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The carriage jolted, sending a splash of lukewarm tea across the scroll Charlie was supposed to be studying.
Charlie closed his eyes slowly, a deep audible sigh escaped his lips as his jaw slackened.
He was so done with this.
Right now, he could be home. He could be sitting in the shade of the weeping willows, sipping chilled osmanthus wine while the lotuses bloom in the residence pond. He could just imagine the warmth of the capital clinging to his skin. Instead, he was here in the high mountains, where spring arrived late and the air was thin, cold, and sharp like needles poking through every gap in the carriage walls.
Bitterly, he dabbed at the ink with a silk handkerchief that cost more than a border guard's salary.
Charlie knew exactly why he was here. His mother, the Noble Consort Chen, had been too charming. The Chen family had been the one family his Imperial Father was wary of, especially his maternal uncle who was considered a dangerous relative that sought to dominate the court. And Charlie, the scholar prince who spent his time doing calligraphy and painting silks, was the perfect sacrifice.
So, even though his Imperial Father officially sent him here to finalize a trade treaty and negotiate a marriage alliance for his cousin, a gentle girl who wouldn't last a week in these mountains, Charlie understood perfectly that this was a test he was expected to fail. Or perhaps, a journey he wasn’t expected to return from.
Charlie looked at the scroll. The People of the Iron Pass, the tribe where he was travelling to meet, controlled the only road wide enough for the Empire’s Tea-Horse trade. They provided the best warhorses, and to secure them, the Emperor had bartered Charlie’s cousin. It was clever maneuvering, though, Charlie had to admit. The Emperor got what he needed and at the same time he got rid of two scions of the Chen clan.
A thunderous crack echoed through the gorge, followed by the terrifying sound of stone grinding against stone.
The carriage slammed to a halt.
"Your Highness! A landslide!" the guards shouted.
Charlie pulled back the heavy silk curtain. Ahead, the narrow path had vanished, buried under a jagged pile of rock. The cliff was to his left, covered in mist. He stepped out of the carriage, his multi-layered robes catching the dying light of sunset, the white silk shifted to silver and gold as he moved.
As he moved towards the debris, a thunder of hooves echoed from above. Charlie’s gaze snapped upward.
Then, he saw him.
High on the ridge, a barbarian warrior sat silhouetted against the twilight sky.
He moved with a slow, deliberate movement, whipped his right arm free of his fur-lined leather robe, letting the heavy fabric fall to his waist. Even from a distance, the sight of that bare shoulder hit Charlie like a physical blow.
Then he descended, his stallion moving with a speed that seemed dangerous on such a slope. A dozen more riders followed, but Charlie’s eye never left the first one.
As the rider led his stallion towards their convoy, Charlie’s mouth went dry. Suddenly, he didn't want to negotiate a treaty anymore. He wanted to see if those red lips tasted as sweet as it looked.
The head of the riders pulled his horse to a halt, the bells on the harness jangling. The Commander stepped forward, hand on his sword.
"Halt! You stand in the presence of Prince Charlie, the Third Imperial Prince of the Central Plains, Envoy of the Son of Heaven!"
The man didn't dismount. He looked at the Commander with a bored, sharp gaze before his eyes drifted to Charlie.
One of his men, a scarred warrior with a deep voice, shouted back, "And you stand before the Son of the Chieftain, Lord of the Iron Pass!"
“By the Heavens,” Charlie hissed under his breath, in reflex, before he caught himself.
This is the man my cousin will marry? Charlie thought, his fingers clenched into fists at his sides. How unfair!
Charlie stared, eyes fixed on the sharp features of the Chieftain’s son, the heat in his eyes. He looked like a god carved from the mountain itself. It was a waste of a masterpiece to give him to a girl who sits all day doing embroidery.
The warrior finally hopped down, the scent of leather and mountain wind following him.
"Your 'Son of Heaven' chose a bad day to send his envoy," he said, his voice a low vibration. "The mountain has been angry for days. The road behind you is blocked by mist, and the road ahead is buried in stone. By the time it is dark, this place will be freezing."
Charlie moved to speak, maybe offer a diplomatic greeting, but a sudden gust of wind caught his long, billowing sleeve. The delicate silk snagged on a splintered branch of a tree near the carriage door. Charlie stumbled slightly, his arm pinned.
Then, in a flash of leather and fur, the warrior was there.
