The Imperial Hall floated in the smoke of sandalwood incense like a huge brazier. Scarlet silk canvases with embroidered golden phoenixes hung on the walls, a symbol of female power. The guests, dressed in black and silver, were silent, as if spellbound. Today wasn't just a wedding, today the Xiahou clan was sealing an alliance with the third princess, and everyone here knew that this was a battle disguised as a celebration.

Feiyue stood at the altar, feeling the starched collar of his formal robe dig into his neck. His green hair, tied tightly with a jade hairpin, pulled at his skin so that his eyes watered. My mother chose this style herself: "Let everyone see that you are the jewel in the frame of our family." The jewel. Cold, soulless, like a statuette on a shelf.

The sound of trumpets announced her arrival. She entered, and the audience gasped. Her dress, woven of night and blood, flowed down the steps, and in her hair burned twelve dagger pins, a gift from the rebellious provinces. But Feiyue only saw her eyes: blue, like the ice of Lake Xihu, where his mother threw him to "cool his temper."

"Kneel down,— Xiahou Lin whispered behind him.

He fell to his knees so abruptly that the rice bowls clattered loudly. The ritual required the bride to walk around the groom three times, assessing the "quality of the goods." Her shadow moved across him, first to the left, then to the right, the scent of ginger and steel.

— Get up, — her voice struck like a whip.

He stood up without looking up. A silk cord the color of blood entangled their wrists, a symbol of the bonds that cannot be broken now. The Empress-Mother had blessed their union, and now their hands were free again. The servants brought the bowls. According to custom, the groom should take three sips first, demonstrating submission. Feiyue picked up the vessel with trembling hands.