Chapter Text
Your life changed the moment Rafayel elected you to be his personal servant.
A lowly peasant girl of common blood lifted out of poverty and into the sweeping glamour of the royal palace to serve the Emperor’s favoured concubine. It was a fate most could only dream of achieving.
Even to this day, you aren’t exactly sure why Rafayel picked you out of the throngs of girls vying for your position. Maybe luck had smiled on you on that fateful day. Nevertheless, you’d lay down your life for him if he asked. For Rafayel had taught you how to read and write, gave you a life where you never had to go to bed hungry, and ensured that you always had enough gold to feed your siblings back home.
In the months you’ve served Rafayel, you have grown accustomed to his often extravagant requests. They ranged from jade hairpins and expensive oils to keep his long, beautiful hair free from tangles and an almost dizzying assortment of creams imported from all corners of the empire to keep his skin softer than silk.
Yet, sometimes, he’d ask you to carry messages hidden in the careful stitches of your robes. Little parchments of rice paper filled with coded messages you didn’t dare sneak a peek at or even decipher.
One too many times, you’ve left these papers under a loose stone in the palace gardens or slipped them under the door of a minor provincial governor whose name you couldn’t remember. It was easy to slip in and out of one place when you were a lowly servant. One too many times, you’ve seen Rafayel toss papers filled with ink carelessly into the fire he keeps alight in his chambers before he turns to you and asks you to ‘run along and fetch more firewood, will you?’
You had a sneaking suspicion that he was testing you each time he ordered you to carry out these little errands. Just how much could he ask of you until you went running to the Emperor about how his favorite concubine was sneaking messages around?
Nevertheless, you owed Rafayel far too much to betray him. It was much easier to nod along and pretend that you had no idea what your master was doing behind the empire’s back.
Tonight is surprisingly peaceful. You hum quietly as you gently comb through your master’s hair with the jade comb the emperor had personally gifted him. You’ve learned quickly that Rafayel is extremely picky with how his hair is treated. In fact, you’re the only person allowed to touch his hair freely (aside from the Emperor, you presume).
With practiced ease, you dip clean fingers into the bottle of fragranced oil next to you and run your fingers through the ends of his hair to keep them moisturised. Too much, and Rafayel would complain of how his hair felt greasy enough to fry a fish the next day.
“Would you like to keep it up tonight, Master Qi?” you ask, meeting his bright gaze through the polished slate of copper that serves as a mirror.
“His Imperial Majesty has requested it to be down tonight,” Rafayel replies, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You try your best not to linger on what sounds like the faintest hint of resentment that bites at the edge of his sharp tongue. The Emperor has ears even in the walls of the palace; it would do you both no favours to add on further.
You nod obediently, fetching a red ribbon from his bedside. “How about this colour? It complements your eyes,” you suggest.
Rafayel’s smile grows mischievous. “Have you been looking into my eyes?” he asks with a playful lilt.
Against yourself, you feel your ears warm. “It’s hard not to notice the striking colour of your eyes, Master Qi. The servants often talk about your beauty during their breaks,” you reply truthfully. It would be pointless to lie in front of his perceptive nature.
Indeed, even the best court painters hailing from every corner of the empire could never capture the sheer brilliance that shone in Rafayel’s eyes on paper nor his otherworldly beauty. Crimson swathed in strokes of ocean blue so deep you often felt like you might drown if you looked in them for too long. Paired with his youthful face and sweeping violet hair, it was no wonder that the Emperor favoured Rafayel so much.
In fact, ever since the Empress passed away, rumours have swirled that the Emperor was so enamoured with Rafayel that he refused to remarry even though the throne remained without an heir.
Rafayel leans back in his seat with a languid grace that only he possesses. Chin slightly tilted upward to expose the elegant line of his throat, he lets you gather his hair together as you wind the silk ribbon around it into a low ponytail with practiced ease.