"Stay back!" the commander roared, his blade half-drawn. Around them, both sides reached for their weapons.
"Stop!" Charlie commanded, his voice surprisingly steady.
The guards froze, but Charlie didn't look at them. He was too busy cataloguing the strong jawline of this barbarian warrior in his mind, now close enough that Charlie could see the peach-fuzz stubble on his chin.
The man didn't flinch at the swords. He reached out, his fingers touching the white silk, and with a slow, deliberate twist of his wrist, he freed the sleeve. But he didn't let go immediately. He smoothed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze dropping to the ink stains on Charlie's hand, then back up to Charlie’s eyes. He let out a small, huffing laugh, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Fragile."
The word was barely a murmur, meant only for Charlie to hear. And it landed like a challenge to him.
"I am called Babe, Your Highness," Babe said, louder this time, while stepping back towards his horse. "My camp is not far from here. It is warm."
“Your Highness,” Charlie’s personal attendant whispered frantically into his ear. “We cannot! They are barbarians! They could hold you for ransom, or worse!”
Charlie glanced at Babe. He had already remounted his horse, his fur-lined robe hanging off one shoulder, still exposing that muscular line of his neck and chest to the biting wind. Babe caught his eyes then arched an eyebrow.
“Or you can stay here and let your ‘Imperial Grace’ freeze.”
Charlie straightened his back and spoke, his voice loud and clear. “Lord Babe is right. We are scholars and soldiers, we do not know the mountain. We will accept your hospitality, Lord Babe.”
“But, Your Highness–”
“It is the only logical choice, Commander,” Charlie lied smoothly, never looking away from Babe’s smirking face. “A dead envoy negotiates no treaties.”
As the convoy began to move, Charlie watched from the window as Babe gallops along the cliff edges, places where a single misstep means death.
Babe didn’t ride at the front, he rode alongside Charlie’s window, his horse moving confidently on the uneven road. Meanwhile Babe didn’t even look at the road, like he trusted his stallion completely. He angled himself towards the carriage, letting his heavy robe slide further down, the muscles of his back and shoulder rippling.
Charlie swallowed as his mouth watered.
Here he was, wrapped in ten layers of silk and still cold, while Babe was practically steaming in the mountain air. And Charlie was starving for that heat.
Despite the cold, the air was stifling inside the carriage. Charlie’s robes seemed heavier as minutes went by. His throat was dry from the altitude and his head was starting to ache. In front of him, a scroll spread out. A brush was in his hand, trapped between his fingers. But he couldn't pry his eyes away from the window.
Charlie was supposed to be calculating the rates of teas or memorizing the diplomatic treaties. Instead, his mind recited a poetry about how the polished amber and deep red coral beads on the ornate necklace that rested against Babe’s bare chest contrasted perfectly with the crescent silver amulet that glinted in the fading light.
He inhaled sharply when he caught Babe sending him a slow, heavy-lidded glance through the window. Then, without warning, he urged his stallion forward, speeding toward the gorge’s edge.
Charlie’s heart jumped into his throat. He pressed closer to the window, head nearly leaning out, as Babe leaned down impossibly low from his saddle at full speed with only one hand on the reins. Then, with a slick of his wrist, he snatched a wild blue poppy from the cliff’s edge.
After that, Babe guided his horse around and trotted up alongside the carriage again. With a mocking wink, he tossed the flower through the carriage window.
Charlie looked at the wild, crushed flower in his lap and then at the warrior’s bare shoulder disappearing into the mist. He could hear snickers and whistles from behind, most likely from Babe’s men. He could picture the attendant's and the guards’ scandalized faces.
He knew his Imperial Father expected the treaty to be signed in ink, but as he watched Babe’s effortless, predatory grace, Charlie decided he would rather sign his name on that man's skin than on any piece of paper.
Charlie exhaled slowly, mourning a painting he would never get the chance to create. How could he not immortalize this beauty on the finest silk?
He even knew what he would title it: “The Undoing of an Empire.”
Such a waste. Such a beautiful, perfect waste.
The sky had deepened to indigo as the sun dipped low. When the carriage stopped in the center of the camp, the air was thick with the scent of burning woods and roasting meat. Around them, the black tents rose like sleeping animals against the golden grass.
Babe dismounted in one fluid motion before Charlie’s guards could even reach the carriage door. He stood there, the firelight from a nearby hearth catching the silver of his amulets and the gleam of his bare shoulder.
