The faint scent of cedarwood drifted from the study, mixing with the waxy smell of half-melted candles. Papers and memorials were scattered across the emperor's long desk, ink still glistening wet on the newest decrees.
Fu Ling stepped through the threshold, silent as a breeze. His shadow stretched long across the polished floor, reaching the man hunched behind the desk.
Wen Zhan looked up sharply thinking that A'Yan wouldn't come in without permission. His pupils shrank and the brush clattered from his fingers, splattering ink over the parchment when he saw who it was.
"You—!"
Fu Ling smiled faintly.
"Cousin. For an emperor you really have no awareness of your surroundings."
For a heartbeat, Wen Zhan froze. Then panic flashed through his expression. His hand darted toward the bronze bell at the edge of the desk, the one used to summon the shadow guards.
"Don't bother." Fu Ling's voice was calm, almost lazy. "They won't be coming."
Horror flashed through Wen Zhan's eyes.
