Qin Yulan’s fingers dug into the silk of her robes, her body stiff with tension. She knew Zhao Yan’s presence in her courtyard ant only one thing—he had co for retribution.
But she would not cower.
With all the dignity of a consort who had once believed herself untouchable, she lifted her chin and asked, "Why has Your Highness co to see ?"
Her voice was smooth, unwavering, as though she had not spent the last night tossing and turning, waiting for this mont with dread pooling in her stomach.
Zhao Yan stood before her, his hands clasped behind his back, the golden embroidery on his robes shimring under the dim candlelight. His mask, as always, remained firmly in place, concealing all but the piercing coldness of his eyes.
"Are you truly unaware of the reason I am here?" he asked calmly, his voice carrying an edge sharp enough to slice through bone.
Qin Yulan’s breath caught for just a mont, but she recovered quickly. "I cannot say that I do."
A slow, dark smile curled at Zhao Yan’s lips, but there was no amusent in his gaze. It was a smile devoid of warmth, one that made the consort feel as though she were standing on thin ice, the surface cracking beneath her feet.
"Is that so?"
A chill crept down Qin Yulan’s spine.
This wasn’t the man she had fallen for at the festival years ago. This wasn’t even the sa prince she had married.
This was a stranger.
A man who had been shaped by war, by betrayal, by the ruthless pursuit of power.
A man who no longer saw her as anything more than an obstacle in his path.
Still, she refused to falter.
"If you are here to seek revenge on behalf of that woman," she said, her voice laced with disdain, "then I will be the one advising you to stop whatever foolishness you have in mind."
Zhao Yan’s expression did not change. "Stop?" he echoed, as though the word itself amused him.
She took a step forward, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Gone was the carefully asured etiquette. Gone was the composed and graceful first consort.
She was a woman scorned.
"You dare co to my courtyard to confront about her?" Qin Yulan’s voice rose, laced with raw frustration. "What did I do that was so wrong that you would treat like this?"
Zhao Yan remained silent, letting her unravel before him.
Her voice trembled with pent-up anger, years of resentnt bubbling to the surface. "It should have been ," she whispered, her tone broken, before it hardened with fury. "It was always ant to be !"
Her breathing was erratic, her vision blurred with rage.
"Ever since she ca into your life, you’ve changed," she accused, her words laced with bitterness. "You were supposed to be mine! I was supposed to be your empress!"
Zhao Yan exhaled through his nose, as if her words were nothing but the ramblings of a desperate woman grasping at the last vestiges of a dream long lost.
"Changed?" he finally spoke, tilting his head slightly, as if pondering her claim. "Perhaps I have."
His voice was quieter now, almost contemplative.
Had he changed?
Once upon a ti, his life had been dictated by duty, by power, by the need to ascend the throne at any cost.
His family was a battlefield, and he had learned long ago that emotions were nothing but a weakness.
Marriage, for him, had always been a political tool.
When he married Qin Yulan, he had seen it as nothing more than an alliance, an opportunity to strengthen his hold over the court. She was the daughter of a powerful family, an advantageous pawn in his ga of strategy.
That was all.
And yet...
When he t Hua Jing, everything had shifted.
At first, she was rely an amusent, an interesting creature unlike the rest. She was fearless in a way no other woman dared to be around him.
Then she had risked her life for him.
And suddenly, he had started to feel.
The need to see her smile. The desire to hear her voice. The hunger to be near her.
She never bowed to him like the others did. She challenged him. She treated him not as a prince, but as a man.
And now, without realizing when it happened, she had beco his weakness.
His fingers twitched at the thought.
And then... he looked at Qin Yulan.
This woman before him had once held his favor, had once been his greatest ally.
But she had chosen hatred over loyalty.
Betrayal over trust.
She had nearly killed Hua Jing.
And for that, she would never be forgiven.
Qin Yulan saw the flicker of sothing in his eyes. But it wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t regret.
It was conviction.
Her stomach twisted.
"Are you thinking about her now?" she spat, her voice shrill with disbelief. "Even when you stand here in my chambers, confronting , you think of that woman?"
Zhao Yan’s gaze darkened. "And what if I am?"
Her nails dug so hard into her palms that she almost drew blood.
"You’ve lost your mind," she hissed, her voice trembling. "That woman has bewitched you. Have you forgotten everything we’ve built? Have you forgotten everything I have sacrificed?"
Zhao Yan stared at her for a long mont, then took a slow step forward.
"You speak of sacrifice," he murmured, voice dangerously soft, "but who was it that betrayed their place in this palace?"
Qin Yulan’s lips parted, but no words ca out.
"You nearly killed her."
His voice was flat, emotionless.
"Do you think I will let that go unpunished?"
The weight of his words pressed down on her like an invisible force.
She had known—from the mont he had entered her chambers—that he had not co for idle conversation.
But hearing it from his lips made the reality of it all crash down on her like a landslide.
Zhao Yan tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing into hers.
"There is no need for all of this," he said finally, his tone as cold as winter’s bite.
"I have co here today to tell you one thing—all of your sins will be repaid in full!"
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