The Masked King

The palace was too quiet.

Lian sat perfectly straight beside her brother in the grand receiving hall, dressed in full ceremonial silks, but her feet itched beneath the heavy hem. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. The golden phoenix hairpin dug into her scalp.

She was used to being looked at, adored, teased—but today, everyone kept glancing at her like she was a lamb about to be offered to a dragon.

She resisted the urge to fidget and whispered from the side of her mouth, “Brother, you’re sure this man isn’t seventy years old with three missing teeth?”

Emperor Liang didn’t even blink. “He’s a king, not a goblin.”

“Same thing.”

His lips twitched. “He’s younger than you think. And smarter than he lets on. Be polite.”

“Polite is for when I’m not being sold off like cabbage.”

Jun, standing behind her, coughed into his fist to hide a snort.

Before her brother could reply, the trumpet horns blared.

The royal court fell into perfect stillness as the northern envoys entered.

At the head of them was a tall man clad in black, trimmed in red. A high collar framed his neck, and a silver, expressionless mask covered the top half of his face. Behind him, no advisors. No guards. He didn’t need them.

The room chilled.

Lian didn’t mean to stare—but she couldn’t help it.

There was something familiar about the way he walked. Calm. Unhurried. Like a shadow that had long learned how to be feared.

He bowed stiffly before the throne.

“Zhao Rui, King of the Northern Provinces,” the herald announced.

Her brother stood to greet him. “We welcome you to our court, Your Majesty.”

Zhao Rui’s voice was cold, precise. “I’m honored to be here. May our union bring peace.”

Lian swallowed. That voice—

No, it couldn’t be.

The man she met last night—“Lantern”—had been quiet, warm in a strange way. Rough but human.

This man stood like a blade, honed and still. His very presence made her stomach twist.

Zhao Rui turned his head slightly.

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the silver mask, but she felt his gaze rest on her.

It sent a chill straight through her chest.

She looked away first.

---

Later That Day

“I told you he’d be terrifying,” Lian hissed, yanking the pins from her hair as Jun trailed behind her like a miserable dog.

“He didn’t even speak to me! Isn’t this supposed to be my engagement? I’m not some parcel to be exchanged in silence.”

Jun sighed. “You were rude.”

“I wasn’t rude. I was silent. That’s different.”

He tried to hide his smile, and failed.

She flopped down dramatically onto her silk cushions and rolled over to glare at the ceiling. “He’s cold. And he looks like a statue.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t even see his face.”

“Exactly! And do you know what they say? That he’s so monstrous he hides it. That he speaks ten tongues and drinks wine made of blood—”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Lian pointed a finger at him without lifting her head. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side that doesn’t want your future husband’s assassins breaking into the garden again.”

She scowled. “I don’t like this.”

He lowered himself onto a stool beside her. “Then do what you always do. Make a mess. Stir the palace.”

“I’m too tired to make a mess.”

“You snuck out of the palace last night wearing kitchen robes. You’re not tired. You’re planning.”

She went still.

Jun leaned in slightly. “What happened, Lian?”

She didn’t answer. Her thoughts strayed to a paper lantern. To the warmth of laughter that shouldn’t have felt safe. To a man who called her strange—and meant it fondly.

Her chest tightened.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Just… thinking.”

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