The seventh consort is clingy

Hua Jing raised an eyebrow.

From behind the man, a young woman stood, her hands clasped delicately, her cheeks flushed with hope.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening.

Another matchmaking attempt.

Hua Jing nearly laughed out loud.

Another one?

Seven wasn't enough?

She turned to Zhao Yan, eyes filled with amusement. "Prince, I think you should go."

Zhao Yan stilled.

His golden mask gleamed in the candlelight as he slowly turned toward her.

His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and searching.

"Do you really want me to go?" he asked.

Something flickered in his eyes—something dark and unreadable.

His fingers tapped against his goblet, slow and deliberate.

Hua Jing blinked at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

The air felt heavier, as if she had said something wrong.

She was only teasing, but now Zhao Yan's stare had a flicker of something else.

A flicker of…