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heavy is the crown

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Lan Jingyi leaves the very next morning, with a battalion of men. Wei Ying sees him off at the gates of Cloud Recesses, his figure completely dwarfed by the humongous dragon Lan Jingyi rides.

Wei Ying is on his toes when he presses three jade tassels into Lan Jingyi’s palm, speaking to him with puffs of white smoke leaving his lips, “Jingyi, the journey down will be cold. Take good care of yourself.”

“Furen,” Lan Jingyi bites his lip, overwhelmed with emotion. He closes his fist, gripping the three jade tassels close—one for Jiang Cheng, one for Lan Wangji, and the last for him—knowing Wei Ying had laboured the night before to craft each one of them, painstakingly, wanting to gift them for good luck. “I won’t be by your side, so you’ll have to take good care of yourself.”

“I still have the others,” Wei Ying says, in a gentle stance. He smiles reassuringly up to the young boy, and caresses his hand. “Come back to me safely, alright?”

Lan Jingyi turns his head away, if only so he can hide the fact that he’s on the brink of tears. “I will come back for furen, I promise.”

Silly boy, Wei Ying thinks. So young, so innocent, and already embroiled in such a harsh war.

Wei Ying hopes he will be alright.

Lan Jingyi barks the harsh command to leave, and the group of them take off into the air with their dragons, looking as majestic as the first time Wei Ying remembers ever seeing them.

Within an incense stick of time, they’re gone. Wei Ying is left behind at the gates, half his body hidden by the clouds. He lifts his robes as he walks, his bare feet stepping onto gold tile after gold tile. Flanked by royal bodyguards, Wei Ying begins the long walk home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

His days in the palace are dreary without Lan Jingyi. It had been bad enough without his husband, but now without Lan Jingyi as well, Wei Ying feels completely alone. The handmaidens that accompany him are not as talkative and bold as the teenage dragon; and without royal blood in their veins, they place much—respectful—distance between them and the Second Prince’s consort. There is no playful banter or cheery laughter to greet him during the day anymore. Wei Ying spends most of his time now staring into the mirror as they comb at his hair, wondering what exactly his worth is when everyone he knows and loves are fighting a Great War outside, and he is to be sheltered within the walls of a gated sanctuary like a defenseless pup who is only good for looking pretty.

But before this, he thinks. Before I became a fox bride, before I became a prophecy, before I became a dragon’s hoarded treasure; I was a great warrior of my clan, too. I trained well and hard under the Jiangs, and gave my blood, sweat and tears to fighting for them, until my hands went numb and my knees went weak and I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. I could go out there, and fight alongside all of you, and protect everyone I hold so dear, if only you would let me—

—but fate has designated me to sit before this vanity mirror, with golden hairpins in my hair, wondering instead what will be the fate of everyone whom I know and love.

They covet me for my womb, my body, my beauty, my bloodline. And as Wei Ying raises a shaky hand up to cup at his wet, powdered cheeks, he thinks, and power that runs through my veins. I am their one and only.

Are you hungry, furen,” one of the handmaidens kneeling by his side speaks. Unlike Jingyi, they remain much more comfortable conversing with Wei Ying in dragon tongue—in much more heavily accented tones that are still difficult to understand at times. Jingyi had explained to him once that amongst the clan here there are still various tribes, and amongst these tribes they still speak multiple variations of the dragon tongue. Non-royalty hail from a number of places, and so Wei Ying learns to be more understanding of that fact.

“I can eat,” Wei Ying says. Without Jingyi around, all he does is eat and sleep, or read and write or play the guqin whimsically to entertain himself. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to continue living like this—certainly not for another two or three months, which is the amount of time he can expect them to return by. He is already losing his mind, and it has barely been two weeks since Jingyi last left.

Wei Ying’s already slipping into some sort of slump. He’s not going to make it, he knows this for sure.

The two handmaidens that he has excuse themselves to the kitchen, leaving Wei Ying to ruminate in his chair alone. He spends a good few minutes tugging at the hairpins in his hair, wondering why he’s even been made up so nicely when there is no one left in this palace he has to look good for. Even if he had to keep up appearances, he hardly meets anyone else in this palace. He is not married to the crown prince, and so he is in not in a political position where upon he needs to greet visitors to Cloud Recesses or partake in court affairs. No, Wei Ying does not need to undertake such burden, being married to the Second Prince—for better or for worse.

The handmaidens return with a tray of food, consisting of a soup and a light meal. Wei Ying’s appetite has been growing from bad to worse in his loneliness, and the handmaidens have done their best to accommodate this fact.

Your meal, furen,” they greet with their heads bowed, placing the food onto a table. “We will leave you to it.”

Thank you,” Wei Ying says. He removes himself from the chair and kneels to the mat, feeling his stomach churn at the sight of another lonely meal. The waves of nausea have been back in full-force, and he’s sure most of today’s meal will remain largely untouched, once again.

