Lily nodded, slowly, almost mechanically.
Yen's smile returned like the flick of a switch—pleased, affectionate, too easy. He stood and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her in one smooth motion. She barely moved in response, arms limp at her sides as he pressed her into his chest.
"You can wander in the gardens," he murmured into her hair. His voice was soft, loving, almost indulgent. "Make any changes you want. No one will bother you. Not even the servants."
His fingers trailed down the back of her head in a final stroke, a gesture meant to soothe—but it only left behind a ghostly weight.
Then, pulling back just enough to look into her face, he added with a gentle smile, "Now, say it."
There was no malice in his tone. No sharpness.
Just a quiet command.
Lily's lips parted, but the words caught in her throat like smoke. She forced them out, brittle and dry.
"...I love you."
And just like that, Yen beamed. As though her words were sunlight, not ash.
"I love you, too." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering like a stamp. He stepped away slowly, still watching her. A glance over his shoulder as he opened the door. Then he was gone.
The room sighed into silence.
Lily stood for a long moment in the empty air he left behind. Then, without expression, she walked toward the bed—but didn't climb onto it. She sank to the floor beside it instead, folding her legs and wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. The skirt of her morning dress pooled around her like a veil of quiet resignation.
She stared straight ahead.
At nothing.
The silence deepened. Time bled slowly around her. The room's opulence felt absurd around her small form hunched on the floor.
An hour passed before the door creaked again.
Colla entered softly, not with the efficient steps of a servant, but with the caution of someone who knew they were stepping into sorrow. Her eyes found Lily at once—and her heart tugged visibly.
She hurried forward and dropped to her knees beside her, trying to help her up.
"Let me be," Lily said, voice flat, unmovable.
Colla paused, caught between instinct and loyalty. For a moment, her face crumpled in pity—but she forced it away, blinking the emotion into submission. She couldn't afford to show despair. Not here. Not with him possibly listening from the shadows.
So instead, she lowered herself fully onto the floor beside Lily. Close, but not touching.
"...His Majesty prepared your breakfast," Colla said after a long pause, keeping her tone light. "But I sneaked in your favorite bread."
Lily didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the window, though the curtains were drawn too tightly to let the sun in. Then, after a long breath, she murmured,
"Let's eat, then. It's better than him forcing me."
Her eyes flicked toward the walls—toward the corners of the room, the high shelves, the thick shadowed edge behind the armoire.
"He watches," she added softly, like a secret no one had asked for.
Colla froze.
Their eyes met—and then both darted away, scanning the dim alcoves and shadowy folds of the chamber. As if Yen might emerge at any moment. As if his presence could seep out of the walls like mist.
Colla swallowed, then plastered on a thin smile. It wobbled slightly.
"Let's do that," she whispered back. And gently, she reached to help Lily to her feet.
Lily rose with a soft groan, her joints stiff and aching from being curled for too long. She winced slightly as her body adjusted to standing again.
Colla didn't comment on it. She only steadied her, one arm loose at her back, and led her quietly to the breakfast table. A small act of care in a world where even kindness had to be cautious.
They sat across from each other.
The bread was still warm.
And the silence between them wasn't empty—it was full of everything they couldn't say.
Lily finished the last of her meal on the balcony, her plate cleared, but the warmth of the morning sun still brushed across her skin like a whisper. The birds had returned to their soft songs, and the breeze occasionally lifted a strand of her hair. There was peace here—but the kind that felt borrowed.
Now, they sat with the shared bread between them. The one Colla had smuggled past perfection.
They each held a small piece, nibbling between lulls in conversation, the silence between them no longer heavy, just familiar.
"...Is my office still locked?" Lily asked, not looking at her.
"Yes," Colla replied, wiping her fingers on her skirt. "It is."
Lily tilted her head slightly, her gaze tracing the clouds as they rolled lazily above the treetops. "What do the others say?"
Colla's fingers paused mid-tear. "It's said... that you're not well enough to handle your duties. Most believe you're critically ill. Since you've appeared rarely these days."
Lily made a sound under her breath that wasn't quite a laugh.
She kept her eyes on the sky.
"Have you ever thought he would change like that?" she asked, voice soft, like she was talking to the wind instead of Colla.
Colla hesitated. She took a slow breath.
"I've only been assigned to the palace when you entered," she said carefully. "But no... I didn't think His Majesty—the man who was gentle, light-hearted even—would turn into someone like this."
Lily nodded slowly, as if the answer didn't surprise her.
"I've been wondering too," she murmured. "The first time I met him was at a bakery."
Colla blinked. "A bakery?"
Lily smiled faintly at the memory, her voice warming with nostalgia.
"I was a little girl helping around. He would peer in from outside. Never came in right away—just... watched the shelves through the window. When I approached, he'd cough loudly like it wasn't on purpose. And I'd ask, 'Why are you here again?' Every time, he'd say, 'Just looking.'" Her smile deepened. "Then one day he bought a bun. Then another. And the day after that, we played behind the bakery for hours. I thought he was a noble's child. I never imagined royalty."
Colla leaned her elbows lightly on the balcony railing, listening with rapt attention.
"…He came to see you often?"
"Every day," Lily said. "Afternoon, usually. But sometimes… he'd stop by at night, say he forgot to buy bread. We'd sneak out and share whatever was left. Rarely, we'd steal a whole day and go down the river or visit the apple groves when they bloomed."
There was laughter in her voice, but it flickered like a candle too close to wind.
"Then the previous emperor came to fetch you," Colla said.
Lily nodded slowly. "I was scared, of course. Strangers in black, polished boots, the seal of the crown on their horses. I remember how the other orphans bowed." Her smile returned, softer, more haunted. "But then I saw Yen. He was dressed differently. Royal robes, jeweled pins in his hair... but it was still him. Still the boy who made me laugh. He held my hand the whole way. Promised me I'd be safe."
She laughed under her breath, a wistful, broken sound. "He even cried when I cried. He was a good liar."
Colla chuckled with her—until she saw Lily's face. Then she tried to sober herself, biting back the sound.
Lily glanced at her and grinned despite herself. They giggled like girls again for a fleeting second, like the weight on their shoulders had been lifted.
But only for a moment.
"He always knew when I was mad. Or sad. Or happy," Lily said, gaze wandering again. Her voice dimmed. "There wasn't a single emotion I could hide from him. It was like he could read my soul through my skin."
She grew quiet, the bread forgotten in her hands.
Then, slowly, her brow creased. Her eyes darkened as they stared into some memory that wasn't sweet.
"But I remember…" she began, hesitant. "When we were younger, I overheard the high nobles talking. Whispering when they thought I couldn't hear."
Colla turned toward her, alert now.
"They spoke about the emperors. About sins. About women in their history. Bloody legacies and… strange births. And something about how the empire 'always took what it desired.'"
Her voice faltered.
"Back then, I didn't understand. I thought it was politics. Just gossip."
She looked down at her hands, now clenched in her lap. The crumbs of bread had fallen between her fingers.
"But now I wonder if it was a warning."