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?