As the handmaidens leave out the door, Wei Ying takes his first spoonful of soup, and actively curbs the urge to retch it all back up. He raises a shaky hand up to clasp lightly at his throat, trying to soothe himself into swallowing it down. I have to eat, he thinks. I have to eat, because Lan Zhan will get worried about me if he knows I’m not, and so will Jiang Cheng, and even Jingyi… and I promised them I would be fine. They are fighting a Great War out there, and the least I can do for them is take care of myself. So I have to eat.

With unsteady hands, he picks up the spoon once more, and tries to digest another round of soup. Except this time he actually feels it coming back up his throat, and has to grab for a handkerchief placed conveniently on the side as he coughs his food out.

Black spots of bile stain the cloth, leaving Wei Ying’s stomach further convulsing with dread at the sight. It’s back, and it seems so much worse.

Perhaps there is some medicine he can ask for, from the kitchen. He pulls himself back up onto his feet, and hurries to the door, knowing his handmaidens hadn’t left too long ago and must still be nearby. His fingers grip at the latch of the door, and he’s almost pulling it open when he hears—

“...do…think...fox...pregnant?

The handmaidens are indeed still outside, and have slipped back into their native dialect of the dragon tongue to speak with each other.

Wei Ying can only make out a few words, here and there.

...even if...pregnant…food...kill…”

Wei Ying’s heart completely deadens in his chest. Even with his basic comprehension, he’s able to easily discern what they might be insinuating.

No, no, perhaps he’d simply recognized the wrong word. There is still so much vocabulary in the dragon tongue that he has yet to learn after all, and—

“...make Wens...happy...kill...baby...

They’re poisoning him.

They’re poisoning him, for sure.

Wei Ying feels another round of bile coming up.

He’s been eating their food for weeks.

Wei Ying knows he hasn’t misheard a single thing now. He would recognize the vile Wen name anywhere. There is already the matter of his nausea to contend with—but to serve him poison? In his food? How long had they been doing this? And why were they working for the Wens? Why would any dragon possibly entertain an alliance with the very enemy their clan was fighting against?

Had they only started doing so right after Jingyi left, or had they been doing as such from even when the boy was still around? Wei Ying had never accompanied them to the kitchen before, he wouldn’t know. Even then, he wouldn’t be surprised if this matter slipped right past Jingyi’s eyes. The poor boy was always spending every second of his time with Wei Ying, and standing guard 24/7 by him. Wei Ying really couldn’t blame him for not realising the very handmaidens he worked with were actually trying to poison the royal consort they worked for.

And they’d mentioned ‘pregnant’ and ‘baby’ enough for Wei Ying to know the poison had to either do with his death, or to ensure the baby’s death, at the very least. His pregnancy may not be confirmed yet, what with the physician reluctant to do so until he could verify such an important announcement with much more certainty, but Wei Ying knows that rumours have already begun circulating around the sect ever since he first hurled black bile back right here in Lan Wangji’s bed chambers. Most around here already think him to be pregnant, and suffering from the unfortunate side-effects of cross-species breeding—much less fulfilling the hundred year old prophecy that’s been hanging over his head.

Wei Ying tries not to think about it; tries not to think he is already with child, because he cannot afford to have his hopes up in fear of having them crash down should it turn out to be a simple illness of some sort. But people will still talk, and he knows what people have begun to think.

He just hadn’t expected there to be people violently against it as well—to the point of wanting him, or his baby dead, because of it. But for what? Wei Ying can’t come up with a good reason why. Out of jealousy? Fear? Envy? Hatred? Or were they really working with the Wens? What could the Wens offer them that they didn’t already have at Cloud Recesses? Everyone lived magnificent lives here; everything he touched around here was made out of pure, hard gold!

This… wasn’t good. No, this wasn’t good at all. Without Lan Jingyi around, there is no one left he can trust to have his best interests at heart. He doesn’t know exactly how many people around the palace have fallen to the Wens, and he can’t trust that it is only his two handmaidens that have it out for him around here.

Wei Ying loosens his grasp on the door, his hands falling to his sides instead.

He’s lonely in this palace. He’s so terribly lonely.

He no longer eats any food that his handmaidens serve him, preferring to discard them out the window when they’re not watching.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wei Ying starts to wander around the palace during the daytime, because he can no longer stand to stay in a room with two handmaidens that he knows are scheming for his death. If the poison proves not to work in the long-term, he can’t be too sure they won’t have back-up plans, and try something else more direct in nature.

Without his husband or Lan Jingyi around, there are no more watchful eyes on him, and he no longer needs explicit permission to move about the palace. He still catches plenty of attention from the servants that bustle around the busy Inner Palace, but most simply greet him with reverence and quickly go on their way.

It is only by sheer luck one day that he passes by the imperial garden and sees a face—so familiar, but also not quite—that he hasn’t seen in a full month, standing around in long cerulean blue robes, conversing with what must be a court official of sorts.

