He glanced sideways at Linyue.
Alright. She was not ugly. That much was obvious. She was… pleasant to look at. Calm, graceful, sharp eyes, posture annoyingly perfect. She even smelled faintly of gardenia and trouble. But stunning? That word felt like an exaggeration. Her dress was fine, he supposed. Light blue with silver trim, tasteful enough. Safe choices. Passable. Not exactly the sort of thing that made people faint in the hallways.
And now she was saying Prince Lu looked good?
Shu Mingye's jaw tightened. Hadn't she once said he, Shu Mingye himself, was good-looking? Though, if he remembered right, she had said it in that grumpy, dismissive way of hers. Did that mean she was just tossing compliments around like free rice cakes?
No. That was not her style. She was painfully straightforward. Honest to the point of cruelty sometimes. So what was this? A joke? A hidden code? A brand new, carefully designed method to annoy him?
His frown deepened as he watched the exchange across the table.
Compliment. Sip. Smile. Compliment. Sip. Smile.
What was this nonsense? A duel disguised as small talk? A competitive drinking game wrapped in polite manners? And the worst part—through all this ridiculous back-and-forth—they were ignoring him. Him. The King. The person sitting right here at the center.
Hello? Still alive, still King, thank you very much.
If they kept this up, he was going to flip the entire table just to remind them who actually ruled this hall.
Wait. Hold on. Did they know each other?
It was possible. Maybe they had met while fighting demons outside the wall of Luyan. That was where she had been all those years, after all.
Which meant… he knew. He knew she was not Princess Fu Yuxin. Then why was he smiling like this, playing along so smoothly? What was he after? Was this some kind of scheme, or was he simply here to irritate Shu Mingye personally?
Suspicion burned in his chest. Shu Mingye stared harder, his gaze sharp enough to set the tablecloth on fire. His face darkened, brooding, already one careless comment away from breathing actual flames across the hall. Meanwhile, those two had gone on to their seventh round of compliment shots. Seven.
At this point, was it even about the engagement anymore, or were they just trying to see who could outlast the other? And since when was she this good at drinking? She looked steady, calm, as if she had trained her whole life for this ridiculous battlefield of smiles and wine.
He narrowed his eyes at Linyue just as she lifted her cup again, preparing for round eight with that serene, polite, fake princess expression. She tilted her wrist, ready to drink again. But before the cup could touch her lips, Shu Mingye moved. Fast and precise. His hand shot out and caught hers mid-air, fingers closing around her wrist with terrifying gentleness.
Linyue blinked, startled, her cup frozen halfway to her lips. "Huh?"
Shu Mingye gently took the cup from her hand using his right rand. His left hand moved lower, sliding down her sleeve until his fingers found hers. No hesitation. No shame. He took her hand, finger by finger, until their hands were locked together, solid and unshakable.
The entire hall went quiet.
Song Meiyu silently screamed into her sleeve, shoulders shaking like she was about to explode.
Prince Lu raised an eyebrow. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
With her cup now in his grip, Shu Mingye finally looked at Prince Lu. His face remained calm, but his voice was sharp enough to frost the air. "Prince Lu," he said smoothly, lips curving in a way that was not quite a smile, "I'll accompany you to drink."
No hesitation. He tipped the cup back and finished it in one motion, letting the silence linger after.
Linyue stared at him, completely confused. When had this turned into some kind of territorial performance? She had been ready to play the polite princess, sip the wine, and suffer quietly. Now she was… what? A prop? An accessory? A hostage to his hand?
Behind her, Song Meiyu looked like she was watching the season finale of her favorite palace drama—the one with betrayal, forbidden love, and someone inevitably poisoned at the banquet. She even had a snack in hand. Where had she gotten it from? No one knew.
Prince Lu's smile didn't waver. If anything, it deepened, his brows lifting with amused curiosity.
Round eight: intercepted.
Shu Mingye calmly placed the cup back on the table with a soft clink. His brows drew together as he stared at it. "…Huh."