“What about you, do you boast about your Master’s beauty in these gossip sessions? Tell them how I’m even more stunning up close?” he teases without shame. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Well, I have refused quite a few food bribes from them to switch places with me,” you reply, fighting back a smile.
He shifts subtly under you, his head angling back just enough for his temple to brush your wrist, whether by accident or not, you can’t be sure. His voice lowers, teasing but gentler now. “And did you tell them how I let you touch me whenever you like? How warm my skin feels?”
It is a miracle you manage to keep your composure when Rafayel gets into these moods. You pull the final loop of the ribbon into a delicate butterfly knot that rests neatly against the nape of his neck. “You don’t let me, Master Qi,” you murmur, “You demand it from me.”
Rafayel laughed. The kind of sound that settles low in your chest and makes your fingertips tingle. “Ah, but you never complain.”
Despite Rafayel’s status and elegance, he seemed determined to destroy invisible societal barriers that separate the two of you. In his chambers, he’d confide in you and joke around with the ease of an old friend you’ve known forever.
Sometimes, Rafayel looked at you like the both of you were the only people in this cruel world. An intimacy that both warms and unnerves you. Because beneath his rosy beauty, behind the soft pink flush of his cheeks and the gentle curve of his mouth coils a danger. When the room grows hushed, a glimmer of something cold and ancient peeks through his flawless surface. It slips through the cracks of his porcelain skin. An instinctual warning that behind his careless jokes lies a man whom you’d never truly understand.
“Good.” Rafayel rises to his feet, glancing at the mirror as he does to admire your handiwork. “I wouldn’t want some random stranger to lay their dirty hands on me anyway. I would have their hands–”
A low gong interrupts Rafayel’s next words as both of your eyes promptly widen in a mixture of recognition and surprise. “The Imperial Emperor approaches. All pay your respects!” The sound is quickly followed by a familiar announcement, signalling the presence of the Emperor.
Immediately, you scurry to gather the countless bottles and containers scattered across the table, hoping to clear them away before the Emperor enters Rafayel’s bedchambers.
You’re halfway there when Rafayel’s sharp voice barks at you. “Stop that!” It’s the first time you’ve seen your Master so frazzled. “Just leave them alone and get out the back door!” he all but snaps with his shoulders drawn back stiffly.
Before you can move, the doors to his chambers swing open and you hastily drop to your knees into a deep kneel, pressing your forehead against the back of your hands on the mat. You feel the Emperor’s presence like a thick cloud of imposing smoke as the wooden door scrapes open further against the floor.
Heavy footsteps pad across the floor. With your eyes glued to the floor, you can only hear the rustle of fabric as Rafayel rushes to greet the Emperor. “Your Imperial Majesty, you’re early today,” he sings in a voice like warm golden honey oozing off the edge of a blade. “Though I am glad to be in your presence, I was not prepared for your arrival. Please forgive me for the state of my chambers.”
The Emperor’s deep voice sounds like stone grating against stone. “My matters wrapped up early today.”
You dare not look up, keeping your gaze trained on the floor as the Emperor’s footsteps draw closer. The distinct smell of smoke grows so thick you feel your eyes water. “Who is this?” you hear him ask.
You take his question as a sign to raise your head slightly, though you keep your eyes trained firmly on the bottom hem of the Emperor’s dazzling gold robes. “I humbly greet Your Imperial Majesty,” you utter.
Your view of the Emperor’s robes is soon replaced by Rafayel’s as the latter takes a graceful step in front of you.
“One of my many personal maids, Your Majesty.” You can hear your Master’s bewitching smile in his voice. “She was simply here to help me get ready for you.”
“I see,” the Emperor replies. He almost sounds bored. “You have my permission to raise your head.”
It takes you a beat to realize that the Emperor is talking to you. Commanding you.