“Crown prince,” Wei Ying cries out in relief at the sight. Lan Xichen doesn’t hear him right away, and so he raises his voice a little louder, “Crown prince!”

Lan Xichen lifts his gaze, sees who it is, and with the quick wave of a hand, immediately dismisses the court official he’s speaking to. He turns to face Wei Ying, his lips pulling open into a wide smile.

“A-Ying,” he calls rather affectionately, beckoning Wei Ying closer.

Wei Ying scampers over, doing his best not to trip over his robes in his excitement. He stops short right before Lan Xichen, grateful to finally be in the company of someone he at least knows harbours no ill-bearings for him in this place. Well, at least he expects him not to. Lan Wangji is his husband, and is the crown prince’s beloved younger brother. Wei Ying hopes by extension, he is favoured by the crown prince, too.

“It has been awhile, I must apologize,” Lan Xichen barely holds back his smile, his interest piqued by the sheer enthusiasm that greets him. “Matters of the ongoing war have been very… pressing. I promise, I was definitely planning to pay you a visit soon.”

“It’s fine,” Wei Ying says, holding back tears. “I, I’m just happy to see you again.”

Even if Lan Xichen is not his husband, they look similar enough that Wei Ying still takes comfort in the sight of him. There has always been something so calming about the crown prince’s demeanor.

Lan Xichen gazes at him with a curious look, taking in all of him. That friendly smile on his face quickly turns into a frown. “You have gotten much thinner,” he observes, his antlers twitching in worry. “Since I last saw you.”

Of course he has—Wei Ying’s hardly eaten since then, only daring to eat the few pieces of bread he sneaks out of the kitchen that he knows hasn’t been tampered with.

“Is it the nausea, still?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Ying knows no other way to answer this. “A little,” he says, softly.

“I’ll get us some tea and snacks,” he says, snapping his fingers to call for a servant over. “Are you hungry?”

Wei Ying parts his lips, ready to protest, but then thinks that he can at least trust Lan Xichen’s own entourage not to slip poison into the crown prince’s food.

“Very.”

Lan Xichen has no idea how much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wei Ying scarfs down the biscuits in his hand, ignoring the odd looks sent his way by Lan Xichen.

“Have you not had your afternoon meal?” Lan Xichen asks, concerned.

“I,” Wei Ying averts his gaze, wondering how he should address this. There are many ears around, and many servants in attendance around them in this imperial garden, this open space that they sit in. He does not trust that there won’t be a worse assassination attempt should he freely reveal he’s aware of the fact that he’s being poisoned in these parts. The very fact that there are people working for the Wens within the very Inner Palace already has him wary about how deep they’ve dug their claws into the dragon Lan sect.

And so, Wei Ying chooses to lie.

“I eat better with company,” Wei Ying murmurs, playing up the heartache in his eyes, folding his fox ears closer to his hair. He doesn’t need to, really; the loneliness of his days in the Palace have truly been getting to him. “Ever since Lan Zhan and Jingyi left, it’s been…”

“Difficult?” A look of understanding comes over Lan Xichen’s face. “I can imagine. I apologise, I should have been more perceptive of this, and paid you a much earlier visit.”

“It’s not your fault, crown prince,” Wei Ying says. “I know you’re incredibly busy.”

“I should have done better, I promised Wangji I would look out for you,” Lan Xichen counters, looking slightly upset with himself. “Also, you need not be so formal with me. It’s fine to call me Lan Huan.”

Wei Ying’s eyes bulge. That’s way too familiar than he’s comfortable with. “I, I’ll call you Xichen-ge, if you’re alright with that,” he whispers.

“I would like that,” Lan Xichen smiles, gently. “A-Ying.”

There is something to be said about how the crown prince has afforded himself the liberty of calling after Wei Ying so intimately, without prior permission from the fox.

“If you find it difficult to eat without company,” Lan Xichen offers. “And if you do not mind my company, I can set aside time to have my afternoon meals with you, starting from today.”

Wei Ying is in stupefaction. It’s a very generous offer, and one that he can’t believe would be readily made to him. “In… in um, this garden?”

“I like the view here,” Lan Xichen smiles. “Do you?”

Wei Ying would be an idiot to refuse. The servants may poison his food, but they will not dare to do so if the crown prince is in the mix. They may abhor him, as an outsider—but Lan Xichen is one of theirs. From what he can tell, the Lans are highly respected and beloved by the rest of their clan.

“I cannot let you go hungry,” Lan Xichen frowns, when he realises Wei Ying has still not yet answered. “Of course, I understand if you’d prefer—”

“The garden is great,” Wei Ying breathes out, smiling up to him. This time, it’s genuine, it’s purely him being beyond thankful that Lan Xichen is thinking for him, above all else. Even if his handmaidens against him, if their future king is on his side, Wei Ying has nothing to fear.

