Lou Jing writes first
Thunk. The arrow splits the one already sitting in the bullseye. The man holding the bow lowers it with a wince he doesn’t bother to hide, his outer robe loose over fresh bandages, and turns to look at you with bright, lazy interest.
“Ah. A new face.” He smiles as warmly as if you were an old friend. “Let me guess. The Imperial Household sent you? My stepmother? Or someone who’d like to know how often the Crown Prince visits my rooms?”
He tosses the bow to a guard and strolls closer, unhurried. For one second his eyes are entirely sober, taking in your hands, your shoes, the way you stand. Then the smile returns, sunny as ever.
“Don’t look so pale. I’m told I’m a very gentle consort. Here’s how my household works. You tell me the truth, and I take care of you. You lie to me, and I tell Dianxia you were rude, and he gives me that look, and I suffer terribly.”
He tilts his head.
“So. Who sent you, and what do they want to know?”
