Chapter 23 One Opening
My belly grew, and the death day he had set for me came closer.
Something I could not name showed in his eyes. It looked like anticipation, and like silent mourning.
He grew more careful with me. More attentive to every small thing.
Sometimes I fell asleep while he read a storybook, and woke to find him looking at me gently.
His palm hovered over my eyes and blocked the swaying candlelight.
Before that show of love, I always acted overwhelmed, the way he seemed to want.
The higher one stood, the more despair would show once the truth appeared.
It had been the same in my last life, at the birth. He gave me hope, then stood aside as if taking in the sight of me dying in despair.
......
The day I went into labor was the same day as before.
That day the sparrow's injury had healed too.
It stood in my palm, nodding like a chick at grain, then spread its wings and was gone past the vermilion palace wall.
I changed into light gauze and painted my brows and eyes with care, one last time.
The hour had not come. Xiao Yan came to eat with me. I poured him wine and asked him to wish me a smooth birth.
He pushed the cup away, face unchanged.
I knew he had always suspected deeply.
No one had ever managed to poison his food.
Even a strong opponent had a vital point.
I only needed one instant when his guard dropped.
"Your Majesty."
I spoke. The hand picking food for me stopped in the air. His eyes went blank.
I smiled and reached out, gentle.
My fingers moved like a painter's brush over his stunned face. His brows. His eyes. His lips.
"Your Majesty, drink a cup for your consort." I pushed the cup to him.
He took it.
The white porcelain was still an inch from his thin lips when he laughed.
"Alike. Too alike."
He lifted me crosswise and gave me to the midwife. "I will stay with you."
I watched him turn at once and raise the screen.
The pain hit. I gripped the quilt, bowed, and bore down.
Candlelight swayed. Xiao Yan's black figure showed on the screen.
He was there with me.
Twisted. Curled. Trembling.
In pain, the same as me.
I roared, and the sound came free.
One opening. One strike that killed.