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“Have you decided we are to consummate our marriage in a pond, your grace?”
Warm breath danced against the column of his throat, pale skin left exposed by his disheveled state, collar left gaping and nearly falling from one shoulder entirely. Small hands clutched the front of his yuanlingpao in a desperate, startled reflex to keep her upper half mostly out of the frigid shallows they found themselves sprawled within. The heavy layers of Lady Maomao’s skirts were bunched oddly around both of their legs, her knees splayed on either side of Jinshi’s hips, his own clothes tangled from the waist down with hers. Dark hair was half undone by the tumble, long locks curling on the surface of the water, framing her fair face as the night sky might for the moon, askew hair ornaments an accompaniment of glittering stars.
Jinshi’s fingers curled in the cold muck, mud creeping under his nails, his whole body numb from the shock. He loomed over a water nymph straight from a western folktale, their forms pressed together in a tragic parody of intimacy, this carnal temptation a lure to drag him willingly to a watery demise. Then he blinked and registered the reality of their situation.
He could hear the panicked shouts of servants.
He could feel the deathly cold seeping into skin, threatening to steal the heat from his core.
He could see a flicker of fear on Lady Maomao’s so often impassive face even as she waited for his response to her dry query—an attempt at levity in what was truly a ridiculously dangerous position for them both to be in.
Jinshi, as quickly as his heavy limbs allowed, pulled them both upright and towards the banks of the pond, heart pounding, body quaking. He stumbled and Lady Maomao steadied him, sodden and ghost pale, but somehow steadier on her feet than he. She was horrifyingly resilient.
“We need to dry ourselves as quickly as possible,” his Wise Consort commanded and who was he to contradict such a sensible demand? Jinshi’s bones dared to ache as he shuddered, teeth grinding against the urge to chatter. He was distantly aware of her barking out orders to the servants that closed in on them, her voice carrying an authority he’d never heard from her before, but should have expected. She was Lakan’s daughter after all. Why wouldn’t some of his terrifying, military nature surface in her when the Empire’s future was on the line? Perhaps he might tease her for this filial act later. Oh how she honored her sire and country. It was adorable.
They stumbled together to the Crystal Pavillion, servants swarming around like ants fleeing from a flood. Hot water was prepared. Fires stoked to offer further warmth. Lady Maomao set upon him with a physician’s urgency as she stripped him of his clothes, her own hands clumsy from the cold. There was a flash of propriety that had Jinshi flushing and leaning back as soon as he felt air hit skin, but his Consort was relentless. “You may punish me later for these liberties, but we do not have time to wait for the bumbling fool to arrive. Strip or at least stop fighting me. What are you, a maiden afraid for her modesty?”
“I am your husband!” Jinshi sputtered out, his wife’s words setting his face aflame. “I c-could—”
“Have me beheaded for my disrespect?” His teeth clacked shut at the familiar counter. Somehow, the object of his lowly and hidden affections was able to turn his own pitiful arguments into an acupuncturist’s needle. He went limp and tried to assist her with her endeavors.
Once his clothing fell to the floor, he reached for hers, ignoring his own nudity for the moment, “You’re soaked as well.” Jinshi caught the hitch in her breath, the way she averted her eyes from his body. For all of her boldness during their marriage, Lady Maomao was suddenly quite shy, and bitterly he had to wonder if she was the one woman in this world who found him unappealing. His whole life women swooned over his pretty face and speculated about his body. He was unscarred and well-muscled from a lifetime of sword training, his lean figure far less effeminate without flowing layers of fabric concealing his hard won strength. And even Lady Maomao herself once, in a moment of audacious inebriation, praised his ‘manly assets’ when she groped him through his clothes.
Yet here he stood, somehow feeling…hideous. Worse than a bug, as at least an especially poisonous one might at least have those cutting eyes focused on their vibrant shells. Jinshi could choke on his own poorly-timed misery. It wasn’t at all appropriate to wonder why his Consort did not ogle him with lustful appreciation when they were both urgently trying to avoid death after their unfortunate swim. But his thoughts kept whirling, reminding him that it had been half a year since Lady Gyokuyou rejoined the rear palace as the Precious Consort, and in that time, his lovesick feelings had neither faded nor borne fruit. He was stuck with this cursed want for his own wife, one who would humor his desires if asked, but any time he even contemplated approaching her bed as the Emperor, it left him nauseated. How could he possibly bed a woman he loved when she had no feelings for him in return? Who would accept him without a smile from obligation and curiosity?
Stupid. He was a stupid, foolish man.
One who, as a result, found himself completely unable to consummate either of his marriages with his Consorts, much to his humiliation. Lady Gyokuyou was understanding. He cared dearly for her. She was an advisor and friend even now, sympathizing in silence when he visited her Pavillion. Twice he attempted to do as Lady Maomao expected of him—Jinshi approached his Precious Consort to spend the evening with him, and twice the night ended with him laying his head in her lap as she stroked his hair, the pair of them talking quietly about his brother. Nobody was more painfully aware that his failure in duty was starting to have consequences.
