She bit a candied hawthorn he had pushed to her lips as they walked through the night market.
"Too sweet," Xinying complained with a soft smile on her lips, but she kept chewing anyway. It had been a long time since Yizhen had moved himself into the Palace, and he still liked to take her out on dates where nobody could recognize her.
"Not yet," he replied, his deep voice sending a shiver up her spine. He flicked a coin to the vendor without looking and tugged her hand through the crowd. "But give me ten minutes and I can fix that."
He bought other small things as they moved: a paper fan for the heat, a hair ribbon she didn't need, a tiny carved comb he claimed was lucky.
Each time she tried to refuse, he pressed it into her palm and kept walking.
He did not hurry.
He drifted through the street like a man who knew every stall and every cut-through, and who everyone knew back.
