The heavy velvet curtains of the bedchamber were drawn shut against the chill of the autumn night, trapping only the soft, amber glow of the oil lamps inside the quiet room.
Wen Yu sat on the edge of the mahogany writing desk, staring intently at his own fingernails as if they held the deepest secrets of the universe. His silk outer robes had long since been discarded, leaving him in a loose, comfortable under-tunic that felt infinitely better than the armor-like formal wear of the daytime, but a cold sweat was currently tracing a slow, agonizing path down the back of his neck. Across the room, Xie Yan stood by the open window, looking out over the moonlit courtyard with his heavy hair unpinned, letting dark strands fall loosely over his broad shoulders as his calloused thumb slowly traced the rim of a jade teacup.
Silence stretched between them—thick, heavy, and pregnant with imminent cross-examination.
[He’s going to ask about the military code clause!] Wen Yu chanted frantically inside his head, his hands clenching into tight little fists over the linen of his lap. [What kind of lowly kitchen servant casually quotes section forty-two of the imperial defense act while executing a physics-defying catch with a spinning tray?! I completely blew my cover! He’s going to look at me, realize I’m an impostor, and hand me over to the Ministry of Rites by sunrise!]
"Clause forty-two of the imperial military and household code," Xie Yan finally spoke, his deep voice cutting smoothly through the quiet room as he kept his gaze fixed on the dark shadows of the garden below. "An obscure administrative rule regarding visitor footing and garrison discipline... one that hasn’t been cited in an active court proceeding in over forty years."
Wen Yu’s heart slammed violently against his ribs as he forced a weak, high-pitched laugh, clutching his chest with trembling fingers. "Ah, well, you know how it is, General!" he squeaked out, leaning heavily into his most pathetic, wide-eyed performance. "An inquisitive mind wanders when one is stuck dusting the upper shelves of the estate! I... I was simply cleaning the restricted archives late at night, and my eyes happened to scan that exact line! It stuck in my memory because the calligraphy was so terribly neat!"
Xie Yan slowly turned around, leaning his hips back against the wooden window frame with a faint, dangerous smirk curving the corner of his lips. "The restricted archives," he repeated, his voice laced with a thick, velvety irony. "The ones protected by double-locked bronze seals, magical wards, and guarded by senior veterans who haven’t let a servant near the rare manuscripts since the previous Emperor’s reign?"
The color drained entirely from Wen Yu’s face.
[Ah. Right. The archives are classified military property,] he realized with a sinking wave of horror. [Good job, Wen Yu! You just told a four-star general that you broke into top-secret government databases with a feather duster!]
"I... um..." Wen Yu stammered, his brain short-circuiting as he scrambled for a backup lie to save his skin. "I’m very persuasive with brooms? The brooms have a way of... sneaking past wards?"
"Brooms," Xie Yan murmured, a low, rich chuckle vibrating in his chest as he pushed off the window frame and began walking slowly across the room. The clean, sharp scent of mountain pine closed in around Wen Yu like a tide. "Magic brooms that somehow taught you momentum physics, advanced legal rhetoric, and how to catch flying porcelain with the reflexes of a battlefield veteran?"
Wen Yu shrank back against the desk, his back hitting the carved wood as the towering alpha stopped just two paces away. "I swear on my ancestors, General," he whispered, looking up with wide, terrified eyes that were desperately trying to convey innocent devotion. "I am just a simple, unrefined soul who happens to have a very strange memory! I didn’t mean to pry into military secrets, so if you must punish me, please don’t send me back to the scullery... the harsh lye soap completely ruined my hands!"
Deep behind his cool, unreadable exterior, Xie Yan listened to the absolute, chaotic comedy of errors playing out inside his husband’s head.
[Please don’t execute me, please don’t execute me!] Wen Yu’s frantic inner voice was screaming, looping over and over like a broken record. [He’s too handsome to be a murderer, but he’s also a terrifying alpha warlord who eats political enemies for breakfast! Oh god, if I die here, who is going to finish writing my webnovel Chapters?!]
Xie Yan fought down a grin, keeping his expression carefully masked in stern authority so the omega would never suspect the mental bridge between them. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers stopping just under Wen Yu’s chin, lifting the smaller man’s face up so he had no choice but to meet the general’s intense gaze.
"You think I would punish you for having a sharp mind?" Xie Yan asked softly, his thumb lightly brushing against Wen Yu’s jawline.
Wen Yu froze, his breath catching in his throat as the casual, intimate gesture sent an electric shock straight down his spine. "You... you aren’t going to interrogate me?"
"Interrogate you?" Xie Yan repeated, his voice dropping into a low, teasing murmur as he leaned in closer. "When you spent the entire afternoon running circles around Marquise Hanyang while pouring tea like an imperial court master? Why would I want to silence the most entertaining person in the entire capital?"
Wen Yu’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, his mouth opening and closing in utter disbelief.
[Wait. He thinks I’m entertaining?! He’s not buying the innocent act at all, but he’s choosing to play along?!]
"You..." Wen Yu choked out, his face burning bright crimson as he slapped his hands over his cheeks. "You think I’m amusing?!"
"Infinitely," Xie Yan replied smoothly, his gaze dropping to Wen Yu’s flushed lips before rising back to his wide, panicked eyes as he stepped even closer, effectively trapping Wen Yu against the desk. "The capital is full of obedient, perfectly boring companions who faint at the drop of a pin and recite poetry written by dead men. None of them have ever looked at my courtyard decor and mentally compared it to a medieval dungeon."
Wen Yu let out a mortified squeak, his hands flying away from his face in pure embarrassment.
[Did I think that out loud too?! How does he keep guessing my exact thoughts?! Is he a psychic?! No, focus, Wen Yu—he’s just psychoanalyzing your body language like a seasoned military detective!]
"I would never criticize your interior design, sir," Wen Yu mumbled weakly, staring fixedly at the silver collar-pins of Xie Yan’s tunic to avoid the terrifying, magnetic pull of the general’s eyes. "My aesthetic opinions are... strictly provincial."
"Keep telling yourself that," Xie Yan whispered, his breath warm against Wen Yu’s ear as he leaned down, the heavy pine scent wrapping around them like an embrace that made Wen Yu’s head spin. "Though if you are going to continue running military strategy circles around high-society matrons, you will need a much better cover story than rogue brooms."
Wen Yu swallowed hard, his heart hammering a frantic, breathless rhythm against his ribs as he looked up, finding a dangerous, intoxicating mix of amusement and fierce protectiveness shining in the general’s dark eyes. "And if I don’t?" he whispered, his voice losing its trembling act entirely, replaced by a soft, genuine curiosity.
Xie Yan’s smile deepened, a rare, breathtaking expression that made the cold, ruthless warlord look devastatingly human as his hand slid from Wen Yu’s chin to rest firmly against the small of his back, pulling him just a fraction closer. "Then I suppose," Xie Yan murmured, his lips hovering dangerously close to the omega’s skin, "I will simply have to keep protecting my brilliantly chaotic partner from his own cleverness."