Without any word of a potential heir, the chilling gossip that arose within the court about his proclivities made even the bitterest of winter days feel warm in comparison. After all, Jinshi shared his face with a monster that had yet to be forgotten. One who forsook the beds of women grown to show favor towards children, defiling them and abandoning them to their resentful ruin for the rest of their lives within the rear palace. He once heard someone pondering aloud if Lishu was young enough yet to tempt him if retrieved from the nunnery for a second time.
He just wanted a moment of peace. To hide from it all.
Nothing was ever that simple.
Why would it ever be?
“Into the tub, your grace.” Lady Maomao’s firm but insistent voice cut through his haze. Her hands pressed on his shoulders. Jinshi obeyed. He found himself immersed in searing warmth as he gazed up at his self-proclaimed sweet-berried belladonna—his bitter sprig of hemlock in the rose garden. Her fair features were translucent from chill, the white of her undergarments sheer and clinging wetly. He could see every cut and bruise and freckle usually concealed by her robes, even the bandages she wore were hanging loose, threatening to expose a map of previously self-inflicted injuries. His eyes lingered on the dainty expanse of a wrist, bones like that of a bird’s, veins purple and flushed at the surface like delicate cracks in porcelain. His gaze trailed to her elbow and then to her shoulders, they were narrow but strong, her collarbone sharp like the wings of a crane as she leaned over him.
She shifted, the damp fabric stretched over the swell of her chest, modest yes but no less fully bloomed. Milk-white hills with rosy peaks that would fit perfectly in his palm. He dared not drop his gaze further beyond the flat plane of her belly and the womanly curve of her hips. He was the Emperor and she his Consort, but that was an intimacy too far. Already he had seen too much. How she would haunt him in his dreams now that he knew how her body felt pressed against his.
Suddenly, she stepped into the water as well with a hiss, pushing him further down until his heart was beneath the surface. Lady Maomao knelt over his knees, both of them fully submerged. He became aware of her trembling. Jinshi lifted his hands and gently laid them on her back, “Thank you. Your apothecary training has surely saved our lives!” In his shock, he never noticed the servants working diligently around them, following his Wise Consort’s orders to bring not just hot water and heat but warm drinks. Lady Maomao turned and plucked up a cup of freshly poured tea, bringing it first to her lips before offering it to her Emperor, brazenly tasting it for poison.
Jinshi found himself sputtering out a laugh after he drank down the replenishing tea, "Disappointed?”
His Consort at last drank her own cup, those dark eyes a little softer, warmer with relief. He was becoming better at reading her moods. “Perhaps a little,” she admitted. “Some poisons can be quite…invigorating.”
“Like alcohol or aphrodisiacs?”
She smiled at that, “And here I thought such topics bored you.”
“Nothing you say could bore me,” Jinshi admitted. His honesty earned him a flicker of open surprise. Her pallor had already improved. There was a flush to her cheeks that was decidedly human.
A damp palm pressed to his brow, “Did you hit your head when we fell into the pond?”
Jinshi laughed again, more at himself than with humor. “No,” he said. “What about you? I was the one who knocked us down with my inattention.” She had been looking at something so intently at the water’s edge, murmuring to herself. He had only wanted to get closer to hear her words, perhaps teasingly exchange some banter. Neither of them expected Lady Maomao to suddenly stand and pivot on her heel, colliding with Jinshi’s chest before he could react. His forward momentum and her lurching backwards in surprise lead to the pair of them slipping and tumbling into the shallow end of the pond like a pair of frivolous lovers…and had it been summer, it might have been romantic. They might have laughed off the incident and gone their separate ways to change. Instead they were now here, desperately trying to ignore the fact that one of them could take ill.
“A few scrapes. Nothing I cannot tend to myself.”
“The royal physician—”
“Is not allowed in my rooms.” Lady Maomao’s expression turned dour, like a cat arching its back, ears pinned flat, ready to hiss and swipe at whatever came too close. She grumbled a moment longer before continuing, “You are better off in my care than his. I’d rather you survive this incident.”
“You…would?” Jinshi noted the way she smoothed her features, nose wrinkling just so, lips pursed as if he had said something profoundly idiotic. His insides squirmed and he shivered, a warmth collecting in his naval that was not from the bath itself. He broke her stare. “If this one were to pass, you would be free. Our marriage was unconsummated, you could even return to your family as I doubt they’d leave you confined to a nunnery.”
Lady Maomao shifted, her weight settling on his lap, soft thighs trapping his with startling strength, both hands pressed to his chest as that glare of hers darkened. “Men,” she muttered, an echo of a long ago conversation. Suddenly, she lifted one delicate wrist and—
—flicked him between the eyes.
Jinshi blinked.
“And what of Lady Gyokuyou?”
“Huh?”
