The next morning, Rui's eyes fluttered open, disoriented by the familiar ceiling of her palace chambers.
The plush mattress beneath her felt like her own, the silk sheets unmistakably hers.
"Zou?" she called, voice still rough with sleep.
Silence answered.
The space beside her remained undisturbed, pristine sheets pulled taut where another body should have been.
For a moment, Rui wondered if last night had been merely a vivid dream—another trick of her chaotic mind.
Then she shifted, and a symphony of aches sang through her body.
Bruises in the shape of fingerprints marked her hips.
Faint red lines traced her wrists where his tails had bound her; the pleasant soreness between her thighs told its own story.
"That sneaky fox," she muttered, a mixture of annoyance and fondness coloring her tone.
Rui stared emptily at the ornate ceiling. The silence of her chambers felt oppressive after weeks of constant movement, danger, and purpose.
