The Duke's courtyard was still silvered in dawn when Emperor Zhao Rui's carriage rolled to a stop.
No trumpets, no guards—just the quiet crunch of gravel beneath wheels and the distant flutter of banners in the cold breeze.
Servants scrambled, half-dressed, bowing so low their foreheads brushed the ground.
Zhao Rui stepped down without a word, his boots echoing sharply against stone.
He didn't wait for announcement. He never did.
Inside, Duke Lian was still dressing when the news reached him.
By the time he emerged, the Emperor was already standing beneath the plum tree, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the fading moonlight.
Ananya approached slowly, her blue robe flowing like mist across the courtyard.
Her hair was pinned simply, her face calm but unreadable.
She bowed gracefully. "Your Majesty."
Zhao Rui turned, his gaze sweeping over her face, lingering a second too long before he spoke.
"I came to speak with your father. Is he awake?"