Charlie’s attendant pulled back the silk curtains, his face pale with worry. "Your Highness, please... stay close. The air is treacherous here."
Charlie stepped out, and the world tilted.
It wasn’t just the cold. It felt like no matter how much air he gulped, nothing came in his lungs. His vision swam with black spots and his legs swayed the moment his boots hit the ground. He had heard about mountain sickness, read about it in medical texts, and prepared himself mentally. Turned out, preparation meant nothing when your lungs forgot how to work.
Charlie stumbled then. But before the Commander could even shout a warning, Babe was there. He didn't just catch Charlie’s arm; he stepped directly into Charlie’s space, catching the Prince by the waist and pulling him flush against his chest.
The impact was a sensory overload. Charlie’s face was pressed against the rough, freezing fur of Babe’s robe, but his hands instinctively landed directly on the burning heat of Babe’s bare chest.
The Imperial guards drew their swords collectively. Babe’s men didn't even reach for their weapons; they just laughed, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the camp. One of the warriors barked something in his rough dialect, and the laughter grew louder. Charlie didn’t need a translation to know they were mocking him.
Babe didn't laugh. He kept his arm locked around Charlie’s waist, his thumb tracing the fine silk over Charlie's ribs. He leaned down, his breath warm against Charlie’s freezing ear.
"You survived the gorge, little prince," he murmured, his smirk evident in his voice. "Don't let a bit of mountain air bring you to your knees."
Charlie’s heart was hammering. Not from the altitude, but from the sheer proximity of the man. He could feel the solid muscle of Babe’s thighs through his own silk layers. He looked up, and for a long moment, the camp vanished. There was only the flicker of the fire in Babe’s dark eyes and the scent of leather and wild earth.
Charlie’s body hidden under the robes tensed. He didn't pull away like a frightened bird. Instead, he let his hand linger on Babe’s chest, his fingers curling slightly into the skin, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of the warrior’s heart.
"I am merely... acclimating," Charlie whispered back, his voice regaining that cool, royal edge that usually terrified his subordinates.
Babe’s eyes widened slightly, just a flicker of surprise at the Prince's lack of fear. He let go, but only enough to shift his grip. Without a word, he tucked his arm under Charlie’s knees and hoisted him up into a full carry.
"Your Highness!" the commander roared, his sword trembling.
"Put him down, barbarian!" the attendant shrieked.
Babe ignored them as if they were buzzing flies. He turned and began walking toward the largest tent, carrying Charlie as if he weighed nothing more than a bundle of silk.
As he was carried through the camp, Charlie’s mind raced through schemes and strategies.
Maybe I can steal my cousin's marriage robes, Charlie mused, a dangerous, delirious thought taking hold. If I keep the veil on, will people realize that the bride is taller and have big, broader shoulders than she should?
He watched the way Babe’s arm flexed with every step, the skin taut and powerful.
If I tell Imperial Father I was kidnapped, will he send an army? Charlie thought, his face inches from Babe’s neck. Or maybe I can just tell the Emperor that the 'Barbaric Lord' demanded the most beautiful scholar in the Empire as tribute. It’s practically a sacrifice for the good of the state.
Babe kicked aside the heavy yak-hair flap of the main tent and stepped into the dim, amber glow of the interior. He set Charlie down on a pile of thick rugs near the central fire. The tent flap fell shut, cutting off the shouts of the guards and the whistling of the wind.
For the first time, they were alone. Babe stood over him as he reached for the sash of his robe, his eyes never leaving Charlie’s.
"You’re shivering," Babe said with a devastating grin on his lips. "Shall I call your little servants to bring you tea, or are you ready to learn how we really stay warm on the Iron Pass?"
Charlie stood up from the rugs, his eyes turning dark and predatory. He reached up and slowly began to unfasten the first pearl button of his own collar.
"The servants can wait," Charlie said, his voice dropping low, making Babe’s smirk falter. "I think it's time we discussed the finer points of... surrender."
Babe had probably expected a struggle. Maybe he had thought the prince would be soft, would weep or demand to be set down on a silk cushion. But that was not what he was getting. Because Charlie was an entirely different being underneath the silks.
Charlie let his hands slide from Babe’s shoulders down to the warrior’s chest. His fingers weren't trembling anymore. They were steady, exploring the muscle and the warmth of the skin with a terrifyingly calm focus.
