A Prisoner In Silk

Li Yue had spent three days within the walls of Feng Xuan's fortress, and already, she knew what it meant to be caged.

The air here was different from the palace of her childhood—heavy with the scent of iron, oil, and the distant smoke of torches burning through the night. The soldiers that roamed the corridors were disciplined and silent, their gazes cold and assessing.

She was not mistreated.

No one laid a hand on her. No one insulted her. No one denied her food or clothing.

And yet, the reality of her imprisonment was undeniable.

Her movements were monitored. Her attendants—women who served Feng Xuan, not her—remained by her side at all times. Even when she walked through the inner gardens, where sparse patches of greenery struggled against the stone, there were always guards watching from the shadows.

This was not her home.

This was enemy territory.

And she was nothing more than a bargaining chip dressed in silk.

She had heard the rumors, of course. Even before this forced marriage, even before her father had signed away her fate, she had known the name Feng Xuan.

He was a warlord, the kind spoken of in hushed tones, the kind whose name carried both fear and respect.

He had risen from nothing, the son of a minor noble with no right to power, and carved his way to the throne of his own making. He had taken city after city, broken warlords who had ruled for decades, and burned down fortresses that refused to bow to him.

Mercy was not a word often associated with him.

And now, she was his wife.

Li Yue sat in her chambers, running her fingers over the embroidery on her sleeve. The silks she wore were finer than anything she had worn in the palace, and yet, she felt no comfort in them.

Fine silks did not change the truth.

She was still a prisoner.

"My lady?"

She looked up as one of her attendants, a woman named Xiu Lan, hesitated near the doorway.

"What is it?" Li Yue asked.

"The warlord has summoned you."

Li Yue felt her stomach tighten.

In three days, he had not once called for her. She had wondered when he would.

So it begins.

She rose smoothly, allowing the attendants to adjust her robes before following Xiu Lan through the fortress halls.

The deeper they walked, the grander the rooms became. The cold stone corridors gave way to richly decorated chambers, where banners of Feng Xuan's sigil—black and silver, the colors of his rule—hung from the walls.

The air smelled of sandalwood and parchment.

Then, finally, they stopped before a set of doors.

The guards outside pushed them open, revealing a large room lit by lanterns. A single man stood inside, studying a map spread across a long wooden table.

Feng Xuan.

He did not look up immediately. His dark hair was loosely tied back, and his robes were more practical than regal, the attire of a man who still thought like a soldier rather than a ruler.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his sharp eyes met hers with an intensity that made the air shift.

"Princess Li Yue." His voice was deep and controlled.

She forced herself to remain calm.

"My lord."

A flicker of something—amusement?—crossed his face. "So formal."

"Would you prefer something else?" she asked coolly.

He studied her for a moment before gesturing to the chair across from him. "Sit."

She hesitated, then obeyed.

There was silence as he returned his attention to the map, running his fingers over the parchment.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked without looking at her.

She glanced at the markings. "A battle strategy."

His lips curved slightly. "You recognize it."

"I grew up in a palace where war dictated every decision," she said. "I learned early what war maps look like."

He leaned back slightly, watching her. "Then you know why this marriage was necessary."

Li Yue clenched her hands beneath the folds of her sleeves. "Necessary for whom?"

"For both of us," Feng Xuan said. "Your father's empire was falling. His soldiers were dying. He had nothing left to bargain with except you."

She already knew this. She had accepted it.

But hearing him say it so plainly still stung.

"And what of you?" she countered. "Why did you agree to this marriage? A warlord like you does not need diplomacy, does he?"

His gaze darkened slightly.

"Because war is costly," he said. "And because I need legitimacy."

She frowned.

He continued, "I have spent years taking cities by force. But power gained through blood alone is fragile. I do not need another war—I need an empire that recognizes my rule as law."

Understanding settled over her like a heavyweight.

So that was it.

Feng Xuan might have conquered her father's land, but he needed more than just an army to rule it. He needed the people to accept him.

And what better way to do that than by binding himself to the imperial bloodline?

"Does it bother you?" he asked suddenly.

She looked at him sharply.

"That you are a pawn in all of this?"

Li Yue did not answer right away.

Did it bother her? Of course,it did. It burned her, deep in her chest, to know that her fate had never been hers to control.

But she had always known this would be her role.

"It does not matter if it bothers me," she said at last. "The choice was never mine."

Feng Xuan watched her for a long moment.

Then, he said, "Good."

When she left his chambers, Li Yue felt heavier than when she had entered.

She had gone into that room expecting threats, cruelty, or cold indifference.

Instead, she had found a man who was calculating, controlled, and pragmatic.

A man who saw her as a piece in his grand design.

And that was somehow worse.

That night, as she lay in bed staring at the carved ceiling above her, she wondered if this was all she would ever be—a pawn, passed from one ruler to another, always trapped, always waiting for the next decision to be made for her.

Would she ever be free?

Or would she remain a prisoner in silk forever?

She did not know.

And that uncertainty was the cruelest part of all.