A few threads of cold wind slipped through the crack as Lady Yinhale pushed open the wooden door. She removed her snow-dusted hat, and the dangling tassel of her white jade hairpin brushed the embroidered patterns on her shoulder.
"Any progress with the investigation?" she asked.
Cyrien set down his brush and rubbed his aching wrist. "Kaelen and I visited Plum Alley today. Most of the children claimed the rhyme first came from that neighborhood."
"There are far too many children in Plum Alley," Lady Yinhale replied, her gaze drifting to the moonlit window. Her jade earrings swayed in the candlelight like twin emerald flames. "And we can't even confirm whether the first child who sang it really lives there."
Cyrien leaned back in his official chair and shut his weary eyes. "How's Kael?"
He asked casually.
"I have good news and bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?" Lady Yinhale leaned over the desk, her fragrant hair trailing over a scroll as she braced herself against the table's edge.
Cyrien looked up and caught her smiling eyes. "He snuck out again, didn't he?"
Lady Yinhale said nothing, only turned to warm her hands over a gilded hand-warmer taken from the curio shelf.
"Seal off the hole behind the rock in the garden," Cyrien chuckled. "It's unbecoming for a prince of the House of Shouming to be crawling through dog holes."
"And the good news?"
"That was the good news," she said with a playful wink.
A glittering laugh escaped her as Cyrien pulled her into his arms. The joints of the chair creaked beneath their weight.
"Mocking your prince again, are you? You'll pay for that," he whispered, dabbing ink on the tip of her nose.
The lady in his arms looked every bit like a mischievous kitten. Her jade-and-gold hairpin brushed his jawline as she ducked away.
"Kael made a friend," she said.
Cyrien's arms stiffened.
Since that devastating fire a decade ago, his younger brother rarely left the palace—much less made a friend.
Lady Yinhale waved her hand in front of his face, the jade bracelet chiming softly and snapping him back to reality.
"Have you looked into this friend of his?"
"He calls himself Lucian. I've already sent someone to look into him. We should receive word at the Wanqing Pavilion by morning."
Cyrien buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing in the faint plum scent of Ci'an Temple.
She stroked his tense back, her eyes glancing at the corner of the desk where a celadon dish held three plum blossom cakes dusted with sugar.
"You still like these after all these years."
"It's not that I like them," Cyrien said softly. "I keep asking the kitchen to make them so I won't forget our childhood."
Lady Yinhale ran her palm across his back, whispering so softly her words melted into the howling wind outside.
"Let it go. It's all in the past."
"But some people never forget."
-
-
-
The setting sun dyed the new bricks of the courtyard wall a warm honey hue. Kael crouched at its base, defeated.
The masons had packed up and gone. He stared up at the freshly patched wall, then slumped to the ground.
"The garden once bloomed in glorious hues—now left to ruin and ruin alone..."
The sing-song, teasing lilt startled the sparrows in the trees. Kael looked up to see Lucian lounging across the wall's crest, legs crossed, half a red plum branch spinning between his fingers.
Petals drifted in time with his humming, landing on Kael's shoulder.
"What a picturesque sight," Lucian said, tossing the branch. It landed neatly between the ornaments of Kael's hairpiece. "Why the long face, young lord?"
Kael brushed the petals off with a scowl. "Spare me the theatrics. This is all your fault."
"Now, now, that's hardly fair," Lucian grinned, flipping onto his stomach. "Who would've guessed you were so attached to me? You keep coming back."
He raised a sleeve dramatically to hide his face. "A little more of this, and I might just blush."
Kael clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His jaw tensed with restraint.
"Cut the nonsense. Why are you here?"
"Do I need a reason? I just wanted to see you. Must everything have a purpose?"
"You've never told the truth once," Kael muttered, looking up. "How did you even get up there?"
Lucian dropped lightly from the wall, not so much as disturbing a single leaf. "Didn't I mention? I'm a disciple of a sword immortal. A little wall like that can't stop me."
Kael crossed his arms. "If you were truly that man's disciple, I'd eat the rockery next to you."
Lucian glanced at the two-man-tall ornamental stone with a sheepish grin. "No need to go that far."
He ran a hand along the fresh mortar. "Still, if I can get in, I doubt others would find it too hard."
"Anyone daring to sneak into the Shouming Prince's estate—" Kael kicked the newly patched brick, leaving a mud mark. "—probably doesn't value their life."
Lucian only laughed.
"You're the exception," Kael muttered.
Lucian's black sleeves brushed the grass as he pulled out a pale blue robe. He tossed it to Kael. "Here. Yours."
The scent of sandalwood lingered on the fabric. The torn sleeve had been patched with red silk embroidery—a single winter plum blossom stitched beside the seam, its golden stamen gleaming faintly.
Kael's fingers traced the stitches.
Lucian turned away, speaking quickly, as if fleeing the moment: "It looked awful torn like that, so I fixed it. If you don't like it, just toss it."
He suddenly kicked a stone into the pond. The splash sent fish darting in all directions. "You noble types..."
"I like it," Kael said.
His voice rang bright and genuine.
Twilight masked the sudden flush on Lucian's neck as he nudged at the snow with the toe of his boot, mumbling just loud enough for the wind to carry:
"Good. Glad you do."