“I would love to have your company, Xichen-ge. Just so my meals are a little less lonely, from now on.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes—hazel, and in dragon-like slits—ignite with interest.

Then, in a flash, it is gone, like it was never supposed to be there.

“I’ll call on the servants to get us more food,” Lan Xichen returns to his award-winning smile. “So A-Ying can eat to his heart’s content.”

Wei Ying’s heart is warm. “I’m almost full…”

“If you cannot finish the rest, I’ll have it sent to your room,” Lan Xichen says. “I write regularly to Wangji about the war, and will have to answer to him if he knows his consort has not been living well, back here.”

“Has he been asking about me again?” Wei Ying asks, heart galloping at the thought. He misses his husband, truly.

“Always,” Lan Xichen utters.

 

 

 

 


Lan Xichen makes good on his promise.

“Things were going well until the letter came from Wangji requesting for Lan Jingyi’s aid,” Lan Xichen explains, during one of their afternoon meals in the garden together. “Lan Jingyi should have reached them by now, so I am just waiting for more news.”

“Lan Zhan must trust Jingyi a lot to ask for him, personally,” Wei Ying says, cupping hot tea to himself. “Did he… did he mention the extent of Jiang Cheng’s injuries?”

“No, he kept it rather vague,” Lan Xichen answers, rather apologetically. “I am guessing so as not to worry you. I know it must be difficult to sit here and wait.”

“It’s fine,” Wei Ying puts a brave face on. “I have faith in Lan Zhan. And Jingyi. Lan Zhan promised me he would look out for A-Cheng, so I… I trust him. I just, I try not to think about it.”

“I understand,” Lan Xichen manages a small smile. “I feel the same each time I send Wangji out for war. Uncle has faith in him, but I worry, everytime.”

“Lan Zhan will be okay,” Wei Ying forces out a smile of his own. “He said he would come back to me.”

Lan Xichen glances to him, pleasantly surprised. He hides his smile behind a cup of tea of his own, “I have to say, you are certainly not what I expected, when Wangji’s marriage was being arranged.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying looks up to him. “What were you expecting?”

Lan Xichen pauses. “I am not sure,” he admits. “But fox spirits have been hunted into extinction, and the Jiangs have always hidden you from the prying eye of outsiders. Until the Wens attacked, we heard close to nothing about the fox spirit they’d come to shelter.”

It’s true—Jiang Fengmian was well-aware of the dangers and reputation that came with sheltering fox spirits, and always kept Wei Ying close, on Yunmeng Jiang sect grounds. While it had been a source of contention for the spirited Wei Ying during his childhood years, who wanted nothing more than to run off and travel the world, he understands why Jiang shushu had been so overly protective of him, now. It was almost as if he knew that Wei Ying’s life would eventually be traded with for a price, and considering what has befallen them thus far, Wei Ying can’t begrudge Jiang shushu for all of that, now. In a way, Wei Ying is thankful he is who he is—because when he and Jiang Cheng had lost everything else, with nothing to hold onto but each other, it was Wei Ying who was able to offer himself up to give Jiang Cheng, and by extension, the Jiangs, a renewed chance at life, and at overturning the war.

“There are only cruel things to be said about fox spirits,” Wei Ying says, with a leaden heart. “I’m aware of our ill repute.”

“We do not believe in all of that,” Lan Xichen hums. “Dragons hold fox spirits in high regard, and believe formidable power can come out of a union together. You already know we have a prophecy.”

Wei Ying no longer takes the existence of the prophecy to heart—not when he has come to love, and be loved, by the man tasked to marry him for that very reason. “I am grateful that the dragons think otherwise.”

“No, I am grateful that we were able to find you,” Lan Xichen chuckles. “The last of his kind. The fox that will lead the dragons to victory, and whose child will finally bring forth unity and peace in this world—Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say to that. “I am grateful,” he says again. “To be found by the dragons.”

No matter the fact that without the death of Jiang shushu, a-yi and shijie, the dragons would never be able to get their hands on him otherwise.

But the thought of never meeting Lan Wangji is excruciating, and Wei Ying wonders what is worse.

“Is there a reason,” Wei Ying asks, out of a sudden, because he has been wondering this. “That I have been wedded to Lan Zhan, and not you?”

Usually, it is the crown prince.

Lan Xichen laughs. “I understand your curiosity. It is for black and white reasons—his name is part of the prophecy, and so we believe it can only be him.”

“Forget envy,” Wei Ying deduces, very quickly. “That’s the part he’s been mentioned in.”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen smiles. “The elders are very superstitious. In the end, I am thankful it was Wangji. He looks… significantly happier with you around, and I’m glad to see him occupied with matters besides the war. Wangji has always been so sentimental, and I’d always feared he wouldn’t be able to find someone truly deserving, but you’ve allayed all of my worries.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying looks down to his plate of food. “Has he always been like this?”

