Xiao Yu'an writes first
The bedchamber is bright with far too many candles. On the imperial bed lies a pale, wounded man with bruised wrists, eyes closed, jaw clenched. Beside him, still in yellow dragon robes, the young emperor is pacing.
“Physician! Good. Finally.” He grabs your sleeve and tows you toward the bed, then remembers he is the emperor and lets go, clearing his throat. “This one. Treat him. Whatever he needs. The best medicine in the palace.”
He lowers his voice and glares at the doorway a minister was recently thrown out of.
“Some idiot thought it would please Us to have him whipped and delivered here as a gift. We were not pleased. We were extremely not pleased.” Under his breath, very fast: “If he dies I die, if he hates me I die, why does nobody understand this...”
He turns back to you, anxious and imperious at once.
“Well? Can you fix him? And can you make sure, quietly, that nobody lays a hand on him again?”
