The Red Lantern Pavilion -- Third Floor, Private Chamber
The room smelled of camellia and wine, but the air had a sharpness to it--like the moment before a blade was drawn.
Yuan Fei entered with practiced grace, every step a performance of soft silks and lowered lashes. The door slid shut behind her with a thud of finality. Alone now, with no madam to perform for and no drunk prince to coo over, she became quiet. Still. Waiting.
He stood at the far end, silhouetted by the lacquered window screen, his back turned.
"You're late," Li Jinyan said without turning. His voice was low, even, like a blade slid from a sheath. "Or are you always this slow when summoned?"
She dropped into a kneel, forehead bowed to the floor in a motion that was more instinct than habit.
"I came as soon as I was called, Your Highness."
He turned then. The hood was gone. His face--too sharp for boyhood, too calm for desire--was unreadable. He studied her as one might study a horse before riding it for the first time: not with tenderness, but with calculation.
"I was told you don't speak unless required," he said.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Good. Then listen."
He crossed the room in measured strides, stopping before her. She didn't flinch when his hand slid beneath her chin, lifting her face. His touch wasn't cruel--just firm. Testing. His eyes scanned hers, seeking signs of fear or defiance. He found neither.
"I don't want to be flattered. I don't want to be worshipped. I don't want you to play the musician or the mother," he said. "I want obedience. Absolute."
Yuan Fei's breath hitched--not from fear, but from something she hadn't felt in a long time: recognition.
"Yes, Your Highness," she whispered.
He let go of her chin, satisfied.
"Strip. Slowly. Then kneel by the table. I want to see if you understand what silence truly means."
Yuan Fei rose, her hands moving to the sash at her waist. No coy glances, no teasing gestures--just the quiet rustle of silk sliding from skin. When the robe fell away, she knelt where he had told her, her eyes lowered, her body still.
Li Jinyan moved without comment, drawing a small lacquered case from his traveling satchel. He placed it on the table beside her with the same care a soldier gives to sharpening a blade before war. When he opened it, the soft scent of sandalwood escaped.
Inside: a coiled length of silk cord, two polished wooden rods with fastenings at each end, a pair of small metal clamps, black leather cuffs, a braided flogger, and a delicate bottle of amber-hued oil sealed with wax. A blindfold of black silk rested atop them all.
He let her see. He wanted her to see.
"You will not move without permission," he said, voice quieter now. "You will not speak unless I ask. You will not come until I allow it."
He picked up the blindfold and stood behind her.
"Do you understand?"
Yuan Fei swallowed. Her knees ached already against the hard floor, but the ache was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through her chest. He meant it. Every word. No pretense. No begging to be nursed or tamed. Just order. Precision. Control.
"Yes, Your Highness," she said softly.
He slid the blindfold over her eyes, knotting it at the back of her head with a slow, deliberate pull.
"Good," he murmured by her ear. "You won't see anything else tonight. Only feel."
She sat in darkness, breath steady but shallow, every sense heightened.
Li Jinyan moved like a shadow--silent, efficient. She heard the faint clink of metal, the whisper of silk, the scrape of flint. Then a new scent--honey and spice--drifted into the air.
Wax.
She knew that smell. Rare temple wax, used in noble offerings. And he was lighting it now. For her.
"Touch," he said simply.
His fingers brushed her wrist, wrapping it in soft leather before buckling the restraint. The second followed, her arms bound behind her back--not cruelly tight, but inescapably secure. Her balance shifted. Her breath caught.
"Sound."
The flogger's tassels kissed the back of her thigh in a teasing stroke. Then again, firmer. Not painful--yet. Just enough to stir the nerve endings awake.
"Temperature."
He uncorked the oil and poured a stream along her spine. Warm. Smooth. His fingers followed, massaging it in with deliberate care, pressing into the muscles at her lower back. It was soothing... until he abruptly stopped, letting the air chill her skin.
Then: the wax.
It dripped in a slow bead down her shoulder blade.
She jerked.
A second drop. Closer to her spine.
He said nothing. He wanted her to feel it all--the hesitation before, the sting after, the heat, the cool, the press of breath just behind her ear.
He leaned close.
"Tell me what hurts the most," he whispered.
Yuan Fei exhaled shakily, still kneeling, still blindfolded.
"...Not being touched at all," she said.
He smiled.
"Then I'll make you beg for every inch."
Yuan Fei didn't know how long she knelt.
Time became heat, sensation, breath.
He traced the wax trails with his fingers--some hardened, some still warm. The clamps came next, affixed slowly, precisely. One to the inside of her thigh. Another to a tender curve of flesh he made her expose by shifting her posture with nothing more than a palm on her neck.
Her body obeyed. Her mind began to unravel.
Then the flogger again--this time harder. A strike to the back of her thigh, then across the small of her back. She jerked against the restraints but didn't cry out. The pain sharpened everything.
Another strike.
Then silence.
She whimpered--not from pain, but from its absence.
Li crouched behind her, his voice low, hot against her ear. "Already aching without it?"
She nodded, wordless.
"Say it."
"...Yes, Your Highness."
He moved around her like a storm held just barely in check, every touch designed to overwhelm. He teased her with oil-slicked fingers, stopping just before she could find any rhythm or relief.
Then: nothing.
He stepped away again.
She was left panting in the silence, the wax cooling, the clamps biting gently, her muscles trembling.
"Look at you," he murmured, circling her again. "So obedient. So ready to suffer for someone who knows what to do with you."
She bit her lip, trying not to cry--not from pain, but from the rightness of it. She had spent years pretending to dominate, to guide, to soothe men who needed coddling.
And now--finally--she was nothing.
Just sensation. Just flesh.
Just his.
He pressed a hand against her lower back and leaned in, his tone roughening for the first time.
"I'm going to mark you," he whispered. "Not because you belong to me--yet--but because I want to see if you want to."
Her breath hitched. "Yes," she whispered.
"No. Beg."
"...Please," she rasped. "Please mark me, Your Highness."
He exhaled, pleased.
"Good girl."
Yuan Fei couldn't see him, but she felt him--circling, choosing.
The next stroke of the flogger cracked louder, biting across her back with intent now. No more teasing. She flinched, but didn't cry out. The silence pleased him. So he struck again. And again.
Her thighs trembled. Her breath came in shallow gasps. But she didn't beg. Not yet.
Then the clamps tightened.
He twisted one just slightly as he whispered by her ear, "You'll speak when I ask. Scream when I say. And break only when I allow it."
She nodded through gritted teeth.
The next pain came lower--a sudden, stinging slap between her thighs, sharp and unexpected. She gasped, body jolting forward. His hand returned, warm and rough, not to soothe but to remind.
"You like that," he said--not asking.
"...Yes, Your Highness."
Another strike. Harder. Her knees buckled, but the restraints held her up.
Then the wax returned--this time on her breast, right over the sensitive skin near the clamp. She gasped, a choked sob escaping.
He smiled.
"Good. Let me hear it."
