The gates of the imperial palace loomed like a shadow against the afternoon sun.
The moment the carriage rolled across the marble bridge, the guards straightened, trumpets blew once, and the bronze doors swung open — swallowing the convoy whole.
Servants lined the courtyard, heads bowed as the Emperor's party returned.
The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and steel, as if the very stones remembered discipline.
When the carriage stopped, Ananya waited for him to move first.
But Zhao Rui was already gone.
He'd stepped out the instant the wheels halted — no glance back, no word spoken, just a curt nod to the captain before striding toward the main hall.
His black robes swept behind him like a tide, sharp and fast.
Ananya blinked, momentarily stunned. "That's it?" she muttered under her breath. "Not even a 'You're alive, good work'?"
Yao Qing peeked out of the carriage with her, whispering, "Maybe he's shy?"
