’t give a shit, but her mother had other ambitions.
“Power and wealth. You will never have to worry about someone else. You will control. No one will ever leave you, pull your strings. You will be free, because I will have shown you how to be.”
Free? Ha!
There had been errors, grievous errors to that logic. But Maomao wasn’t in a position to fight back—directly anyway. Instead, she figured if she was not truly free, then she would endeavor to play the game her own way.
Afterall, a besotted monocled father was blinded by the love he had for her mother (and essentially blind to the treatment of her, the daughter). If you wanted to call that love. That cursed infatuation dimmed those scary natural instincts of his. And because of this, Fengxian became the driving force behind the clan, her true self hidden by calculated kisses and a courtesan’s charm.
She was never to be questioned or insulted.
If anyone had even mispronounced her name, Lakan would flip his shit.
And he… he was none the wiser. Poison-tipped arrows struck his heart deeply.
She was a strategist herself.
All long hair as dark as a night, and just as expansive, voluminous. A widespread gloom that matched her heart. Lips that never curved into a loving maternal smile, painted the color of balsam red, paired with eyes that were sharp and pierced right through one’s soul.
Coldness that could penetrate any creature, mortal or otherwise.
Love was foolish. Love was not kind. Love was blinding and was cruel.
“You…you will be a force to be reckoned with. Feared even, in time.”
And that’s how the princess of the La Clan found herself positioned by her mother’s machinations and ultimately placed into the rear palace where she would be further robbed of her identity, thrust into turmoil, kidnapped by the Shi Clan, and left drowning in their rebellion.
It didn’t matter…
“How are you?” breathed the imperial younger brother, completely shed of any armor—literal, and the one he had donned within the rear palace walls.
Outside, the world was dark and cold, blanketed in moonlight and snow. Beyond, blood still stained the ground, spilled by the forbidden army.
The army he had led.
“I’m fine. Alive,” Maomao softly replied as she turned away from him, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear to avoid looking him in the eye. An assortment of braziers throughout crackled with flame, sending a soft golden glow over the space.
They had set up camp for the night, and he had charged right on in with without Gaoshun or Basen or anyone with him.
Bold. Idiot.
“You’re not hurt?”
The fool was still so focused on the bruises that colored her cheek, neck.
“Like I said before, it was a gift from a woman who stupidly wanted these things for herself. She didn’t know where to strike effectively, so it was her loss ultimately. But you—you will be the one to damn me worse.”
Anger that manifested from pain welled within.
His cautious steps towards her seemed to slow, and she envisioned him flinching at her hiss. She felt his presence, practically the heat from his body, but did not turn, attention focused on the flickering golden light instead.
Her gaze settled onto the crackling flames and lingered, her mind drifting to the rear palace.
When she first met him, the prince, he had assumed the role of the rear palace harem manager—hiding in plain sight as a sparkly celestial nymph that sent the palace ladies melting pathetically over him. With a face like that, she couldn’t blame him for using it (though she wondered ‘to what end’ at the time but honestly didn’t care).
She wasn’t swayed by it, seemingly immune to the smarmy eunuch persona.
It visibly wounded his pride.
It caught his interest.
Slowly, his true self slowly unraveled before her. He had revealed once that he admired her intellect in a true confession, not one offered out of flattery, and wanted nothing more than her to be as comfortable as possible. It was after all the Emperor’s desire to see her, the honored daughter of Lakan, comfortable, he had quickly added with an unusual stutter that made her brow arch.
His realness, that of a young man, peeked through—and it intrigued her, too. She felt…like he became easier to talk to. It was a bit of a reprieve in an otherwise long and tedious prison sentence.
And so, they slowly engaged in deeper conversations about the workings of the palace, even life, much to the disapproval of Gaoshun, who loomed in the background.
It had all started with…
“Those infants died because of that face powder. It has lead in it. Does that quack of a doctor not know this? My uncle would’ve known,” Maomao had said half-bored, the words delivered without mercy. Her hands worked the gardens just outside of her pavilion as “Jinshi” watched on.
