Yue's snort was hardly ladylike, but then, neither was taking too overt a joy in the sight of men clawing and kicking. River's smile tugged a faint fraction higher at her amusement. But if he'd enraptured her with his tale, she was taking him well along the way to heaven herself.

A menagerie of fine trees, and among them, a singular young peach. Had she felt out of place? Had she known the shining jewel she was? Most of the year perhaps she could blend with the others, green leaves and dark branches. But the bloom of spring would ever set her apart, and he hoped she wore her beauty with pride.

A lost gift, she was. Under another's stewardship, now. Or grown wild as dryads were wont to do. Or cut down. Any and all at once.

He considered next the newness of those eternal fruits which now beguiled Empress. Delights which fae knew well and often — for in their ageless realm, desire and reality could blend without conflict.

It only makes ye creatural. He inclined his head amicably. Many who knew sorrow did covet that way of being, but to achieve it meant to become a stranger to one's self, and he'd seen this was not always the comfort which seemed promised.

Though. 'Tis not well for mortals to forget winter overlong. He confessed to thinking, For it will not forget them in the end. And toil has its own sweetness, when fairly repaid.

---

What was it that delighted the mind about shows and feats of strength? Was it that the mind equated physical prowess with success in many forms; that being unbeatable in body, extrapolated to meaning that the dynasty was sound and refused to flounder? – or was it that she, first a princess and then an empress, had been told to value this for so many years that it had eventually become true?

For a moment, Yuè wasn’t certain how purity could lie behind such sport. The wedding was no sham of purity, not with Shenlei taking his fifth wife and Yuè so freshly out of the childbed. Nor was she a fan of war, when it was not the ugly necessity of progress made – and such matches were war games, were they not?

Whatever it was, it had held her attention just fine, until the man beside her had broken it wholly. This was perhaps the first time she had turned to Rivers and been curious about what he was – for Yuè was no stranger to higher beings. Some might consider that Heaven’s Mercy was one herself.

Yuè herself? She just considered herself lucky. Burdened, even.

Creatural. Mortals. These words he used were not thrown around by those who had no reason – to which the Empress took silent note, depressing her gaze and blinking thick, dark lashes. The woman Lyra had been quite the experience, for the brief time they had spent at the Howff, and it made a peaceful sort of sense that Rivers had their quirks and secrets.

He was no commoner, and Yuè, as the leader of a nation, silently spread her appreciation that perhaps this interaction would not devolve into pleas for aid, as most of her interactions with commoners did. Somehow, she felt there was little she could offer that Rivers would value. Gold and art abounded, but it would not – might not – satisfy him.

That, and she could not think of what he might ask of her, aside from recompense for his guardianship.

Suddenly aware of her prolonged silence, her pale lips split into a small, constrained smile and she cleared her throat, lifting her head to sit regally upon her tall neck. “I will pay winter heed when it raps on my door and forces me to do so,” she claimed emphatically, hoping her jest would be clear. The Empress was ever-pragmatic, with a mind that did not stop anticipating problems.

However, the point deserved to be made. “These times of peace… of sunshine…” Yuè cast an eye across the crowd, momentary awe stealing the breath from her lungs, “...are not to be squandered.”

The darkness would return, of course – the times that required great healing. This celebration, and all of the rites associated with it, were a force that was equal in measure but opposite in intention. Nothing about this was natural, other than the innate desire to revel.

It was a force of will, just as she imagined the relentless sunshine forced fruits to ripen on the vine, when perhaps the fruit itself might rather wait until next season.

---

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He'd wondered if she favored eternal summer harvest for mistaking it an endless respite.

Fae spoke in riddles, not outright inversions, and his instinct was to take her pronouncement of passivity at face value. So he wondered next if she was truly such a damsel to wait for winter's breath before acknowledging its presence.

But — no, he heard the laugh folded into her clearwater voice. And took her meaning.

His gaze followed in step with hers like a lover bewitched, over the revelers gathered.

Caged bird she may be, but she felt the warmth on her wings and didn't take it for granted. Aye. He agreed.

And then a thoughtful pause. He enjoyed, rather, just basking in the glow of her. Wonder that she was! To gaze upon Téng Yuè was payment enough.

But he'd not forgotten his business.

With a grin that was somewhat more daring than those he'd offered in trade prior, he looked upon the Empress again and asked,  If ye'll pardon me one further curiosity, milady:

"In this realm o' endless summer, what happens to a flower that's refused t'bloom? She keeps her vengeful thorns. And her roots drink heaven's waters, aye, she's greedy. Yet those petals stay a-bud.

He was speaking of Lyra, of course. Reluctant blossom with leaves browned by salt-drink and still — he did not find her wholly abominable. For the Captain's sake, he'd come this way. Her wish to court an empire built from war carried risks he'd weigh for himself.

But nevertheless it was a broad question by design. Yue did not miss her peach, and was burdened with a kingdom's expectations whether they gazed upon her or not. What did that mean for those things which did not conform, which she could exert power upon?

Is the offense eternal as well?

---

Rivers thought of Lyra, but his words had evoked a different memory from the Empress.

Nothing about it was regarding business.

When she turned toward him, she was greeted with a smile that could have melted the moon right out of the sky. His words further investigated the peach allusion – the blossoms, the buds, the sweet and overripe fruits – and, maybe it was her hormones or the sheer gratitude and rollercoaster experience of postpartum, but,

Téng Yuè suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about the only buds she had ever known to not open and bloom.

There had been so many of them, all buried in a place that was secret, under the shade of a sycamore tree; a tree which no longer existed in her world.

It was so unfortunate that having heaps of living children did not dull the pain of those she had lost.

Had she known her interpretation of his metaphor would be so varied from his own, she might have felt shame. Instead, the woman summoned all of the grit in her soul, swallowed the sudden tightness that had clenched around her throat, and she entreated with Rivers with eyes so full of sincerity that they might have actually sparkled.

“No,” she said simply, the word falling off her tongue like rain. “I take no offense at all.”

The games had been lost to her. The woman shifted her countenance entirely, turning to face him instead of speaking out of the side of her mouth. He was more an interesting soul than most, and seemed to have a curiosity about her that was deeply pleasing.

Everyone else was here to witness a marriage, but he was watching her.

It was ridiculous to be sitting here, fighting invisible tears.

“Do you?”

---

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