The morning sun had barely risen when Yuan stepped into the royal gardens, hoping the quiet paths would help settle his nerves. The last few days had been a storm—Princess Lian lurking near his chambers, Princess Ming speaking to him with far too much interest, and Jian suddenly becoming the only person he felt safe around. It was confusing and comforting at the same time, and Yuan despised how aware it made him of every small gesture Jian offered.
He stopped beneath a peach tree, brushing fallen petals from his sleeves, when servants carrying baskets hurried past him. Their hushed whispers traveled faster than their steps. Yuan caught only fragments—"the crown prince…" and "…with a court lady?"—but it was enough to curl unease in his stomach. He followed the path deeper into the garden, unsure why he cared. It wasn't his business. Yet he found himself walking toward Jian's favorite pavilion.
When he arrived, Jian was already there, standing beside the railing with a weary expression. He looked up when Yuan approached, and something softened in his eyes—something warm, something private, as though he had been waiting.
Yuan tried to act normal. "You're out early," he said, keeping his tone light, but his eyes searched Jian's face for clues.
Jian gave a faint sigh and leaned back against a column. "Rumors travel faster than birds here," he said quietly. "You probably heard already."
Yuan hesitated. "I… heard something. A lady?"
A small, humorless smile touched Jian's lips. "They say many things. I rejected a court lady who insisted on offering morning greetings. That's all."
That should have relieved Yuan. Instead, an unexpected heat rose through him—annoyance, maybe relief, maybe something he didn't want to name. He looked away toward the koi pond. "They make stories out of nothing."
"They do," Jian agreed, and his gaze lingered on Yuan's profile. "But you came to look for me. Why?"
Yuan stiffened. He hadn't realized it himself until Jian put it into words. He stepped to the side, pretending to admire the blossoms. "I just… wanted to walk. And your pavilion is on the way."
Jian let out a low, warm breath that was almost a laugh. "Yuan, even the koi can tell when you're lying."
The comment flustered him more than he expected. "I wasn't worried," Yuan insisted, though the words felt weak. "I was just checking."
"Checking on me?" Jian asked, voice deepening.
Yuan regretted coming. This was dangerous—this closeness, this invisible string he felt tugging between them. He crossed his arms defensively. "If you're fine, then that's that."
But Jian didn't let it go. He stepped closer, his shadow brushing against Yuan's shoulders. "You've been avoiding the princesses," he said softly. "You even ran into my chambers two nights ago. Every time you seek comfort, it's with me. So tell me, Yuan… why does it matter so much?"
His tone wasn't teasing. It was something else—gently searching, as if he was afraid of the answer but wanted it more than anything.
Yuan's heart thumped loudly against his ribs. He backed away out of instinct, but his heel hit a stone step and Jian's hand shot out to steady him. The touch was firm, warm, almost too familiar now. Yuan swallowed, feeling heat creep up his neck.
"I'm not avoiding them," he muttered, though the denial sounded thin. "They're… overwhelming. And you're familiar. Safe."
The word hung between them—safe—and Jian's eyes flickered. For a moment, something unreadable passed through them, tension winding tight in the air.
"You shouldn't rely on me so much," Jian said, though his voice contradicted the warning. "People will talk."
"I don't care what they say," Yuan replied before thinking.
That startled both of them.
Jian's hand slowly released Yuan's wrist, but it didn't feel like distance. If anything, it felt like Jian was restraining the urge to stay closer. "You didn't care when they spoke of me and the lady?" he asked quietly.
Something inside Yuan twisted. He didn't want to admit it, but the question made it impossible to hide.
"No," Yuan said softly. "I didn't like it."
The petals drifted around them, carried by a gentle breeze. Jian took in a slow breath, as though absorbing those words, then stepped back—not because he wanted to, but because the moment was too close, too revealing.
They both turned toward the path when a servant approached, kneeling with hurried breaths. "Your Highness," he said, addressing Jian, "the King requests your presence in the throne hall."
Jian nodded, but before leaving, he looked at Yuan again—long enough to carve meaning without speaking it.
"Stay in the gardens until the rumors settle," Jian murmured. "I'll return when I can."
Then he walked away, robes moving with quiet precision. Yuan watched him until he disappeared behind the hedges, unable to calm the strange warmth spreading through him. It wasn't admiration anymore. It wasn't simply trust or friendship.
It was something he had never expected to feel—not for a man who was born to rule, not for someone who looked at him with such impossible gentleness.
Yuan pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, uncomfortably fast beat beneath his palm.
Something was changing.
And he didn't know how to stop it.