Quickly, you raise your head, trying your best to avoid eye contact with the Emperor, though it’s hard to avoid him for long when he practically towers over you. Even when standing behind Rafayel, the Emperor is an imposing pillar of salt and stone that commands your full attention.
His silver-streaked hair is tied back in typical military fashion, an homage to his background as the Empire’s most skilled General through sheer strength and battle cunningness. A single bold letter - 龙, is embroidered onto the chest of his robes in black so it stands starkly against the gold background. The draconic symbol of the Emperor’s divine authority and imperial order.
You’ve never seen the Emperor so close before. Close enough that you can see his stern eyes and thin lips twisted down into a scowl.
“Let’s send her along her way now,” Rafayel chimes in, taking a step closer to the Emperor until his face is effectively blocked from your view. His voice sounds oddly sharp in your ears. It lacks Rafayel’s usual easy charm. “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”
The Emperor’s empty gaze slides from you to Rafayel. Your skin crawls when you notice a sickening glint of greed alight within them. There’s a tense beat of silence before he nods. “Begone now,” he tells you.
You don’t need to be spoken to twice. Springing to your feet, you bow. Once at Rafayel, and a second time a deeper bow to the Emperor before you scurry out the door and into the cool night air, trying to ignore the weight of the Emperor’s gaze that hangs heavily against your shoulders.
—
Rafayel doesn’t tell you to send notes for him anymore.
The revelation leaves you equal parts relieved and disappointed. Relieved in the fact that your Master is (hopefully) not engaged in some form of… treason against the empire. Disappointed in the fact that your Master might not trust you as much anymore.
He’d also changed since the night you met the Emperor. Nothing loud or obvious, but in all the quiet places you knew by heart. Master Qi doesn’t smile as easily as he does, doesn’t make the same witty jokes. His laughter grew scarce, and his silences even longer.
Currently, Rafayel has his head in your lap as you massage one of his many expensive creams, probably worth more than your own life, onto his face.
“Master Qi, you should close your eyes in case the ointment gets into your eyes. It will sting,” you tell him gently, fingers resting against the smooth side of his cheek softened by years of luxury and ritual.
Rafayel’s long lashes flutter, one of his many enviable traits, sweeping down his haughty cheekbones as he seems to consider your request.
Though he simply shakes his head stubbornly. “Don’t worry, just carry on with the application,” he replies.
Unable to refute, you simply continued with your task as you rubbed meticulous circles across Rafayel’s soft skin. Cheek, jaw, forehead, making sure that the cream covered an even coating across the planes of his face.
He was being unusually quiet. No smirk. No sly comment.
Having worked for Master Qi for so long, it was easy for you to ignore the way his eyes were fixed intensely on you the entire time and the warmth of his body pressed against yours in such a position many would have found scandalous, especially between Master and servant.
Perhaps a lesser servant would have buckled under the intensity of his gaze, but you simply hummed under your breath, finishing the process as efficiently as possible.
“All done, Master Qi.” You beam down at him. “Would you like a scalp massage tonight to help you sleep?”
You pointedly refuse to ask why the dark circles under his eyes were getting increasingly prominent.
It catches you by surprise when Rafayel doesn’t reply. Instead, he pushes himself to a sitting position, forcing you to look up to him.
“Would you like to try?” he asks quietly. So quietly, you fear you may have misheard.
“I’m sorry, Master Qi. I don’t quite follow.” Blinking questioningly at him, you tilt your head in confusion. “Try what?”
Deft fingers pick up the jar of cream you’d left open sitting by the bedside before holding it up. “This,” Rafayel replies simply.
You shake your head. “Oh, I can’t possibly—“
He cuts you off before you can finish, “I insist, cutie. You can’t possibly deny your poor Master, can you?”
“But…” Your voice trails off into hesitant silence as you look away, unable to meet Rafayel’s eyes. “It’s unbefitting for someone of my status to use my Master’s property.”
Rafayel seems to disregard your words entirely because a gentle hand cups your chin, his fingers warm and steady as he coaxes your face around so you’re facing him.
