The Returning War God (6)

The palace had not been this alive in years. Servants rushed across the stone courtyards, their arms burdened with silken banners, flower petals and golden lanterns. Ministers and nobles lined the marble pathways, their robes gleaming under the midday sun as they buzzed in anticipation.

Members of the royal family stood from the upper terraces, each wearing their most regal expression. However, their thoughts were far from welcoming. The royal children and concubines' darkened minds as they watched the gates intently.

The Emperor sat upon his throne at the top of the stairs leading to the grand hall. At his right, the Empress sat, her face tight with worry as her gaze flickered toward a figure nearby—Minister Shen.

Shen was composed, his expression as impassive as ever, but there was tense anticipation in how his fingers curled into the folds of his robes.

Zhixian's return meant the game would resume.

But in the crowd of gathered servants, another pair of eyes watched with an intensity that had nothing to do with palace politics.

Xiao Liu stood among the rows of bowing servants, his fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath the folds of his robe.

He had never seen Zhixian before, but he was ready for him. Had been ready for years.

Even now, his heartbeat was steady. His built-up rage was controlled. He was not here to act recklessly. He was here to watch, to learn, to strike when the moment was right.

The palace gates groaned open.

A column of soldiers in black and crimson armour rode in first, their faces hidden, their weapons gleaming under the noon sun.

At the head of them, a lone figure on a black warhorse—unmistakable, even at a distance.

That must be Zhixian.

Xiao Liu expected something different. A brute. A tyrant.

Instead, he saw something magnetic. For years, the image in his mind had been of a ruthless warlord, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the blood of his enemies, whose cruelty knew no bounds. Yet this man was anything but that.

First, he was smaller than expected. Still tall enough to tower over most, but not as broad as his other alpha brothers. He was also lined with muscles built on the battlefield. His features were hidden beneath the helmet, but seeing the royal children, he could guess his face was passable, too.

His scent—

Xiao Liu froze.

For a moment, everything around him dimmed. The noise, the shuffling of robes, the murmuring voices—gone.

He had caught only the faintest trace of it beneath the blood and leather and steel, but it struck something deep within him. His lungs seized.

His pulse stumbled.

Warm. Not sweet, not floral, but something else—

Something that coiled low in his gut, sharp and insistent.

The reaction was so fast and visceral, that he took a step forward before he could think.

What was that?

Xiao Liu forced his breathing to even, suppressing the unnatural shift in his body. He was imagining things. It didn't matter what Zhixian smelled like. He would fall by his hands. 

Then Zhixian dismounted.

The crowd erupted into cheers, breaking the strange, suffocating moment. Xiao Liu exhaled sharply, forcing his body to steady.

Zhixian strode past the assembled servants and ministers.

Xiao Liu watched in surprise as Zhixian walked past the gathered ministers and headed straight for his mother, the Empress.

The court stirred. A quiet, polite murmur spread through the ranks of nobles, some exchanging knowing glances, others subtly watching the Emperor's reaction.

"The prince truly is his mother's son, isn't he? Running to the Empress before the Emperor."

A ripple of polite laughter followed. Xiao Liu's lips curled into a sneer. These people disgusted him with their constant power plays.

But the Emperor—who had been watching his son with pride—smiled.

"It is natural for a son to favour his mother," he said, voice smooth, almost indulgent. "But tell me, Kai En, have you forgotten your father?"

Only then did Zhixian turn to the emperor. He dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.

"I greet the Son of Heaven," he said, voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd.

The emperor's lips curled.

"You have done well, my son. Victorious once again." His gaze swept over the assembled court. 

With those words, he extended a hand toward a court official, who presented a golden scroll bearing the imperial seal.

"Today, before the court, I bestow upon Prince Zhixian, the title of Supreme General of the Western Army. May you continue to bring honour to the empire."

A murmur rippled through the court. The title was no small honour—and more importantly, it placed Zhixian in a position of even greater power.

The colours on his siblings' faces weren't too good at the decree.

Zhixian raised his hands and accepted the scroll. "This prince is honoured and will bring more glory to the empire."

Applause rang out through the courtyard, the nobles were quick to praise a man they privately schemed against.

Xiao Liu kept his head low, his hands clenched as Khaen stood up at the emperor's behest.

The emperor raised a hand, signalling for silence.

"And tomorrow night," he continued, "we shall hold a grand banquet in honour of your return."

Zhixian's head lifted slightly. Though his face was still hidden beneath the helmet, Xiao Liu could feel his stare shift over the crowd.

It lasted for mere seconds. A brief sweep.

Until it stopped.

On him.

For a fraction of a moment, Xiao Liu forgot to breathe.

There was no reason for Zhixian to suspect him—he was just another servant, just another body in the sea of bowing figures. Yet somehow, he had noticed him.

It wasn't just a glance. It was a pause.

As if something had told him to look.

Xiao Liu's grip tightened on his dagger beneath his sleeves. His Alpha instincts sharpened, tense—ready.

But for what? Why is he looking at me?

Zhixian's posture didn't change, but Xiao Liu could see it—a slight tensing of his shoulders, a barely-there tilt of his head. He was assessing as if… as if he had sensed something.

If Khaen spoke—if he questioned him, if he dared to draw too much attention—

A soldier nearby called out, "Your Highness!" And just like that, Zhixian turned away.

Xiao Liu let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Too perceptive. He's too perceptive.

He bowed lower, forcing his expression into what he hoped was blankness, hiding the way his pulse pounded in his throat.

He's already noticed me. That's dangerous.

Kai En walked past, his cape billowing behind him.

As he passed, Xiao Liu caught something beneath the scent of blood, armour and leather.

Medicine.

A sharp, bitter smell, faint but unmistakable. Xiao Liu's brow furrowed. Why would a war god need medicine?

He didn't have time to dwell on it. The ceremony continued, the nobles still murmuring amongst themselves, the court still moving.

But Xiao Liu had learned something today. Zhixian was sharp. Too sharp. But he was also tired.

And more importantly…His Alpha had reacted.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head to dispel the thought. It meant nothing. Zhixian was his target.

And whatever sickness clung to him, whatever weakness he carried—Xiao Liu would find it.

And when he did, he would strike.