“Sentimental? Yes, he has been like this from young,” Lan Xichen says. “Do you not think so? When he loves, he loves—so deeply. It’d been the same for our mother, and now it is the same for you. He almost gave up on a war because of you.”

“He wasn’t really going to give up on a war,” Wei Ying says insistently, shaking his head. “Not for me.”

“He can, and he will,” Lan Xichen says, with a tense smile. “And that is why I have to make sure to take good care of you. Before he comes back to see you in such a state and then vows to never leave, again.”

Wei Ying bites at his lip. He knows Lan Xichen isn’t kidding.

“I miss him,” he confesses.

“I know,” Lan Xichen says. He extends his hand, and takes Wei Ying’s one into his, reassuringly.

“He will come back soon, for you, no doubt.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their conversations begin to progress beyond shallow conversations about food and palace affairs, to court politics and the war. Lan Xichen sometimes takes the court documents along with him after he finishes his morning meetings with his advisors, and freely allows Wei Ying to examine the scrolls at length over their shared meals.

While Wei Ying is nowhere near being a court advisor, he had been groomed to become the right-hand man of a sect leader, once. He holds the intellect and wit necessary for one to thrive in politics, and finds himself thoroughly enthralled by the sort of affairs Lan Xichen brings to him. At first Lan Xichen had simply done it as a form of indulgence for the fox, and perhaps to bring him some entertainment amidst his mundane days of being cooped up here as an imperial consort, but upon realising Wei Ying was up for serious discussions about the issues Lan Xichen was working on—began actively debating Wei Ying and seeking out his opinions.

Wei Ying is not just a pretty thing. He is a pretty thing, but he’s more than a womb and a potential mother to a baby that they are after, and he’s glad Lan Xichen trusts him enough to involve him in important sect matters of which Wei Ying would normally have no jurisdiction over. Lan Xichen does not do it to be patronizing either; he firmly respects the fox spirit and line of thought, and takes his words and advice to heart when making his decisions.

Two weeks of daily meetings pass like this, and Wei Ying slowly comes to view Lan Xichen as a confidant of sorts; someone he can place his trust in when everyone else he knows is gone for the war. The crown prince too, always travels with an entourage, and being with him brings safety to Wei Ying in ways that he appreciates. They have still not heard back from Lan Wangji, and so have no news on how soon they may return, but Wei Ying thinks he may just survive this tumultuous period with the company of the crown prince, who seems determined to take care of him in his beloved brother’s absence.

The Lans are not bad people, Wei Ying thinks, as he holds an imperial scroll up and reads up on the latest tribulation brought up to the court today. The dragons, who live high up in the clouds, have always been responsible for governing a huge proportion of the lands—Gusu, and beyond—and the amount of petty cases brought to them by the common folk never ceases. Today, a villager has brought forth a dispute whereupon he accused his neighbour of stealing his livestock in the dead of the night.

“What do you make of the case?” Lan Xichen asks, raising a cup of tea to his lips.

“The neighbour did it,” Wei Ying says, eyes still rooted to the words on the scroll. “They have a history of crossing each other, and this isn’t their first dispute.”

“Do you think I should bring the neighbour in for questioning?” Lan Xichen asks.

“You should fine them, and make an example out of them,” Wei Ying places the scroll right down. “Aren’t they wasting the court’s time and resources with their petty squabbles?”

“Mm,” Lan Xichen chuckles. “I should, shouldn’t I? There is still the war that I have to take care of.”

“Xichen-ge, you’re too nice,” Wei Ying rolls his eyes saying, though it’s with a smile. He picks up a biscuit, chewing on it as he speaks. “Don’t you get five cases like this a day? To put a stop to it, you shouldff jusch fineff themsch.”

“A-Ying,” Lan Xichen reaches a hand over, to lightly wipe at the crumbs on the fox’s mouth. With a gentle smile, and laughter in his eyes, he hums aloud, “No talking while eating in Cloud Recesses, remember?”

Wei Ying immediately goes rigid. “Ah,” he says, swallowing thickly.

He hears footsteps rushing over before he can even ascertain who it is—

Wei Ying,” comes a voice, so angry and hostile in nature; and a hand that swipes in to aggressively swat at Lan Xichen’s one.

Wei Ying raises his gaze, and thinks he must be in some sort of a dream.

“Lan… Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, with disbelieving eyes.

There his husband stands, tall and forbidding in stature, still decked out in full battle garment. He’s thoroughly drenched in sweat, his golden eyes flared wide open, looking bloodshot and almost delirious. Down his bare arms are freshly wounded scars gained from the recent war, and the long braid that trails behind him is all out of sorts, with hair sticking out in a number of different directions, as if he’d been on an impossible flight—in a race to get here. His boots are still muddied from wet grass, and leave messy mud prints wherever he walks. Behind him, guards and servants follow closely in a mad dash, running after him with frantic calls for him to slow down.