“Consider this an order,” he tells you with a smile.
What choice did you have but to obey?
He dips a finger into the cream before spreading it across your cheek, his smile growing wider when you remain still under his hands. The cool touch of Rafayel’s finger on your skin makes you flinch a little in shock, but Rafayel simply tightens his hold around your face to keep you in place.
“I’m almost jealous,” Rafayel muses, skating his lingering thumb across your cheek, light yet filled with unspoken yearning. “Your skin is almost as smooth as mine even without all these products.” You try your best not to tremble when Rafayel brushes beneath your eyes, along the slope of your nose, and finally your parted lips the same way an artist would with their proudest work.
For some reason, you dare not breathe too loudly. A silly fear that any disturbance would shatter this fragile moment. “You jest, Master Qi.”
“You should know by now that I never jest when it comes to you.”
Heart pounding in your ears, you can only look away, unsure of what to say in response to his words.
There is the soft rustle of clothes and the warm puff of air against your ear when Rafayel leans closer. “Won’t you look at me?” he whispers, “Have you forgotten my very first lesson?”
It felt like eons ago when you first knelt before his feet. Your hair unkempt, with your bones peeking sharply through your gaunt skin. Simply being near his poised presence felt like you were soiling it with your dirty, greedy fingers.
You kept your gaze low and dared not look above the line of his aristocratic nose. You would also stumble through your clumsy manner of speech like they might offend him by simply existing.
Nevertheless, Rafayel was quick to rid you of that habit. Whenever he caught your eyes dropping or your voice faltering, he would lower himself to your level until your eyes were forced to meet his.
And every time he did, it unraveled you a little more.
It was an act that felt wildly ill-fitted, almost sacrilegious that this figure carved from elegance and power would stoop to meet the gaze of someone as small as you. It left you breathless in a way no cruelty ever had.
Gathering the last strands of your courage, you brought your gaze back up to meet Rafayel’s and feel your breath hitch in your dry throat.
He looked just as lovely as the day you met him. So lovely that it sometimes pained you to look at him for too long.
When Rafayel’s fingers creep hesitantly towards yours, something mad within you must have compelled you to hold them in yours like a helplessly bewitched sailor drawn to the haunting melody of a siren’s song.
This is treason. My family will be killed, you think, but the dim thought feels oddly muffled. The Emperor would have you both beheaded- flayed, should anyone even glimpse at the way Rafayel leans in so carefully. His breath mingles with yours. You think you’re both breathing, maybe barely, your hearts beating between the both of you so close that you swear you can hear them move in sync. The four walls of the room seemed to disappear until all you could feel was him, everywhere, filling everything.
The empire, the weight of your position vanishes. There is only Rafayel, who looks at you in such a hushed way that it makes your bleeding heart ache within your chest.
“Master Qi,” you manage, “Please.” You aren’t even sure what you’re begging for.
“Rafayel,” he whispers pleadingly, nose bumping against yours. “Say my name. Just once, I want to hear it from your pretty lips. I’ll get on my knees and beg if that's what it takes.” He squeezes your hand in his.
“R-Rafayel,” you whisper back. The syllables of his name feels awkward and heavy in your mouth, but Rafayel groans, a low sinful sound that rumbles the back of his throat before he closes the distance between the both of you to meet your lips with his.
Unsurprisingly, Rafayel’s lips are softer than his skin. Soft and gentle, like the first snowfall you remembered as a child. A soft whimper escapes your mouth when Rafayel parts your lips with his. The faint sweetness of exotic fruits he’d consumed earlier explodes in your mouth as Rafayel’s broad hand presses against the back of your head to pull you closer. Your tongue fumbles awkwardly with his, your inexperience shining through.
Rafayel chuckles, drawing back a moment to give you room to breathe. Both of you are panting, your lips shiny and swollen. He blinks at that sight, pupils blown so wide apart that there’s only a pale ring of blue around them.