Her fingers had ripped at the roots of weed violently, lifting it from the ground with a grimace.
Luomen.
“It was the palace that killed him,” mother had said, repeatedly, shaping a young and fragile mind. Conditioning it.
But the facts never lined up, and it was more painfully apparent as she grew older.
Another move, territory gained. Way to go, Mother.
“What do you mean? Damn you? I literally just…,” the prince’s voice was ragged as his hand reached towards her. Maomao turned to face him, wrapping the fuzzy coat around herself tighter. She studied his haggard face as he gazed at her, bags under his eyes. He was still devastating beautiful, like the actual moon. She took a step away from him, avoiding his fingertips.
“I am your brother’s consort.” The words, swift and brutal, plunged in like a knife.
“Yes…,” he swallowed, voice pained. “But,” he continued after a deep breath, determination resettling in his features, “in every other way that matters, you are mine.”
She just stared at him in disbelief.
He wasn’t to be deterred.
“And I’m sorry, so sorry. For, for everything. I—I was so worried about you. I haven’t slept in days. Your father, h-he’s thrown his back and is on the other side of the camp.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” Maomao spat bitterly, laughing humorlessly. He blinked at the poison she flung at him. “I am done playing games, Moon Prince. I am done with—”
“Jinshi.”
The name slipped from his lips like a whisper.
“That’s—”
Suddenly, he closed the distance between them with just a few long strides, ponytail swaying, dark eyes slightly panicked and searching hers. What was he expecting to find there? It wasn’t like her heart did this weird thing, had these strange palpitations or anything whenever he was near. No.
Never mind this curious new sensation happened when…
No! She had just been kidnapped, faced horrible things. Stress also lingered in the body, Luomen had said during his lessons so long ago, and…
“Call me Jinshi—like before.”
Pleadingly. Earnestly. He looked like a wounded puppy.
Please. Don’t.
“You’ve never been Jinshi,” she spat and went to turn away, only to find his hand gently guiding her chin back to him, locking her in place.
His fingers, they’re so cold.
Something within lost its grip and her face softened.
After a moment of intensely gazing at her and looking hurt, Jinshi continued, “The name may have been fake but I…I am real and right in front of you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” her voice cracked.
“It does! It matters a great deal. To me. To you. It means—it means everything. You just refuse to acknowledge, to let go, to open your damned eyes.”
“Oh, they are open I assure you.” Another humorless laugh escaped her, though this time it was tinged with something else. “And they see the fool quite well before them. How do you think this will end? Please. Just, just…leave, and take me back to the palace.”
For everyone’s sakes.
They would break camp in the morning and once again set off back to those walls.
That gilded cage.
Lacing her lips with castor oil. Embarrassing the lustful emperor with brothel-worthy moves. He would either retreat the chambers hastily clutching his lower abdomen or stagger away, hiding a damp stain in his robes. Obstacles were carefully crafted, making it a challenge to consummate their union in secret. The ladies-in-waiting, however, were oblivious, their perceptions shaped by sounds and rustling that would pass through closed doors and walls.
It was a cage, that much was true, but it was familiar. In time, she might have to get more creative to avoid night visits, but everyone was trapped, really, living a ghost of an existence.
One day…
“I can’t bear it.” A dark possessiveness took over the prince’s features, and what happened next was something so far unexpected that it left Maomao reeling.
With his lips set in a grim line, Jinshi immediately darted to one of the braziers and paused, as if contemplating something. Maomao, shaking her head slightly, studied him for a moment.
The light removed him from the shadows, showing the beautiful being that he was in full glory. Tall. Regal. Long, thick lashes. Dressed in deep purple robes and a fur-lined coat.
Just—leave. Leave.
But he did anything but leave. Large hands grasped one of the fire pokers with long elegant fingers and he pressed the tip into the flames before twisting it around and pointed it to the bare skin of his neck.
“What are you doing?” Maomao exclaimed, eyes growing wide.
“Remedying the problem.”
“What? How?”
