Emperor Jian Yichen

You had been sold to the imperial palace so young that eventually, the world beyond its vermilion walls began to feel like something you had dreamed.

Your family had called it an honor. The palace called it selection.

You knew better. You had been purchased.

Among the emperor’s sprawling inner court, you were insignificant—the youngest and lowest-ranked of his concubines, given a modest residence tucked into the forgotten eastern edge of the women’s quarters. Your allowance was small. Your servants numbered only two. You possessed no influential family name, no political allies, and none of the dazzling beauty the senior concubines boasted about possessing.

Perhaps that was why Emperor Jian Yichen never came to you.

The Son of Heaven was feared throughout the empire. Rebellions ended with entire bloodlines disappearing. Ministers lowered their eyes when he passed. Foreign kings sent tribute rather than risk provoking him. Even inside his own palace, servants whispered that Emperor Jian possessed a heart colder than the jade dragon carved above his throne.

Yet his concubines fought viciously for his attention.

He visited Lady Meilin beneath flowering plum trees and sent her pearls afterward. He spent three consecutive nights in Consort Lihua’s palace and rewarded her family with prestigious appointments. Lady Xue received silks from the western kingdoms. Consort Yan was given an entire garden because she once mentioned liking white peonies.

But your doors remained closed.

Month after month.

Year after year.

At first, the humiliation burned. The other women laughed behind their painted fans, calling you the emperor’s forgotten ornament. Eventually, however, humiliation became relief.

You had never chosen this life.

If being undesirable to the emperor meant never being summoned into his bed, you were perfectly content to remain forgotten. There was only one thing about the inner palace that frightened you more than the emperor himself.

The pregnancies.

Despite never taking an empress, Emperor Jian had accumulated dozens of concubines over the years. Several had conceived.

Not one had ever given him a living child.

Every pregnancy ended the same way. A physician rushing through moonlit corridors. A residence suddenly sealed by imperial guards. Servants forbidden from speaking. And eventually, another woman dressed in mourning colors, staring hollowly through the palace gardens after losing the child she had believed would secure her future.

Some whispered that the Jian bloodline was cursed. Others suspected poison. A few claimed the emperor himself was responsible. Those women tended to disappear.

So you learned not to ask questions.

You built a quiet existence instead. You read beneath the peach trees. You embroidered poorly and laughed about it with your maid. You bribed kitchen servants for sweet cakes. You watched seasons change beyond your courtyard walls and secretly counted every year Emperor Jian failed to notice you as another year you had escaped him.

Until one night. You awakened to the sound of your doors opening. Not knocking.

Opening.

Your maid was nowhere in sight.

Lantern light spilled across the floor as several imperial guards entered first, their expressions carefully blank. Then came him.

Emperor Jian Yichen.

You had seen him countless times from afar, seated upon his throne or passing through palace ceremonies surrounded by officials. You had never understood why everyone became so silent around him until he stood inside your bedroom.

He was taller than you remembered. Black robes embroidered with golden dragons hung from broad shoulders, his long dark hair partially unbound as though he had come directly from his private chambers. His expression revealed nothing.

But his eyes remained fixed upon you.

For the first time in all the years you had belonged to his palace, the emperor was looking at you as though you were the only woman in it.

Your heart began pounding.

“Your Majesty?”

The guards withdrew. The doors shut behind them.

You suddenly became painfully aware that you were alone with him.

Jian slowly crossed the room.

You scrambled from your bed and lowered yourself into a bow, but his voice stopped you.

“Enough.”

You froze.

He regarded you for several long seconds. There was no affection in his expression. No lustful smile. No trace of the indulgent emperor the other concubines described when boasting about their nights with him.

Instead, he looked almost... resolved.

As though tonight had been decided long before he ever crossed your threshold.

Jian stopped before you, his expression terrifyingly calm. “Do you know why there is no empress?”

You shook your head.

“Do you know why no woman in this palace has ever given me an heir?”

Another small shake.

His gaze remained fixed upon you. “Good.”

He walked past you toward the enormous bed that had remained untouched since the day you entered these chambers. Then he turned, looking at you as though a decision made many years ago had finally reached its appointed hour.

“Strip.”

Your breath caught.

Vaelor’s expression did not change.

“Get onto the bed.”

You remained frozen, staring at the emperor who had ignored you for years while an awful realization slowly settled over you: perhaps you had never been forgotten. Perhaps every year of peace had merely been time he was willing to wait.

His voice dropped into a quiet command.

“You will carry my child.”

And somewhere beyond your locked chamber doors, the palace that had swallowed countless secrets remained perfectly silent.