Without warning, Rafayel kisses you again. It’s a little messier this time, less sweet, less controlled and more hungry. His grip around your hair tightens and you can’t help but whine in response, slightly taken aback by his ravenous nature. The delicious escalation of his body on yours was dizzying, almost addictive. Wanting to chase it, you slid your hands around his back, across the length of his taunt shoulders. Places you’re no stranger to each time you dressed him but this time, felt oddly foreign.
Rafayel visibly shudders under your touch. Breaking away, he rests his forehead on yours as you both stared at each other, chests heaving and gasping. Gradually, the room seeped back into your consciousness– the flicker of candlelight on the table, a faint tinge of herbal smoke drifting from the dying embers of an incense.
Before you can say anything, Rafayel presses a kiss against your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he utters hoarsely, voice thick with an emotion you can’t comprehend.
Treason. The word hangs heavily in the air but not between the space of both your bodies when Rafayel gathers you in his arms, unwilling to face reality and desperate to deny the bitter truth. You know what he’s sorry for. He doesn’t say it. But you feel the desperation lining his body when he holds you far too tightly.
For you were doomed should anyone find out. You would be beheaded without a trial with your family alongside you for daring to covet the Emperor’s property. Even your family name would be wiped clean off the pages of the registry.
Inhaling shakily, you forced yourself to peel your hands off him, though your treacherous fingers linger for just a moment too long. A thousand emotions raged within you, clawing greedily at your throat. Fear. Confusion. Longing. You couldn’t bear to look at Rafayel lest these emotions burst through like a dam.
Instead, you give Rafayel a shaky smile, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears beading at the edge of your eyes. “Don’t be, Master Qi.” The formality slices through him like a blade. You see it in the way a muscle in his jaw tenses, the flicker of hurt flashing across his face before he schools it back into neutrality. “I should go,” you tell him, your voice barely steady, “The Emperor is due to arrive soon.”
Rafayel opens his mouth, as if to speak, to beg, but changes his mind. Rather, he settles for a stiff nod as you quickly slide off the bed, giving him a tense bow. The entire time, you refused to let your eyes meet his.
By the time the door closes behind you, it’s like you were never there. And the silence Rafayel is left with feels absolutely suffocating.
Your footsteps echoed loudly off the floor, but you didn’t dare look back. You were sure that if you pressed your trembling fingers to your lips, you could still feel your Master’s warmth clinging to them. Pressing a hand to your chest, you prayed to the Heavens watching to still the frantic rhythm of your heart.
You’re halfway back to your chambers, just about to cross the military wing of the palace when you stop cold in your tracks.
The Emperor.
Standing at the entrance of the military complex, draped in layers of deep crimson and gold. The moonlight catches on the edges of his robes, and you realize that he’s watching you. Not in passing nor in surprise.
He was already watching you the moment you turned the corner.
You drop to your knees so fast it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. “Your Imperial Majesty,” you greet thinly, barely audible. Usually, you’d keep your head bowed and remain in place until he passed. But now that he’d looked directly at you…
He says nothing at first. The imposing silence coils tightly around your spine, almost like it’s about to suffocate you in the process. Even the ministers surrounding him have fallen quiet as they wait for the Emperor’s next move with bated breath.
Then came his voice. As grating and heavy as the first time you heard him speak in Rafayel’s chambers. “I remember you.”
Your pulse kicks to a frenzy in your throat. All of a sudden, the hem of his robe brushes against your trembling fingers. You try to steady your palms against the floor, but it’s futile. You hadn’t even heard him move. “It is an honour that a humble servant like myself has earned his Imperial Majesty’s recognition. I am unworthy of that honour.” Your eyes are beginning to sting with the effort it takes not to cower.
“Is that so?” The Emperor sounds mildly amused.