"You have a lot of courage, Lord Babe," Charlie whispered.
Babe’s smirk finally vanished completely when he realized Charlie was the one leaning in, pinning the warrior’s back against the central support pole of the tent.
"I thought you were faint," Babe managed to rasp, his heart suddenly thudding against Charlie’s palms.
"I am a Chen," Charlie murmured, his voice dropping into that commanding. "In the palace, we learn how to hide our strength until the moment we strike. You caught me because I let you. You carried me here because I wanted you exactly where I have you now."
He watched Babe's throat work as he swallowed, the warrior's pulse visibly jumping under his skin. Babe's breath hitched, and Charlie felt the warrior's cock twitch against his thigh.
Oh, Charlie thought with dark satisfaction. You like this.
Charlie reached up, his fingers tangling into the ornate necklace and silver amulets at Babe's neck, forcing the warrior to look at him. Babe's hands came up to grip Charlie's waist. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, Charlie didn't know. He didn't care.
"I've been thinking about you since the moment I saw you on that ridge," Charlie said, stepping impossibly closer until Babe was pinned between Charlie's body and the tent pole. "Watching you strip that robe off your shoulder like you were offering yourself to me. Riding beside my carriage with your skin on display, looking at me like you wanted to see if I'd break."
"Now," Charlie continued, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Are you going to keep playing the big, scary man, or are you going to show me exactly how 'barbaric' you can be when you’re the one being commanded?"
For a heartbeat, the tent was silent except for the crackle of the fire.
Then Babe made a low, desperate sound, and crashed their mouths together.
The kiss was fierce and hungry, Babe's tongue sweeping into Charlie's mouth like he was trying to devour him. But when Babe tried to turn them, to press Charlie against the pole and take control, Charlie bit his lower lip, hard enough to make Babe gasp and jerk back.
"No," Charlie said, his voice firm. "Did I say you could move?"
Babe's eyes went wide, his pupils blown with arousal. Charlie could feel him trembling with anticipation. Like he had been waiting his whole life for someone to handle him like this.
"You've been testing me all evening," Charlie continued, walking Babe backward until his back hit the pole again. "Showing off on your horse. Stripping in front of me. Watching me through the carriage window like you were daring me to do something about it."
His hand slid down to palm Babe through his trousers, and the warrior's hips bucked forward involuntarily.
"Well, now I'm doing something about it," Charlie said. "And you're going to be a good boy and take exactly what I give you."
"By gods," Babe breathed, his head falling back against the pole. "Charlie—"
"Your Highness," Charlie corrected, squeezing just hard enough to make Babe gasp. "When we're like this, you call me 'Your Highness.'"
Babe's hands fisted in Charlie's outer robe, his knuckles white.
"Your Highness," he said, and his voice was wrecked already, rough with need. "Please."
Charlie smiled sharply, before he began to unwrap Babe like he was the most precious gift the Empire had ever received. He might as well be. Charlie was profoundly grateful to his Imperial Father for bringing him here.
The heavy fur robe fell away, then the layers underneath followed, until Babe was bare from the waist up. Charlie took his time, mapping every inch of Babe’s skin with his hands, his mouth, his teeth. When he found the thin white scar across Babe's ribs, he traced it with his tongue before biting down on the skin just above it.
Babe made a choked sound, his hands flying to Charlie's shoulders.
"This is mine now," Charlie said against his skin. "Every mark I put on you, every sound I pull from your throat, they all belong to me."
"Yes," Babe gasped. "Yes, Your Highness, please–"
Charlie worked his way down, discovering that Babe was sensitive everywhere. His nipples, his ribs, the muscle that disappeared into his waistband. He catalogued every reaction, storing them away for later use. When Charlie's hands went to the ties of Babe's trousers, the warrior's breath stopped entirely.
"Have you done this before?" Charlie asked, looking up at him through his lashes as he slowly, deliberately loosened the laces.
Babe couldn't even manage a simple yes, he just nodded as Charlie's hand slipped inside, wrapping around his cock.
"Oh," Charlie said, smirking while stroking him slowly. “Have you done this with a prince then?”
"N–No," Babe's hips jerked forward into Charlie's grip. "N–never, Your Highness.”
Charlie shoved Babe's trousers down, freeing his already leaking cock. "Then you’re in luck."
He dropped to his knees.
"Your Highness, you don't have to—" Babe started, but Charlie cut him off with a look.