“The pain, it’s…”
Maomao quickly moved in front of him and took the lower end of the poker’s handle with her much smaller, weaker grip and pulled. The prince, however, yanked back and, before she knew it, it dropped to the floor with a clank.
And she…she went right into his arms. His long hair waved from their struggle and floated over her shoulder as he held her.
“Let me go,” she rasped breathlessly but made no real effort to resist.
“No."
“Please.”
Safe.
“Not until you say my name.”
Wetness trickled down her flaming cheeks.
“Say it, please,” he practically begged, voice breaking.
And, after a long moment, an exhale trembled between them. Barely audible.
But it was enough.
And he moved before she could pull away.
His mouth came crashing down onto hers, hungry, seeking salvation. He was like a starved man nearing death, and Maomao was the only thing that could revive him. Strong arms brought her closer towards him, pressing her nearly flush against his solid body. He tasted like jasmine, and a distinct scent of sandalwood and sweat surrounded him, flooding her senses. It threw her off-balance. It was an embrace she had never experienced personally, only knew of from sordid, grim tales from her mother.
Of men that would make empty promises, feeding into their own selfish desires before leaving.
But Jinshi—he was different.
Within the palace walls, he had always been so gentle. At first, yes, there was the unctuous persona, but the man behind it all was anything but. Even now he held her tenderly as if she was the most precious thing in the world with the same hands that held brushes as a “eunuch” and blades as the “Moon Prince.”
Blades that shed blood as he cut through lines of enemies.
For Li.
To snuff out a rebellion.
To save her.
It was a beauty that her mother had told her did not exist, and it made Maomao pause.
Breaking the kiss, Jinshi gazed at her with such unbridled intensity that it stole her breath away.
It was almost too much.
“I was so worried. If anything had happened to you…,” he uttered, lashes lowering as he pressed his forehead tenderly to hers.
Maomao was left unable to speak, still captured in the warmth of his arms, her mind and heart lost to the sea.
But he was the light that brought her back to shore, though it was confusing and…
But, no.
An insidious, traitorous thought snaked its way in. It tainted, further confused.
Was this what her mother had done? Weaponized her own daughter, shaped her out of her own hatred for the world in which they lived, and designed her to sow chaos into the court that had failed her and those she loved?
Possibly…pitting…complicating…
“This is my fault,” she whispered, in a daze.
“You didn’t go with them willingly, I fail to see how,” the prince reassured, stroking the back of her head, still holding her close and unaware of her internal struggle.
Did she unwittingly bewitch the brother, using the arsenal of tools her mother gave her?
“No but look at us. Where is your entourage right now?”
“Hunting, tending to other duties.”
“I think we should stop while we’re still ahead.”
I can’t endanger you…put you against…
A moment of silence lingered between them before Jinshi pulled back just a little.
“Haven’t we already crossed that line?”
Memories flashed between them of a moment stolen in the rear palace. It was right after his brush with disaster, when the ceremonial beams came crashing down and, with it, her defenses. Never mind how she stole away from the pavilion for that late-night rendezvous, where she embraced him, arms trembling. He had almost been lost for… for forever.
When their lips almost met under the panoply of stars, skies mysteriously absent of its moon, another truth came to light. It was a rather decently sized one that pressed involuntarily into her stomach.
It embarrassed him, causing him to shift away and adjust his robes with a flushed face.
And it angered her.
She had suspicions, but that moment had her defenses flaring back up again.
It was one thing to suspect. It was another to have the proof almost in your hands.
He had confessed everything at that moment. Who he really was. All of it.
Things clicked in place.
But she had fled.
Days later, she would be kidnapped.
“No,” she lied.
Lied, and denied.
“We’re here now. And my heart…doesn’t have the capacity to love anyone else. In fact, you’re the medicine that healed me, made me see. Truly see.”
What the hell was he saying?
“But…you almost burned yourself. And your brother. The Emperor. Heaven himself. There’s no possible—”
He silenced her with another kiss, a tentative brush of the lips. She went to push him off, but slowly her lips began to move against his too as her defenses once again fell away.
It was like her body knew.
It felt nice to be this warm. This safe.
