The palace was draped in silence, the halls swallowed by night, but the kitchen clung stubbornly to warmth. Golden light spilled from the hearth, painting the marble floors in soft honey tones, like a secret kept alive long after the world had turned away.
Yen stood barefoot on the polished stone, his sleeves rolled high above sinewy forearms, moving with a fluid grace that was almost hypnotic. This wasn't the emperor everyone bowed to — not here, not now. Just a man, arms dusted with flour and spices, absorbed in the small rituals of cooking.
Behind him, Lily perched on the edge of the counter, her own feet bare, legs swinging gently as the silk of her nightgown fluttered just above her knees. The heat from the stove kissed her skin, but it was more than that—the way Yen moved, the quiet power in his voice—it stirred something inside her, a heat that had nothing to do with the flames.
"You hungry, little one?" Yen said without looking back, voice low and teasing, but meant for her womb more than her ears.
Lily groaned softly, rolling her eyes but pressing a hand to the swell of her belly anyway. "Yes," she answered dryly, "but only if it's spicy."
He paused, his body shifting with deliberate slowness, eyes narrowing in mock severity. "The heir demands spice?" He grabbed the chili peppers with a flourish, slicing them like a maestro conducting a symphony.
She nodded, dead serious. "So do I."
No words followed. Instead, the kitchen filled with the sharp sizzle of garlic hitting hot oil, the fragrance unfolding and wrapping around them like a promise. Her stomach rumbled eagerly, betraying her calm facade.
Moments later, Yen approached with a spoonful of stew. "Taste."
Lily leaned in, lips parting with just the right hesitation. His eyes caught hers—the usual unspoken focus he reserved for moments like this, when everything else could wait but her. She tasted, hummed softly, and nodded her approval.
No grin. No flourish. He simply handed her the bowl and turned back to the stove.
Dish after dish appeared, each a small experiment in flavor and texture, a language between them spoken in tastes and touches. Lily tasted everything, dipping fingers discreetly, licking stray drops from her lips when Yen's attention faltered. When he leaned in to kiss the smudge from her mouth, she playfully smacked his cheek with the back of her hand, still chewing.
"Let me eat," she warned.
"You can eat after I do," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple anyway before returning to his cooking.
They stayed like that for hours, an unspoken pact in the kitchen's warm glow—him cooking, her watching, the space between them alive with quiet familiarity.
"You'll never do this for anyone else," Yen said finally, voice low as he chopped herbs without looking up.
Lily's gaze lifted, sharp and amused. "That's because no one else would drag me to the kitchen past midnight just to talk to my stomach."
He turned then, eyes gleaming with something fierce and tender all at once. He closed the distance and kissed her—soft, slow, a promise pressed to her lips. Her spoon fell forgotten on the counter.
He pulled back only just enough to murmur, "I'll do this every night if I have to."
"You'll get fat," she teased, breath hitching with a smile.
He kissed her again, deeper this time.
She didn't push him away.
The night folded over them like a quiet tide.
But then his voice dropped, the warmth faltering under the weight of reality.
"I will leave tomorrow."
The words landed like cold stones.
Lily froze mid-bite, the taste of rice suddenly bitter on her tongue. Her eyes, sharp and weary, met his. "Again?"
"These wars… they never end."
"No," he agreed, flat, unflinching. "But this time, I must go. Arkon can't manage alone."
Her hand brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered near her lips, as if trying to stop the words she needed to say.
"You always come back," she whispered, voice cracking with fragile hope. "Right?"
He stepped closer, the firelight casting his shadow long and strong across the kitchen floor. He took her hand in his, warm and steady. "I do," he said, voice like iron wrapped in silk. "I always do. Haven't I kept my promises?"
"That's not it," she said quietly.
Her eyes, once dull and tired, now shone with something deeper—worn love, heavy and fierce, unsure but undeniable.
His thumb brushed her knuckles gently. "This will be the last," he promised, voice low and unyielding, "no more border talks, no more blood spilled for convenience."
He cupped her face, steadying her gaze. "After this, it's just you and me. Every day. Morning till night."
Lily let out a soft, humorless snort, half-laugh, half-sigh. "That sounds exhausting."
He didn't smile at her words. Not even a laughter.
Yen just leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek—a slow, deliberate imprint, like he was claiming her in a way that words never could.
Then his hand slid down to rest on the gentle swell of her stomach. Her breath hitched.
"Protect our baby in my absence," he whispered, voice raw with something unspoken.
Lily met his gaze, those eyes that always burned, even in darkness. Her hands covered his, holding him close.
"Come back," she said.
"I will," he vowed, voice steady, a solemn oath. "To both of you."