"I do what I want," Charlie said. "And right now, I want to get you so desperate you will be begging."
Then he leaned in and took Babe into his mouth.
Babe's knees nearly buckled, his hand flying to Charlie's hair for balance. Charlie let him, too focused on his task, on Babe. The weight of him on Charlie's tongue, the taste of him, the way his thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright.
Charlie worked him thoroughly, taking him deeper with each bob of his head, using his hands for what wouldn't fit. He looked up, watching Babe's face. His mouth had fallen open, sweat was beading on his skin, and his face contorted in pure pleasure.
"Look at me," Charlie ordered, pulling off to lap at the head of Babe's cock. "I want to see your face when you fall apart."
Babe's eyes snapped open, dark and desperate, and Charlie took him back in, all the way to the back of his throat, and swallowed.
"Your Highness," Babe choked out, his hips stuttering forward. "I can't– I'm going to–"
Charlie pulled off, his hand replacing his mouth, stroking Babe fast and firm. "Not yet," he said. "You don't come until I'm inside you."
Babe made a sound that was half-sob, half-moan, his whole body shaking. "Please," he gasped. "Please, Your Highness, I need—"
"What do you need?" Charlie asked, standing up and pressing his still-clothed body against Babe's naked one. The contrast of silk against bare skin made them both shudder.
"You," Babe breathed. "I need you inside me. Please. I'll be good, I'll do anything, just please–"
And there it was. The proud warrior, the Chieftain's son, the man who'd been testing Charlie all evening. Reduced to begging.
Charlie felt power rush through him like wine.
"Good boy," he murmured, and kissed Babe deeply, letting him taste himself on Charlie's tongue. "Now let's get these layers off me so I can give you what you need."
Babe's hands attacked Charlie's robes desperately, scattering pearl buttons across the rugs in his haste. The outer robe fell, then the inner layers, then the delicate silk undergarments, until Charlie was finally bare.
Babe stopped, his eyes going wide.
Because Charlie wasn't soft or delicate or weak. Under all those billowing robes was lean muscle, defined abs, powerful thighs. He practiced martial arts every morning, and had trained his own body since he was old enough to hold a blade. He was a scholar, yes, but he was also a warrior. But that was Charlie’s business alone, he had no obligation advertising his strength.
"You—" Babe's hands traced the lines of Charlie's stomach, his chest, his shoulders.
"I’ll let you in on a secret, Babe," Charlie said, grabbing Babe's wrist and guiding his hand lower, to Charlie's hard and leaking cock. "If you deliberately let people underestimate you, it makes the conquest so much sweeter."
He pushed Babe down onto the thick pile of rugs, following him down and covering his body with his own. Charlie felt Babe's cock twitch where it was trapped between their bodies.
"Oil," Charlie commanded, and Babe scrambled to reach the ceramic jar by the fire, his hands shaking.
Charlie took it from him, coating his fingers thoroughly. Then he settled between Babe's spread thighs, one hand braced by Babe's head, the other trailing down his body to circle his entrance.
"Have you been fucked recently?" Charlie asked, pressing just the tip of one finger inside.
"No," Babe gasped, his hips tilting up.
Charlie worked Babe open methodically then, adding fingers one by one, stretching him carefully despite his own desperate need. Babe was even more gorgeous like this, spread out on the rugs, his skin gleaming in the firelight, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, his mouth open and panting.
When Charlie bent his fingers, finding that spot inside Babe that made him see stars, the warrior sobbed.
"Your Highness," Babe pleaded, his hands clutching at Charlie's shoulders. "Please. I'm ready, I can take it, please just—"
"Shh," Charlie soothed, even as he added a third finger, scissoring them wide. "We will do it, beautiful. I'm going to fill you up and make you scream. But we're doing this my way."
By the time Charlie finally withdrew his fingers, Babe was a writhing, begging mess. Charlie slicked his cock with oil, positioning himself at Babe's entrance.
"Look at me," Charlie ordered, and Babe's eyes snapped to his. "I want to see your face when I claim you."
Then he pushed in.
Babe's back arched off the rugs, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as Charlie breached him. Charlie held still, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming heat and tightness, giving Babe time to adjust.
"Breathe," Charlie commanded, one hand cupping Babe's face. "Breathe through it."
Babe sucked in a shaky breath, his body gradually relaxing around Charlie's cock. "More," he gasped. "Give me more."