It felt right and so wrong at the same time.
What happened next, well, she had no control over. Her hands moved of their own accord to his belt, loosening it, causing his mouth to curve at its edges before he deepened the kiss. Guiding her backwards, he gently lowered her to a plush rug situated behind some large crates. It was there, he pushed at the upper portion of her coat and robes, placing tender kisses along the gentle curve of her neck as she leaned her head back, eyes closing.
Slowly, he began to tug at his own coat and tossed it aside.
“You…you are unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”
Breath, ragged.
There was that look again. It revealed the truth of him.
And it was a statement that left her once again unable to process things. Instead, she reached up to him and guided his mouth back to hers.
It was the only truth she knew right at that moment.
His hand drifted down the length of her arm, capturing her hand with his own, lacing their fingers effortlessly and, with their palms pressed together, he lifted it into the space between them that pulsed with life.
A reminder that he was alive. That she was alive.
Did it matter that their circumstances classified as total shit?
In a move that was totally unlike her, as if motivated by sensation and revelation, Maomao shed her coat too and slung her leg over his hip and urged him down, towards the ache that blinded her. He groaned into her mouth and pressed instinctually, a primal need that burned and doused any thoughts of logic.
An all too familiar presence made itself known behind barriers of fabric.
And, fuck, this brought her back to the privacy of her own chambers, to nights of forbidden fantasies. Envisioning what his long, elegant fingers might feel like as they explored her bare flesh, reaching depths her own couldn’t reach. To have his face buried between her thighs. The silky touch of his soft tongue. The length of him. Feeling him take his pleasure, and coax it out of her, repeatedly. Until they were spent, until they were sore, until…
Before she knew it, she was straddling him, having flipped him onto his back.
He was momentarily stunned before sitting up, looking absolutely sinful, ponytail disheveled, kissing her fervently.
Worshipping and relishing her in his lap.
It was a blur of movements, frenzied and heated and desperate and clumsy. A shifting of robes. Teeth, swollen lips. Hands in hair.
A shallow entry that accompanied gasps and sighs as she lowered herself experimentally, supported by his gentle hold along her back, waist and hips.
Wet tongue on her neck.
An uncomfortable burning stretch.
Whispers of are you ok.
And a found rhythm.
The air, heady.
Of the delicious warmth rising in her body, and the blinding crash that left her limp, trembling in his arms.
A faltering rhythm.
He took one final deep, brutal plunge before letting out a grunt, jerking beneath her.
And then, stillness. Breaths panting, normalizing.
They stayed there for what seemed like eternity. Safe. In a fog. In a place where they only existed, cocooned in each other’s warmth, the evidence of their union sticky between them.
“You are branded into my skin, my body, my soul,” he finally breathed, voice rough, breaking the spell, nuzzling his nose into her hair and making no effort to move. “I…I will talk to my brother when we get back.”
Reality slithered its way back in, invading their sacred space, and another unsettling thought came to her.
Gaoshun.
Here, at camp. Probably looking for the Moon Prince and wearing the same furrowed brow that he did in the rear palace.
Does he know?
And, the Moon Prince…Jinshi…had a responsibility to the country, to the Emperor, and…to her.
And they just…
But nothing ever felt more real, so far removed from any game.
But…
Surely, she would be sequestered prior to being admitted back to the rear palace due to her kidnapping by the Shi Clan.
But…this…
“Even…even if… my mother would never allow it,” Maomao whispered, seeing it all slip away. She rested her head upon his shoulder, hand in his silky hair as his warm breath tickled against her skin.
This safe place was only temporary, holding an expiration date.
Images flashed through Maomao’s mind. Of dark hair, as dark as her mother’s heart. Lips the color of balsam red, and slim fingers moving over a Go board. The territory lost. The scandal.
Of the Emperor, punishing.
Horror seized her heart.
Even if they weren’t in the physical cage, it still loomed. Existed. Dictated everything.
They were in a world of shit.
“We’ll find a way. I…I swear it.” He buried his face deeper into her neck, his voice quaking ever so slightly.