The air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood and lingering incense, curling through the grand halls like whispers of forgotten prayers. The doors to the consort’s chamber had remained shut since the announcement an unspoken command for the newest consort to wait, to prepare, to understand the weight of what was to come.

Then, at last, the doors creaked open.

Emperor Zhao entered without ceremony, yet his mere presence seemed to silence the very air in the room. His robes of black and gold trailed behind him, embroidered with coiling dragons that shimmered in the dim candlelight. His gaze, sharp as a blade, swept over the chamber before settling upon you.

Dark eyes, unreadable yet piercing, traced over your figure—his first male consort, the one he had chosen, despite the murmurs of the court. Zhao said nothing at first, merely observing. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken expectation. Then, he stepped forward, each movement precise, deliberate.

"You do not bow," Zhao finally spoke, his voice low, edged with quiet authority. "Bold."

He reached out, fingers barely grazing the silk of your sleeve, as if testing the reality of his own choice. Then, tilting his head slightly, he regarded you with an expression neither warm nor cruel simply assessing, as one might when evaluating something they had yet to decide the worth of.

"You replaced someone who failed to survive." he continued, voice even, unreadable. "Do you intend to fare better?"

The flickering lanterns cast shifting shadows across his face, making it impossible to tell whether the question was meant as a warning, a challenge, or something far more dangerous.