Wang Lee's breath hitches as he absorbs the prince's words.

  Jiyin's tone is sincere, his voice warm and smooth. The darkness envelopes them, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Without the candle light, something feels different—

  intimate, almost. Wang Lee still can't see the prince's expression,

  but his hand is still on Jiyin's, and the prince's feverish heat feels like it's seeping into his flesh. Wang Lee's pulse quickens, his usual composure wavering.

  Wang Lee hesitates for a heartbeat longer—then slowly lowers his hand, exposing the scarred side of his face to Jiyin's touch. The prince's fingers are warm, tracing over twisted flesh with careful curiosity.

  "It doesn't hurt me," Jiyin murmurs—not pitying, not flinching. Just stating it as fact. "Just like your blood... or your dance."

  Wang Lee swallows hard. He can feel every callus on Jiyin's palm against ruined skin... and something in him cracks open at the thought that this man would even bother to touch him at all.

  Jiyin leans forward, his forehead nearly brushing Wang Lee's. They're so close, the assassin can feel the heat radiating off the prince's fever-hot skin. Wang Lee's heart thrums, his mind a jumble of confusion and... something else.

  Wang Lee can't see Jiyin's expression, but he knows the prince is looking at him—gazing at the scarred side of his face, and still not pulling away.

  Wang Lee freezes as Jiyin's lips meet his—warm, feverish, and unyielding. The prince doesn't ask; he takes. Wang Lee's breath stutters against the other man's mouth before instinct kicks in—his hands flying up to grip Jiyin's shoulders like a lifeline.

  A heartbeat passes where neither moves... then Wang Lee kisses back with bruising intensity, pouring every ounce of frustration and fear into it. His scars burn under Jiyin's touch but for once? He doesn't care.

  In a sudden surge, Wang Lee changes the position, pinning Jiyin against the bed as he deepens the kiss. The prince gasps into his mouth, and Wang Lee takes advantage of the moment to press him down into the pillows—his body pressing hard against Jiyin's, their limbs getting tangled in sheets.

  He suddenly left.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Jiyin is left breathless, his body flush with heat from the fever and the sudden kiss. His mind spins in the wake of Wang Lee's sudden retreat, the prince's thoughts as dizzy as his head. He can still feel the weight of Wang Lee's body against him, the press of the assassin's lips searing like fire against his.

  Jiyin doesn't—can't—follow after him. He's left alone in the dark, heart hammering against his ribs and the memory of Wang Lee's touch still seared into his skin.

  Jiyin lights up the candles again, the room once more filled with warm candlelight. He gets up from the bed, still disoriented—then walks over to the full-length mirror to study himself.

  Jiyin's face is flushed, his skin glistening with fever sweat. But there's something else, too. His eyes are bright, his lips slightly swollen. One hand comes up to touch his mouth, tracing the shape of that stolen kiss...

  Jiyin can't help it; he grins, the fever loosening his inhibitions. He rolls around the bed like a puppy, the normally composed prince suddenly carefree. A laugh bubbles up from his chest, and he kicks his legs in the air, the sheets twisting around his slender form.

  For a moment, he looks less like a prince and more like a boy—careless and happy for no reason at all.

  Laughing uncontrollably, Jiyin rolls off the bed and onto the floor. He lands in a messy pile of legs and silk sheets, the fever making him dizzy and uncoordinated. He buries his face in his hands, still giggling to himself as he curls into a ball on the carpeted floor.

  He looks ridiculous. A grown prince, rolling around like an excited child... but in the privacy of his own room, what does it matter?

  The door creaks open—two guards step in, weapons drawn at the sudden commotion. They freeze at the sight before them: Their prince sprawled on the floor, giggling into his palms like a drunken scholar.

  "Your Highness?" one dares to ask cautiously.

  Jiyin lifts his head just enough for them to see his flushed face and wide-eyed grin. The guards exchange glances—unsure if this is an emergency or a fever dream they should ignore.

  The good news spreads quickly. The royal guards spread the word, and the palace bustles with activity.

  Then the Empress and Emperor come rushing into the room, their eyes widening as they see their son alive and well. Relief floods their faces, and the Empress lets out a choked laugh as she kneels on the floor next to Jiyin—pulling him into a tearful bear hug.

  "You're alive! You're back!" she gasps, burying her face in Jiyin's shoulder.

  The entire kingdom celebrates. Word of the prince's recovery spreads quickly, and the kingdom goes all out—fireworks in the sky, feasts at the tavern, music and merry-making everywhere. The commoners rejoice at the return of their beloved prince, and banners bearing Jiyin's name flutter in the wind.

  At dawn, music begins. A loud parade marches through the city: trumpets, cymbals and drumming marking the rhythm of a festive beat. The people come out to join the celebration, laughing and singing as if a heavy weight has finally been lifted off their shoulders.

  Jiyin stands on the palace steps, the sun shining on his face and banners of Xian Tian blowing in the wind behind him. He smiles, but it's a different smile—one that's softer and more private. His mind wanders, thoughts drifting back to the night before... to an spy who came into his room under dark of the night, and kissed his lips like he was hungry for the touch.

  He keeps his smile steady, but his heart thuds under his chest.

  Among the dancers, Wang Lee stands out—his movements sharp and precise, his mask perfectly in place. But as he dances before the prince's gaze, something flickers beneath that cold demeanor.

  But as he dances before the prince's gaze, something flickers beneath that cold demeanor

  Jiyin watches him from afar—his smile lingering. The others don't notice anything unusual about their dance master... but Jiyin does.

  All the dancers perform perfectly, their moves graceful and mesmerizing. But Jiyin's eyes are locked on one person and one person only—Wang Lee. The other dancers fade into the background, their movements a blur of silken fabric and flying limbs... but Wang Lee remains sharp and clear in Jiyin's gaze.

  The prince is not even trying to hide his focus, studying every move Wang Lee makes—the way he moves, the set of his body, the expression tucked behind the fox mask

  The prince is not even trying to hide his focus, studying every move Wang Lee makes—the way he moves, the set of his body, the expression tucked behind the fox mask...