The Emperor lingers for a moment. The only thing you can hear clearly is the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. “You are all dismissed,” he says, and you can only presume that the rush of frenzied footsteps fading into the distance are the group of ministers scurrying away into the shadows.
“Rise.” Slowly, you lift your forehead off the ground. Against your wishes, his eyes are the first thing you see despite the grand opulence of jade and gold that drips off his figure. They were dark and unreadable, almost as if they were peeling the secrets off your skin. Like he already knows where you’ve been or who you’ve touched.
Don’t be ridiculous, you think shakily.
“Walk with me,” he tells you, already spinning on his heel. Immediately, you scramble to your feet to chase after his broad strides. “You were coming from the West. From Rafayel’s chambers, I presume?”
In haste, you almost trip over your own two feet. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“How long have you served him?”
“In two months, it would mark my second lunar year serving Master Qi,” you reply, keeping your gaze dutifully trained on the ground while you spoke.
You don’t need to look up to feel the weight of the Emperor’s eyes on yours. “And in those two years,” his voice is smooth, yet laced with something dangerous that peeks through the ripples of an otherwise calm surface. “It is a surprise that we haven’t crossed paths sooner, considering how often you spend your time around my concubine.”
Unable to form a reply, you manage a stiff nod.
There’s a shift in the air—a sudden, imperceptible narrowing of the space like the walls of this sprawling palace have somehow drawn closer. His voice takes on an icy edge that makes cold sweat bead across your hairline.
“Almost as if he’s hiding you.”
“The walls of your palace are vast, Your Imperial Majesty. A humble servant like myself would not garner your gaze,” you manage to squeeze out.
The silence stretches again, taut as a drawn bowstring. A common intimidation tactic, you recall reading about it before. Though you are aware of the Emperor’s motives, it doesn’t make the silence any more bearable. You are almost tempted to speak again when he rumbles, “Where do you hail from?”
“From the hills of Guizhou, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Your parents must be proud. A peasant girl from the Empire’s poorest province serving the Emperor’s favoured concubine,” the Emperor muses. Though his words feel less like praise and more akin to a thinly veiled and measured observance.
The mention of your parents makes you stiffen. “I was fortunate to earn this privilege, Your Imperial Majesty. I only pray my service continues to bring delight to your court.”
All of a sudden, the Emperor pauses and turns around. Casually, he pulls out a scroll from the wide arm sleeve of his robe. He holds it out to you. “Read this.”
Instinctively, your eyes flicker to it. The neat, inked characters imprinted on the ribbon of the scroll registers in your brain before you can think.
An imperial edict. Something only the Emperor is allowed to lay his eyes on.
You’d made a mistake then.
You hesitated. The recognition in your eyes. Just a brief moment before you manage to reply that lasted no more than a breath.
A tiny slip-up that doesn’t go by unnoticed.
“A lowly peasant girl from Guizhou capable of reading even official court documents,” he muses, voice deadly soft. “I should visit the province sometime. It seems that they have progressed rather swiftly without my notice.”
You sank your head down even lower, hoping to shrink from him. “I was tutored in the basics when Master Qi took me into his servitude,” you stammered, trying and failing to control the tremor in your voice.
The Emperor steps closer with a dry laugh. “Your manner of speech alone gave it away, little girl. Do not presume you can insult my intelligence with half-truths.”
Fingers fisted amidst your thin garment, the truth slips out of your clenched teeth. “Master Qi was kind enough to teach me the court-standard script in his spare time,” you confess, nails biting into your palm so hard that they left reddened half-crescents.
“Interesting.” The Emperor studied you in silence once more with his fathomless eyes.
Finally, he steps back, drawing himself to full height. “You may leave,” he commands.
As you rushed back to your chambers, heart hammering against your ribs, you suddenly wondered if the Emperor could smell the scent of Rafayel’s cream on your skin when he leaned in close. A scent so intimate that he would surely recognize.
The revelation makes your blood run cold.
——