Suspicion narrowed his eyes. He lifted the cup again and sniffed the rim. Once. Twice.
Yep. Definitely not wine. It was tea. Just… tea. Mild, harmless, completely alcohol-free tea. Slowly, he turned to Linyue, who was still blinking at him with the most innocent expression she could find from her emergency princess face collection.
"You've been drinking tea this whole time?" His voice was low, heavy with disbelief. And just a touch of betrayal.
Linyue cleared her throat, very dignified for someone caught in a fake wine battle. "Mhm."
"You…" His brows twitched. "…tossed tea like it was wine. Seven times."
"Mhm. I don't drink wine," she said simply.
Behind them, Song Meiyu let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh she was trying to strangle.
Shu Mingye looked from Linyue… to her cup… back to her oh-so-innocent face. He had been worried. He thought she was going to faint. He thought she was about to sacrifice herself in some reckless duel of pride with Prince Lu. He had stepped in, ready to rescue her, ready to catch her if she collapsed dramatically into his arms.
All for tea.
Right. Excellent. Perfect.
Meanwhile, Prince Lu's gaze drifted down to the hands still firmly locked together. His expression was pleasant, vaguely curious. "It seems your relationship is very good," he remarked, his smile never faltering.
Then he paused—just long enough to make it sting—before adding, "I was a little worried the princess might share the same fate as the previous brides. But… it seems that was unnecessary."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Shu Mingye's jaw tightened slightly. His hand was still linked with Linyue's. Firm. Unmoving. But the air around him turned colder by a few degrees. The calm expression on his face had vanished, replaced by something colder and sharper.
He turned to Prince Lu, voice low and smooth, but sharp. "Why," he asked slowly, "would you worry about my bride, Prince Lu?"
The word my hit the table like a challenge.
So… they did know each other. He didn't miss the way Prince Lu had looked at her earlier. Not just curiosity. Familiarity. The kind of look that said he had seen her laugh before, or watched her roll her eyes at one of his ridiculous jokes, or scolded him for wiping demon blood on her sleeve.
If they knew each other, then Prince Lu had definitely recognized her. That part was clear. Then why show up here? It couldn't be just for delivering medicine. No one dragged a cart of herbs across the state just for charity. Was it for Linyue? For her little group of chaos? Or worse, was he here to take her back to East?
Shu Mingye's grip on her hand tightened, almost imperceptibly. As if to say: She's here. With me. Don't even think about it.
Linyue, still holding hands with a human furnace on her left and staring at a professional chaos generator across the table, scanned both men.
On one side: Prince Lu. Charming. Relaxed. He had always gotten along with her chaotic group because, well, he was also a troublemaker just like them. Cheerful, dramatic, and possibly the only prince in history known for insulting demons mid-battle and somehow surviving to brag about it afterward.
On the other side: Shu Mingye. Sharp. Cold. Famous for solving ninety-nine percent of his problems with swords, suspicion, or both. His breakfast menu probably included demon blood, and his glare had once made a court official forget his own name, his own family, and possibly his own job.
Now the two were seated in the same room, breathing the same air. Her eyes flicked between them. Why was Prince Lu here? To stir trouble? To poke the tiger? Was he out of his mind?
No, wait. That was a stupid question. Of course he was out of his mind. That was his default setting.
Right on cue, Prince Lu's smile widened as if he had just heard her thought. He lifted his cup again. "Ah," he said lightly, "I meant no offense. Just curious."
Curious, huh? His version of curiosity usually ended with chaos, broken furniture, or someone threatening to disown him.
Beside her, Shu Mingye's eyes narrowed to sharp slits. She could practically feel the temperature drop another ten degrees. Wonderful. Any colder and she would have to start worrying about frostbite. Should she offer tea? A blanket? Or maybe just discreetly slide under the table and pretend to be a floor ornament?
Shu Mingye finally spoke, his voice cold and sharp. "We've received the medicinal supplies. You can leave peacefully now."
Translation: Shoo.