Charlie pushed in deeper, inch by inch, watching Babe's face for any sign of pain. But all he saw was pleasure painted across Babe's features. When Charlie was finally fully seated, both of them were shaking. Charlie had never felt anything like this. The tight heat of Babe's body, the way he was clenching around Charlie like he never wanted to let go.
"You feel incredible," Charlie breathed, leaning down to kiss him. "Perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Move," Babe pleaded. "Your Highness, please, I need—"
Charlie pulled out slowly, then snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one hard thrust.
Babe screamed, high and desperate and absolutely wrecked.
"Quiet," Charlie growled, even as he set a punishing rhythm. "Unless you want the whole camp to know their Chieftain's son is getting fucked by an Imperial Prince."
Babe's hand shot to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, but the sounds kept coming, muffled whimpers and moans that went straight to Charlie's cock.
Charlie fucked into him hard and deep, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot with every thrust. Babe's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into Charlie's ass, pulling him deeper.
"That's it," Charlie praised, his voice rough. "Take it. Take everything I give you."
Babe could only sobbed around his hand. Then Charlie leaned down and bit Babe's neck, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark, and Babe came undone.
His cries echoed through the tent as Charlie pounded into him, each thrust driving Babe higher. Charlie could feel his own orgasm building but he held back. He wanted Babe to come first. Wanted to feel him fall apart around Charlie's cock.
"Touch yourself," Charlie ordered. "Show me how desperate you are."
Babe's hand flew to his cock, stroking himself frantically. "Your Highness," he gasped. "I'm going to–"
"Come for me," Charlie commanded, his hips never slowing. "Let me see you fall apart."
Babe came with a broken cry, his whole body going rigid as he spilled across his stomach and chest. Charlie felt him clench impossibly tight around his cock, and that was it. He followed Babe over the edge, burying himself deep and filling Babe with everything he had.
They collapsed together onto the rugs, both of them shaking and breathless. Charlie stayed inside Babe, not ready to separate yet, savoring the way Babe's body still trembled.
"That was–" Babe started, but his voice cracked.
"Exactly what you needed?" Charlie suggested, smirking against Babe's shoulder.
"Yes," Babe breathed, wrapping his arms around Charlie and holding him close. "You– I was so ready to straddle you and take what I want."
Charlie bit his shoulder again, making Babe gasp. "Maybe I will let you. Someday.”
"Someday?” Babe huffed a laugh.
"Yes," Charlie said simply. "But for now, I'm going to keep you in this tent for days until you can't remember what it's like to walk without feeling me inside you."
Babe shuddered, his cock giving a twitch despite having just come. "Your Highness," he said, his voice already roughening with renewed want. "That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise," Charlie corrected, finally pulling out carefully. He grabbed a cloth and cleaned them both, his touch gentler now, almost tender.
Then he pulled Babe close, tucking the warrior against his chest and running his fingers through his hair.
The morning air was coated with ice, and the silence over the camp was so thick it felt like the mountains themselves were holding their breath.
Outside the black tent, the Imperial guards had spent the night in high-alert, their armor frosted with dew. The commander stood like a statue, his eyes fixed on the yak-hair flap. Behind him, the Prince's attendant was clutching a warm basin of water and a fresh silk robe, his face a mask of nervous exhaustion.
Then, the flap moved.
Charlie stepped out first. He was the picture of Imperial poise. His hair was perfectly neat, and his white silk robes were smoothed to perfection, except some of the pearl buttons were missing from his robes. He looked pale, but his eyes were clearer than they had been in weeks.
"Your Highness!" the attendant nearly tripped over his own feet, rushing forward. "You live! You... you are healed?"
"Lord Babe is a man of many hidden talents," Charlie said, his voice as cool and smooth as jade.
He didn't look back as Babe stepped out behind him. Babe looked like a man who had just won a war he hadn't even realized he was fighting. His fur-lined robe was thrown carelessly over his shoulders, his chest still partially exposed to the freezing dawn. He looked smug, messy, and entirely too satisfied. When he caught the commander’s murderous glare, Babe simply offered a slow, lazy grin and adjusted the silver amulet on his chest, the very one Charlie’s ink-stained fingers had been tangled in the night before.
"The Prince’s constitution is stronger than it looks," Babe said, his voice thick with a secret warmth. "He has a way of... commanding the elements."
Charlie turned to his guards, his expression shifting into a terrifyingly blank mask.
