When I woke up, it felt like drowning.
My lungs seized, my chest burned, and for a moment I thought I was still bleeding out in the Grand Hall. But instead of blood and stone, I smelled herbs.
The world came back slowly, in pieces. The white silk curtains swaying in the wind, the low hum of spiritual wards, the faint ache in my side that pulsed with every heartbeat.
I looked around, searching for Yan Yezhan then I saw him.
Yan Yezhen sat beside the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, face half-buried in his hands. His long hair had come loose, falling like a dark spill over his robes and he looked... human for once. Not the cold, righteous protagonist the novel described, but a man who hadn't slept in days.
"Yan," I croaked.
His head snapped up. His eyes widened. Relief flashing across his usually calm face before he quickly masked it.
"You're awake."
"Barely," I muttered. "Where are we?"
"The infirmary," he said. "You've been unconscious for three days."
"Three days?"
