The door shut behind us with a soft click.
Yun Fei stood in the center of the room, back straight, veil still down, hands folded lightly in front of her. She hadn't spoken once since we left the banquet. Her composure hadn't cracked for even a moment.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You're calm for someone who just married a stranger."
She turned her head slightly—just enough for me to catch the faint curve of her lips beneath the veil. "I wasn't expecting chaos. You don't seem like the type to throw things."
"Not unless provoked." I stepped forward slowly. "Then again, you look like someone who knows how to provoke without raising your voice."
"And you seem like someone who talks too much when he's nervous."
I grinned. "It's charming, isn't it?"
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she removed the veil, folded it neatly, and placed it on a lacquered stand beside the bed. Her expression remained composed, but her eyes—sharp and alert—never stopped watching me.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"Good surprise or bad?"
"Too early to tell."
I laughed quietly and moved to pour tea. "So, Lady Yun Fei. What were you expecting from a political marriage to a Ye brat?"
She took the cup when I handed it over. "A simple transaction. A calm life, distance from my clan's politics, and a husband who wouldn't ask too many questions."
"Then I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. I'm curious by nature and plan to ask plenty."
She raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"I heard you chose this marriage yourself. Why?"
She smiled slightly. "I could ask you the same. Why would a rising star like you agree to a political marriage?"
I looked into her teal eyes. "Your eyes are really beautiful. And since I asked first, you should answer first."
"Don't you already know?"
There it was—that flash of calculation in her voice. Quick, subtle. Most would miss it. I didn't. I respected it.
"I'd rather hear it from you."
She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing whether to bother. "Is it important?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"And what is it you want from this marriage? Truly."
"Companionship. Kids, maybe. Love, maybe more."
She studied me for a moment, then glanced down at her tea.
"You're direct. That's useful."
"Useful's a start. A handsome one."
This time, she smiled—brief, subtle, but real.
She stood and walked toward the screen dividing the room. "I didn't choose this marriage lightly, Ye Changsheng. I arranged it to escape my clan's succession struggle. That doesn't mean I plan to be invisible."
"That's a very good reason."
Yun Fei walked toward the bed with that same unreadable grace, her robe whispering over the floor. She paused at the edge, hands slipping to her sash.
"You're still watching," she said, not turning.
"Of course I am." I stepped closer. "Would be a shame to miss the art in motion."
She didn't laugh, but I caught the faint twitch at the corner of her lips. The sash loosened.
"You've seen paintings, I'm sure."
"None with a heartbeat."
I came up behind her, letting my fingers graze her bare shoulders—lightly, respectfully, testing her boundaries. She didn't pull away.
Her skin was warm beneath my hands. Smooth. Controlled. Even now, she was holding back.
"I can't tell if you're trying to seduce me or study me," she said quietly.
"Can't I do both?"
Her robe slipped lower.
"You're bold."
"Only when I think it's worth it."
She turned her head, lips near my jaw. "And am I?"
"You're the most worthwhile trouble I've ever walked into."
I kissed her neck, slowly. She exhaled—steady, but not unaffected. Her fingers found the hem of my outer robe and pushed it off with surprising certainty.
"If this marriage is going to work," she said, "we should at least enjoy its benefits."
"I was just about to suggest the same."
I pulled her to the bed. She didn't resist. In fact, she pulled me down with her.
Her mouth tasted faintly of wine, sweet and heady. The way she kissed—measured at first, then impatient—told me exactly what kind of woman she was.
Strategist by day. Fire beneath the surface.
I didn't mind being burned.
She tugged at my belt. I answered by sliding her robe from her shoulders.
"I thought you'd be more reserved," I muttered against her skin.
"I thought you'd be more polite."
"I am being polite."
She bit my lip, not hard—but enough to make a point. "Try harder."
There was no more teasing after that—only heat, breath, motion. We moved like rivals testing each other, learning bodies as if they were battlefield maps.
The candles flickered as fabric pooled on the floor. Her nails scraped down my back. She gasped once, then smiled again, that same calculating smile—but now, entirely undone.
This wasn't duty.
It was ignition.
By the time the candles burned halfway down, we weren't two clans negotiating an alliance. We were two people who had just staked a claim—messy, physical, and real.
And for the first time that day, she didn't feel like a stranger.