"Commander, write this in the official log. Due to a sudden bout of the 'Mountain Sickness', I was forced to undergo a traditional highland cleansing ritual. It was... intense. And successful." He paused, letting the weight of his royal status settle over them. "As such, for the remainder of this mission, Lord Babe will remain in my carriage at all times to monitor my... recovery. It would be a diplomatic disaster if I were to relapse before the treaty is signed."
"Inside the carriage, Your Highness?" the commander sputtered, his face turning a shade of red. "But the decorum—"
"Decorum is for those who are breathing, Commander," Charlie snapped, his eyes flashing with an authority that made even the battle-hardened commander step back. "I am a Prince of the Empire. My life is the Empire’s life. If I require a barbarian to hold my hand while I read trade scrolls, then that is what the Empire shall provide."
As Babe unnecessarily helped him, with great dramatic care, back into the carriage, Charlie settled onto his cushions and watched the warrior climb in after him, the silk curtains falling shut to create a private, dimly lit world of their own. Babe lounged across the small table.
"You’re a dangerous little liar, Prince Charlie," he whispered, reaching out to trace the line of Charlie’s jaw.
Charlie didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, his mind already spinning a web of lies so complex it would make his maternal uncle look like an amateur.
I could tell Imperial Father that the mountain pass has completely collapsed, Charlie thought, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face as he watched Babe’s eyes darken in response. I’ll say the People of the Iron Pass has taken me as a political hostage and they demand an Imperial Scholar to stay for ten years to teach them the Classics. Or perhaps...
He looked at the wild blue poppy, still resting on his table, and then at the beautiful, muscular man who was currently trying to figure out how to unfasten those pearl buttons with one hand.
Perhaps I’ll just tell them I’ve died, Charlie mused, his fingers finding the edge of Babe’s robe.
A Prince of the Empire is a heavy thing to be. But a ghost in the mountains... a ghost could be exactly what he wants to be.
And I think this ghost wants to drive this mountain warrior into the dirt until the sun goes down.
"Don't look so thoughtful, Charlie," Babe murmured, pulling him closer. "What schemes are you plotting now?"
"A lot," Charlie whispered, his royal mask finally shattering into a grin. "Most of them involve keeping you to myself forever.”
Babe’s eyes darkened with understanding. “Forever is a long time, little prince.”
“Good,” Charlie pulled him into a kiss. “I plan to make the most of it.”
THE IMPERIAL REPORT: DISPATCH FROM THE IRON PASS
To: His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, Ruler of the Four Seas.
From: The Third Prince, Envoy of the Border Lands.
Subject: The Preservation of Royal Blood and the Acquisition of Mountain Horses.
I. The Calamity of the Pass
Your Majesty, it is with a heavy heart and a trembling brush that I report a catastrophe. The Great Dragon of the Mountain has roared; a landslide of unprecedented scale has severed the Iron Pass. Your Envoy was nearly lost to the abyss, saved only by the intervention of the local mountain dwellers, whose methods are as rugged as the stone they inhabit.
II. The Matter of the "Cleansing"
Due to the thinness of the air and the "Mountain Sickness" that plagues those of refined blood, your son fell into a state of mortal peril. To preserve the Imperial lineage, a ritual of "Internal Heat Transfer" was required, administered by the Chieftain’s son. This ritual is… exhaustive. It requires constant proximity and a significant expenditure of energy. For the sake of the Empire, I have endured this "treatment" nightly.
III. The Proposed Adjustment to the Marriage Alliance
Regarding the marriage of my cousin, it has become clear that the intended groom, the Son of Chieftain who controlled the Iron Pass, is of a temperament that would not suit a delicate noble lady of the court. He is… turbulent. He requires a firm hand, a scholarly mind, and an authority that only the direct blood of the Emperor can provide. Therefore, I propose a radical sacrifice. To ensure the steady flow of horses for your cavalry and to keep this "Barbarian Lord" under constant Imperial surveillance, I shall remain here in his camp.
IV. Conclusion
Do not send a rescue party. The terrain is too dangerous for anyone not trained in the "Heat Transfer" rituals. Consider me a hostage of state, or perhaps a martyr for the Tea-Horse trade. I shall occupy myself by "civilizing" the Chieftain’s son, starting with the proper way to handle Imperial silk and pearl buttons. May your reign last ten thousand years, while I remain here for at least ten.