Wangji,” Lan Xichen stands up, retracting his hand awkwardly to himself. The slap from Lan Wangji stings. “You have returned?

Honourable crown prince, we had no time to inform you, the Second Prince made his way here as soon as he arrived…” the servants utter weakly, keeping their heads bowed.

What is the meaning of this,” Lan Wangji barks, sparing his own brother no courtesy. “Do you not know how to mind yourself in the presence of another man’s consort?”

Wangji, surely there has been a misunderstanding—” He stretches a hand out again, only to be viciously rebuffed by the infuriated Second Prince. “Wangji, please. Is there a reason you have returned so soon?”

The letter requesting Jingyi’s aid wasn’t from me,” Lan Wangji snaps, his eyes narrowing into furious slits. “It was forged. I left the minute Jingyi arrived at our camp. Someone drew him away from the palace… from Wei Ying, for a reason. Instead of philandering with your brother’s consort in your spare time, perhaps you might want to consider launching a full-scale investigation on potential Wen spies infiltrating our network.”

“Forged?” Wei Ying’s fox ears lift up, in pure shock. “It wasn’t you who asked for him? Does that mean Jingyi… and Jiang Cheng, are fine? Did they come back with you?”

Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji hisses in a non-reply, yellow dragon claws extending to clutch at the fox’s thin wrists. “Come with me.”

“Lan Zhan, are you sure we can’t talk this out with your brother,” Wei Ying hastily says, darting anxious looks back and forth between the two princes. Lan Xichen remains rooted in place, positively distraught at the horrid accusations dished at him by his younger brother. “It really isn’t what it looks like. And shouldn’t we talk about the matter of the forged letter in the first—”

But Lan Wangji’s grasp on him is tight, and Wei Ying can barely keep up with his small feet. He follows after his husband in a confused flurry, watching as the war general stalks right back to their quarters with clenched fists, hot steam emitting from every inch of his skin.

His husband is, very evidently, not pleased.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lan Wangji sits on the bed, deeply silent and still fuming, as Wei Ying pulls the door close behind them.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls softly, turning his back onto the door. He takes cautious steps towards his husband, the violet silk he wears twirling elegantly around his pale ankles as he does so. “Can we talk about what happened back there with Xichen-ge?”

It slips out of him without warning, and he regrets it the very minute the name leaves his lips.

Wei Ying has grown closer to the crown prince in his husband’s absence, out of necessity, out of survival, but Lan Wangji’s not going to see it that way. Not going to understand it that way. No, all he can see and witness is the love of his life seeking comfort in another while he’s away, as if he has forgotten who he is truly wed to.

Dragon’s sickness, he remembers Jingyi explaining to him. It’s unforgiving, and it overcomes the rational mind. It’s obsessive, it’s greedy, and borne out of overpowering love.

Lan Wangji’s wrath becomes even more apparent with every rising second, his balled fists starting to turn white at his knuckles as he regards the affectionate manner in which Wei Ying addresses his brother.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying falls to his knees, sweetly laying his head against his husband’s lap, unfurling Lan Wangji’s fists and interlocking his hand with his. If he plays up his charms, he’s bound to soothe that odd temperament of Lan Wangji’s for sure. It’s never failed him once.

“Lan Zhan, we’ve been apart for so long, there’s no reason to get upset over a small misunderstanding. Can’t we talk about this?”

“Do you prefer him?”

And suddenly it feels like the entire world has come to a standstill.

Wei Ying shudders. “W…What?”

He almost thinks he has entered a hallucinative state.

“Do you prefer him,” Lan Wangji spits out, in perfect, non-accented, common tongue. The dragon prince speaks in eerily calm, clipped sentences, so unlike the long, passionate ramblings Wei Ying is more familiar to hearing from him in his native tongue, normally.

“Do you prefer my brother, the crown prince, have you spread your legs for him, have you found comfort in another in my absence? Do you prefer him to me?”

Wei Ying cannot believe his ears. His silvery-gray eyes dilate in astonishment, completely taken by… rude surprise.

“You can speak,” Wei Ying’s pulse is racing, and he grows slightly light-headed with this new revelation. “You can speak the common tongue.”

“Wei Ying, I asked you a question.”

“No,” Wei Ying loosens his hold on Lan Wangji’s hand, removing himself from the floor. “No, I can’t believe you. You—you’re incorrigible. You could have communicated—you could have said something to me, from day one. What the hell? I learned a whole new language for you!”

He should have known. There was no way, no way, his uncle, his brother, even Jingyi, all could speak the common tongue so well, and that Lan Wangji could not. Lan Wangji may be a war general, but he’s still a born and bred Lan, and as a royal he would have received the best education possible within his sect.

Wei Ying had never questioned it, and no one sought to inform him any otherwise, perhaps to protect the Second Prince’s wishes. But Wei Ying feels like he’s been taken for a mere fool.

