Prologue:— Battlefield or after battlefield?

The battlefield stretched endlessly beneath a sky choked with smoke and iron-colored clouds.

Steel clashed against steel. Horses screamed. Flags of Xu and Zhao tore through the wind like broken wings refusing to fall.

Across the shattered plains stood their enemies, Duke Yan’s forces and the Prime Minister’s army pressing forward like a tide that refused to retreat.

This was not just war.

This was the end of something.

Or the beginning of ruins of Yan clan.

Xu Yuexin stood amidst the chaos, her armor already stained of blood, her breathing steady despite the situation around her. Her fan was gone, replaced by a blade that did not suit her delicate appearance, yet moved with deadly precision in her hand.

Not far from her, Zhao Yanzhou cut through enemies like silence given form. Calm. Controlled. Relentless.

Even in war, he never looked disordered.

But then

A sudden shift in the battlefield.

Zhao Yanzhou’s gaze snapped toward her.

Through the noise, through blood and steel, his voice reached his most skilled commrant sharp and absolute.

“Zhao Feng.”

A man moved instantly at his command. His most trusted commander.

Zhao Yanzhou didn’t look away from Yuexin as he spoke again, his voice low but firm.

“Take the Marchioness back.”

The man obeyed him instantly.

Zhao Yanzhou called out for her, "Marchioness!" She moved towards them.

"Go back!" His voice cut through.

Yuexin’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?” she stepped closer through the chaos. “I can fight alongside—”

“Do it.”

His tone cut through hers like a blade.

Then, softer but heavier.

“Just this once… for me. Understand?”

A pause.

The world around them roared.

But between them, there was only silence.

His gaze locked onto hers.

“And don’t,” he added quietly, “not even once… turn back.”

Something tightened in her chest.

She hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then she nodded.

“…Fine.”

And she left.

Ling Feng escorted her out of the battlefield as ordered.

Behind her, the war continued raging but she did not turn back. Not once.

By the time she reached the imperial palace, the sky had already begun to darken.

Reports were exchanged. Orders were given. The emperor’s expression remained unreadable as he listened in silence.

“Stay at the Manor. Do what Marquis' told you to.” was all he said to her.

Stay at the Manor.'

As if she could.

The mansion of Zhao stood quiet when she returned.

Too quiet.

Like the world had forgotten how to breathe.

She changed out of her battle armor into a pale, delicate robe that felt wrong on her skin. Her hands, once steady on the battlefield, now trembled faintly as she sat alone in the vast silence.

Time passed without meaning.

And then her thoughts began to unravel.

"Why did he send me back?"

"Was I… in the way?"

"No… that’s not like him."

Her fingers curled slightly.

"He wouldn’t die. Right?"

But the silence did not answer her.

One hour passed then

two hours then three hours.

Afternoon turned into evening.

And evening turned into night.

Night fell.

The mansion doors finally opened.

Footsteps.

Then more.

Three of Zhao Yanzhou’s commanders entered.

She rose immediately.

“Where is your master?”

Silence.

The men lowered their heads.

Something inside her shifted.

“Tell me,” her voice sharpened. “Where is he?”

One of them finally spoke.

“The battle ended… but we couldn’t find him.”

A pause.

“…We fear he may have fallen on the battlefield. Or been lost. Even if alive his injuries…”

The rest was left unspoken.

Because it didn’t need to be.

Her breath stopped.

Then slowly, she nodded.

“…You may leave.”

The commanders obeyed.

And the mansion returned to silence.

Only then did her strength break.

Her knees gave out.

She collapsed onto the cold floor.

Her voice cracked into the empty hall.

“I shouldn’t have left…”

A shaky breath.

“He knew… I wouldn’t survive there, didn’t he?”

Her fingers pressed against her chest as if trying to hold something together that was already falling apart.

And for the first time—

Xu Yuexin cried without restraint.

Alone.

Helpless.

The doors opened again.

This time—no sound was announced.

No warning.

Just presence.

She looked up through blurred vision.

And froze.

Zhao Yanzhou stood there.

Barely.

Covered in blood and dust, his armor cracked, his posture unstable.

But he was standing.

Alive.

“Yanzhou…?”

Her voice broke.

She rush towards him. Just then his strength gave out.

He fell forward.

Straight into her arms.

She caught him instantly.

Her arms locked around his neck, holding him tightly like if she loosened even slightly, he would disappear again.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Only breathing.

Then she pulled back slightly, tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Your body is so cold....Are you conscious?” she whispered. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

She raised three fingers.

He blinked slowly.

Then, even in that state he smiled faintly.

“Three fingers of my… beautiful wife”

A pause.

Then—

A light hit to his chest from her trembling hand.

“You… still dare to joke at a time like this?”

But her voice broke at the end.

And she held him tighter.

That night, she did not leave his side.

She cleaned his wounds.

Changed the bandages.

Applied medicine with hands that refused to stop shaking.

Only when exhaustion finally claimed her did she fall asleep beside him, her fingers still loosely holding his hand.

Dawn came.

He woke first.

Completely conscious. Almost fully healed.

And for the first time, noticed everything.

The bandages. The medicine bowls. The blood-soaked cloths carefully replaced.

And her—

Swollen eyes. Exhaustion. Tired.

Understanding hit him slowly.

Lost in admiration.

He had just slightly moved his finger.

She stirred.

Then immediately sat up.

“Don’t move,” she said quickly. “The bandages still need changing.”

She tried to stand—

But was pulled back.

In a single motion, the world shifted.

She found herself on the bed.

And him above her.

Too close.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone remained calm.

“I don’t remember this being appropriate, Your Lordship.”

He didn’t move away.

Instead—

“Neither do I,” he replied evenly.

A pause.

Then his gaze deepened slightly.

“But Mrs Zhao… you did say I can do anything.”

A faint smile.

“…after marriage.”

She exhaled softly.

“You’re really shameless.”

“Because of you,” he said simply.

A silence settled between them.

Heavy. Familiar. Unspoken.

Then—

He leaned in bit gently at her neck.

Not cruel. Not violent.

Just deliberate. Intentional.

A mark of presence rather than pain.

She didn’t move.

Not because she couldn’t—

But because she knew resisting would only make it worse.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, breath warm against her skin.

“Just this once,” he murmured.

“My lady.”

He kissed the same place he bit softly, lingering longer this time.

Her fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder.

Her breath unsteady, but her voice still controlled.

“…You’re the one who started it.”

A pause.

Then she shifted, turning the moment back on him.

Her arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer.

Her lips brushed near his ear as she spoke softly:

“Endure it yourself, my lord.”

And then—

She bit him back.

Not violently. Not recklessly.

But enough to leave a clear, intentional mark of her own.

For the first time—

His breath hitched.

His grip on her waist tightened instinctively.

And the silence between them changed.

Not into words.

But into something neither war nor politics could easily undo.

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