“You would leave her to bury a second Imperial Husband without an heir?” Her accusation cut like an unseasonal blizzard through a field of wheat. Jinshi instinctively tried to put distance between them but he was trapped beneath her within the confines of the wooden tub. Water sloshed over the sides, his heart hammered hard enough to make his ribs ache. He bared his teeth but in this moment he was prey at the mercy of a far stronger predator. “Idiot man. I thought you were fond of her.”
“I am!”
“Then why do you not take her to bed?” Jinshi choked as she pressed onward, “Our efforts both have been wasted. I even procured her the best books on bedroom matters so that she could better please our lord husband. The Emperor deserves the best and she was willing to indulge your desires.”
“You w-what?! You gave what to—”
“Now I have come to learn our Emperor would rather end his entire bloodline and risk Li’s ruin!”
“I never said that.”
“It is what you imply when you ask your wife why she would rather you live than die, especially when you have made no attempts to produce an heir.” Her anger was a bright, wrathful flame. She was so composed and demure, carefully keeping her expressions in check, Jinshi never thought she could turn the vivid spite she had for her sire onto him. For the past six months, she was dutiful and unobtrusive, a proud bird trapped in a gilded cage, her passions kept hidden from view and restrained to her Pavillion. When appropriate and to court her favor, he gifted her odd things better suited to an infirmary than a Consort, and he had been able to see flashes of brilliant joy. On occasion, he heard murmurs of her roaming the grounds collecting plants or resolving strange occurrences that the staff bemoaned as hauntings, usually with little fanfare. But her anger…it was glorious.
He should scold her for her audacity. She should be quivering and bowing, begging for his forgiveness. Instead he pulled her to his chest, shaking not from the cold, but with a tumbling roar of emotion. He loved her. How could Jinshi not love this woman?
“...You’re too thin,” Lady Maomao muttered, her fluttering heart pressed to his. Her breath was warm on his neck once more. “You barely come to the rear palace.”
“I’m busy.” A weak excuse. He never wanted this. He was a terrible Emperor.
“You overwork yourself.”
“I do what must be done.”
“...You need proper advisors. Trusted Court Officials. You’ve taken on too much.” She let out a slow breath. “Stress often inhibits desire for intimacy and the ability to achieve completion. This is nothing to be embarrassed about. If you were to visit Lady Gyokuyou more often you would—”
Jinshi had enough. He cut her off, slanting his mouth against hers in a crushing, awkward kiss that was more teeth than not. Lady Maomao stilled for a moment before yanking away. The rejection was suffocating, he had to get out of here, he had to…oh. She wiped a bead of blood from her lip and grabbed his chin, tilting his face to her liking as she initiated the kiss. It was softer, slower, not practiced per se, but far more enjoyable than the frantic clash he started a minute prior. All the tension in his body melted away in her embrace.
Just as he lost all sense of time and reason, she pulled back, a triumphantly feline smirk on her smudged lips. “Should I advise your Precious Consort to have her way with you in the baths, your grace~?” she queried, voice raspy in a way that made him shiver. Jinshi was aware of his body, the way his skin buzzed, and how his blood heated and pooled.
“No.”
She tilted her head at him, “No?”
“...Only you.”
A flush erupted on her face and she pushed herself up, struggling momentarily in his arms, “Don’t be ridiculous. You need an Empress. She would make a fine one for you, which means you need to have a child with her. As I said before, I’m not opposed to your bed or bearing your child, but you should—”
“Surely you know not to tell the Emperor what he should do or what he wants.”
His flat affect only seemed to fluster her further.
Then, the spell seemed to break as she lowered her eyes, and Jinshi’s heart twisted in on itself. He rubbed her back and let his head fall back, gazing up at the ceiling, “I won’t force you. You know this, yes?”
“It is your right as my lord husband to have his wife whenever he desires. It is my duty to bear him children and not question his decisions.”
Jinshi’s stomach roiled. He hated that.
“Do you hate me that much?” A whisper.
“My lord husband is an idiot,” Lady Maomao murmured. “But I do not hate him.” She sniffed. “How could I hate someone who bought me an Ox Bezoar?”
“Am I repulsive to you?”
“The Emperor is the most beautiful man to have walked amongst mortals. He puts the celestial maiden to shame.”
“But you do not desire me.” It wasn’t a question.
She leaned in, kissed his lips with the floating brevity of a butterfly landing upon a flower, “I am not as unaffected as you seem to think.” Lady Maomao then squirmed free, rising to her feet, water sloshing around them. “The water is starting to get cold. Let me help you dress.” She wrung out the ends of her hair with a carelessness unsuited for a lady of her station. “That is unless you changed your mind about consummating our marriage in the bath?”
Her eyes flicked down and Jinshi crossed his legs.
Dark eyes glittered as she laughed and he could not help but stare. Enraptured. A poison could cure or kill, depending on the dose, this was something loving Lady Maomao taught him well. And maybe, perhaps, if he was careful, his apothecary could help him get it right.