Yen and Lily

Morning was soft.

Not gentle. Not kind. Just… soft.

The kind of hush that follows after a storm—not peace, but the breathless quiet of surrender. Pale light spilled into the bedchamber through the half-open curtains, catching on the heavy drapes and the faint shimmer of gold thread in the pillows. The air was cool, but not cold. The sheets still held the warmth of flesh, twisted around bare limbs, damp in places where skin had stuck to skin.

Lily stirred slowly.

Her breath shallow. Her eyelids heavy. Her thighs sore in a familiar ache that throbbed gently between her legs. She didn't shift to stretch. Didn't pull the blanket higher. She lay still and stared at the canopy, blinking against the faint burn behind her eyes.

A hand was on her belly.

She didn't need to look to know whose.

It was wide, long-fingered, calloused only at the knuckles. Pressed flat against her navel, not soft, but not forceful either. Just present. Steady. Possessive.

Yen.

Of course.

She didn't say anything.

Neither did he.

His breathing was slow behind her, chest rising against her back in rhythmic waves. His body curled against hers, and she realized—he wasn't sleeping. His lips were at her shoulder, parted slightly. Not kissing. Just… breathing her in.

"You're awake," he murmured.

She nodded once.

His hand slid lower. Over her belly. Paused at the curve of her hip. Then back up again in a slow glide.

She kept her eyes on the ceiling.

"The tonic," he said next. "Drink it."

She pushed herself upright without a word, the sheet falling from her chest. The robe was still bunched at her waist, barely held together by a loose knot in the sash. Her skin was cold where the air touched it, and her nipples stiffened as she reached for the porcelain cup on the nightstand.

It was still warm.

She drank it all in one go, the bitterness coating her tongue like ashes. Her throat bobbed with each swallow, and when she finished, she held the cup out wordlessly.

Yen took it from her and set it back down.

His hand slid around her waist as she turned to lie back down—but he didn't let her. He pulled her into his lap instead, cradling her against him like a doll. His robe was still open, bare chest flush against her back.

"You'll stay with me today," he said.

Not a suggestion. Not a question.

She nodded again.

-----

They dressed together in silence.

The vanity mirror caught the image in perfect clarity—Yen behind her, brushing out her hair with long, even strokes. His reflection was half-shadowed by the drapes, silver hair falling around his sharp cheekbones, eyes hooded and unreadable.

He parted her hair down the middle and twisted it into a loose knot, pinning it in place with the comb he'd gifted her last spring. Pale wood. Inlaid with red stones. It matched the tiny bruise on her neck.

She buttoned his inner robe without looking at him. One loop at a time. Fingers steady. She tugged the black sash into place around his hips and smoothed the folds, careful not to touch skin. He fastened her outer layer in return—tight, firm. He always tied it tighter than necessary.

It wasn't affection. It was restraint.

He tucked the final knot into place, then bent to kiss her throat, just below her ear.

"Good."

-----

The formal hall smelled of old wine and yesterday's meat because of the two men who obviously hadn't washed yet.

Zion was already there, draped over his cushion like a melted candle, one boot off, his hair a tangled mess over his shoulders. Arkon was only marginally better—stiff-backed, but pale, with a wine stain on his sleeve and a faint line on his jaw from sleeping on a table.

They straightened when Yen entered.

But their surprise wasn't for him.

It was for her.

Lily walked three paces behind, her head bowed, arms folded in front of her, her robe the color of morning mist. She didn't make a sound as she passed, didn't meet their eyes, didn't smile.

Zion let out a low whistle. "Well, that's early."

Yen ignored him.

"Report," he said, sitting at the head of the table.

Lily knelt at the side tray and poured tea without needing instruction. Her hands were steady. She didn't speak. One by one, she placed the cups before each of them, careful to move in a smooth line—never turning her back on Yen.

Zion accepted his with a grin and leaned forward. "I heard we're doubling patrols. Is this because someone tried to sneak past the western cliffs again or because someone couldn't hold their liquor last night?"

Arkon rolled his eyes. "Both."

Yen sipped.

"Routes past the borders need full sweep," he said. "No exceptions. And no gaps in the southern ridge. I want a rotation schedule by noon."

"Already drafted," Arkon said, sliding a scroll across the table.

Lily moved to Yen's side and settled on her knees. Her place. Always just within reach.

He rested his fingers on her thigh—light, casual, almost affectionate. But she knew better.

Zion, as always, couldn't help himself.

"I'm surprised Lady Lily's still walking today," he said with a sly glance. "I thought you'd be too sore to move after—"

Yen didn't say a word.

He just looked at him.

Zion's grin faltered.

"…Right. Anyway. Eastern outpost needs more salt."

-----

They returned to his office after.

Lily thought he'd sit at his desk.

He didn't.

He pulled her toward the alcove again—where the mattress waited, neatly made by hands not hers. The curtains were still drawn. The cushions were soft. The air was too still.

He pushed her down onto her back.

Not hard.

Not gentle.

Just final.

He undid her sash slowly, one hand resting over her belly as he leaned over her, his breath warm against her lips.

"Let me see," he murmured.

She didn't resist.

He opened her robe and stared at her stomach, at the pale skin that was once round with child. That had since hollowed. Flattened.

He traced the lines with his thumb, brushing low, almost reverently. Yen kissed her navel then before lying down, his face beside her waist.

-----

Breakfast came while she was still breathless. Servants came in with a low table and arranged the dishes before bowing.

"Patriarch, breakfast is served." Jang announced before exiting without waiting for a reply.

Her robe barely closed when he carried her up.

He didn't care.

She sat beside him, trembling, as he fed her spoonfuls of rice and pickled roots, his fingers trailing over her inner thigh under the table. She chewed each bite slowly. Swallowed when he told her to.

He didn't let her wipe her mouth herself.

He did it for her.

With his thumb.

-----

The rest of the day blurred.

He kept her beside him in the archives, where scribes transcribed old treaties. She sat on a cushion while he flipped through war records. When she leaned too far to reach a brush, he tugged her back sharply.

Too sharp.

The sound of her quiet breath caught the attention of a passing attendant.

Yen looked up once.

The attendant didn't look again.