The silence following Zhao Xinying's emergence from the trunk was deafening.
The Emperor stepped forward, her hand still held tight in his while his gaze was still locked on the woman who had just climbed out like a legend born of smoke and shadow.
"And what," he asked, his voice low and dangerous, as if trying to weave a spell of his own, "is your name?"
The weapon didn't curtsy, she didn't kneel, she didn't so much as flinch beneath the weight of his throne or his gaze. Normally, he hated people who acted like this… like, by not submitting to him, it was a direct disregard of his power and majesty.
But he couldn't bring himself to berate her. Instead, he gazed deep into her impossibly blue eyes, smitten when she met his without hesitation.
"Zhao Xinying," she announced, slowly removing her hand and perching on the edge of the open trunk. "My name is Zhao Xinying."