He should have known.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji sees the fox begin to draw away from him, and hurries to encircle his hands around the fox’s wrists, pulling him right back onto his lap. “Wei Ying, I had my reasons.”

“What reasons?” Wei Ying raises his voice, questioning, clearly upset. He squirms against his husband’s legs, fighting futilely in his hold. It’s not like he can escape; he’s never been able to overpower the dragon prince in strength, the difference in size too jarring. “Lan Wangji, you don’t—you don’t get to waltz back in here and demand answers to something that isn’t even happening—you dare insinuate me and your brother—do you even know how much I’ve suffered in your absence—”

“Do you prefer him,” Lan Wangji questions for the last time, his vice grip on Wei Ying quickly turning the soft, tender skin on the fox’s wrists red. “Do you like him better than me? Why do you let him touch you in ways that only I am allowed to?”

“Are you out of your mind,” Wei Ying scoffs, a blaze of indignation burning in his eyes. “Are you trying to insinuate that I’ve been unfaithful to you? Lan Wangji, I can’t believe you’re trying to pin this on me when—when you have lied to me right from the very beginning. Is this a game to you? Have you been toying with me all these while? You’ve heard my every word, every plea, every wish—you knew what you were doing that wedding night—have you no conscience—”

“So, are you going to love me less because of it,” Lan Wangji asks, through gritted teeth, bringing Wei Ying closer. “Do you think me despicable, do you abhor me for this lie?”

“What is wrong with you? Do you,” Wei Ying gasps, out of breath from thrashing violently in his husband’s embrace. “Do you only care about me losing love for you? There are more pressing matters—”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji snaps, tugging Wei Ying closer. “If you prefer my brother over me, I will lose my mind.”

Wei Ying’s skin tingles upon his admission. “I don’t,” Wei Ying’s heart rate slows. He can never ignore the soft spot he holds for his husband. “I don’t view him in that way. You know I only, I only love you.”

“Love me,” Lan Wangji breathes out, clenching Wei Ying’s skin. His eyes glaze over, “You only love me?”

“I do,” Wei Ying hisses, exasperated, wishing otherwise. “I do, god, I do. But I’m starting to regret it, because I’m starting to think you don’t deserve it.”

“Wei Ying, I have missed you,” Lan Wangji moves his hands up to cup at the fox spirit’s cheeks, looking angrily but beautifully flushed, brimming with hot emotion. “I worried over you, every second I was out there. I came as soon as I realised something—or someone—pulled Jingyi away from you. You are all that I have, do you know that, Wei Ying?”

His sweet words are so convincing, only because Wei Ying knows he means it, through and through.

“I love you,” Wei Ying says again, because he knows assurance is what his husband needs. Lan Wangji always looks at him with such forlorn eyes, full of begging, and Wei Ying can never resist him. “I love you, Lan Zhan. It’s only ever been you, it’ll only ever be you. Don’t you already know that? Do you not trust me?”

Lan Wangji caresses at his cheek, admiring the sweet countenance of his fox bride. Wei Ying’s repeated assurances has calmed him down somewhat. “I love you more,” he whispers, looking at Wei Ying with dilated dragon eyes. Moments ago, they were feral. Now, they’re tender, and laced with unbearable affection. “I love you most. I live only for you, and only you. You cannot toss me aside for another, do you understand?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs out, softly. His husband is so single-minded when his love for him comes into question.

Lan Wangji’s declarations of love, too, are even more sincerely worded in the common tongue. It tugs at Wei Ying’s heart, it sends his heart squeezing at the weight of his husband’s affections.

He really cannot begrudge Lan Wangji for anything, in the end.

Lan Wangji’s hand cups at the back of his head, pressing the fox in for a bittersweet kiss. He still stinks of war, of bloodshed, of a brutal reality out there, but those familiar lips claim Wei Ying’s ones, and very soon Wei Ying’s entire body is slackening, and melting instinctively into his hold. The dragon prince bites and licks at Wei Ying’s bottom lip, yanking them open with his sharp teeth, sliding his tongue in hungrily without so much as waiting for permission. He’s only ever known to take what he wants, so presumptuous is this dragon prince—and Wei Ying is what he has wanted, for so long.

Lan Wangji, he tastes so sweet, he tastes like months of painful separation and longing, he tastes like home. Wei Ying kisses him back urgently, his hands pulling at the front of his battle garment. Lan Wangji’s scarred chest is as sturdy as he remembers, and as Wei Ying paws at them and pulls himself further up on Lan Wangji’s lap, the bigger man places his hands on Wei Ying’s waist and hoists him up and over him, so he can lay the fox back down onto their bed.

“...so lonely out there, without you,” Lan Wangji murmurs, overly eager hands hastily peeling at the robes around Wei Ying’s shoulders. He crawls over the fox, greedily sinking his mouth into every new patch of skin that’s unveiled, leaving fluttery, mouthy kisses everywhere he can. “War is so difficult, without Wei Ying by my side. Has it been difficult for Wei Ying, too?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying can’t hold in the soft moans that are drawn from him with every tingly kiss pressed against his body. His fox ears twitch up uncontrollably each time Lan Wangji’s lips meet his skin, sending electrifying jolts running through him each time. “Lan Zhan, I missed you, too.”

“How much,” Lan Wangji questions, and in one single stroke of movement—pulls loose the thin waist ribbon holding Wei Ying’s robes together, from the front. The silk slides down and unravels completely from Wei Ying’s body, and the very scene is akin to Lan Wangji unwrapping Wei Ying like a war prize. Wei Ying squirms slightly in embarrassment, averting his eyes as he feels his husband’s dark gaze travel up and down his delicate frame, inspecting his every inch of skin as if making sure no foreign marks are to be found on him.

He wants to make sure for himself.

“How much did you miss me? Can I take your words at face-value?”

His thick fingers dip down, and grab firm hold of Wei Ying’s slim thighs. He spreads them with one swift movement, firmly keeping them open even as Wei Ying tries to snap them back close on instinct. It’s been so long since he has been in his husband’s ravenous company, and he’d almost forgotten how rough the dragon can get in bed.

“Wei Ying has been apart from me too long,” Lan Wangji frowns, nails digging into the insides of the fox’s milky thighs to make sure they stay open. “He has forgotten how to behave.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, writhing in his husband’s grasp. He can already feel himself getting wet—so so wet, months of pent-up sexual frustration quickly coming to light. His heart still carries the slightest hint of bitterness, but his body betrays him, curse his soft spot for Lan Wangji... “You’re so much worse in the common tongue.”

It’s so much worse because Wei Ying actually understands every word for what it is; with dragon tongue he often still had to guess using contextual cues. With the common tongue, Lan Wangji is unhinged—he does not wax poetry, he says it for what it is.

Perhaps there is good reason Lan Wangji held back for so long.

“Does Wei Ying like it?” Lan Wangji asks, spreading his thighs even wider. Wei Ying’s breath hitches, allowing himself to be manhandled so evidence of his arousal is plain and out there for Lan Wangji to look at. His taut hole stretches open, warm slick running down his inner thighs with every additional provocative word that his husband utters.

“Does Wei Ying like hearing my thoughts in its most raw, pure form? Does Wei Ying prefer it? Would Wei Ying like me to detail exactly to him the things I have been thinking of doing to him in my absence?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying’s almost kicking up a fuss now, growing increasingly flustered in his lust-addled mind. He’s spent so many months away from the man, spent so many lonely nights by himself, went from getting fucked and bred good every night to complete abstinence; and Lan Zhan’s teasing is getting way too much for him to bear. “Lan Zhan, please, please just—fuck—already—don’t tease, please, husband.”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji utters instead, his gaze growing with interest. It seems he is in an unforgiving mood. “How am I to know Wei Ying has been faithful to me in my absence? Wei Ying should show me how he has been dealing with his needs, otherwise, I am to assume otherwise...”

Oh, fuck. Lan Wangji is so, so terrible. And so unbelievably mean.

“I didn’t fuck your brother,” Wei Ying whines. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I promise, I touched myself whenever it got too much, please, husband, I’ve been so faithful…”

“Prove it,” Lan Wangji hums, in a much more pleasant mood than before. It’s clear he doesn’t actually believe in Wei Ying’s infidelity—he’s just doing this because he can, because looking upon Wei Ying’s tortured face is such a lovely thing, because Wei Ying is so breathtakingly beautiful and bullying him to helplessness is such an addictive thing, and Wei Ying knows it. He knows the way Lan Wangji looks at him, he knows his husband is so inherently jealous and just sharing a small, intimate moment with his older brother had set him off so bad, and now Wei Ying has to appease him well before Lan Wangji will make nice with him again.

“Lan Zhaan,” Wei Ying begs, impatiently.

“Prove it,” Lan Wangji states for the second time. He takes Wei Ying’s hands into his, guides them down to the twitching hole located in between his thighs. “Show me how you thought of me, all those nights.”

Wei Ying cannot deny his husband’s commands.

With a sharp, staggered gasp, he pushes two fingers into himself, the same exact way he has done so everyday ever since Lan Wangji left him. His small fingers slide in so easily, his body having grown accustomed to the digits. Wei Ying arches his back briefly off the bed with a parted mouth as he thrusts the fingers right against his sweet spot, having grown expert at locating it after much practice.

“Oh, oh,” Wei Ying bites at his lip, his eyelids falling to a close as he starts his fingers off slow, just as he has always done. “Oh, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, husband, please…”

A fox tail pops out from his back, stirring up Lan Wangji’s interest. It appears Wei Ying’s control over his appearance has severely weakened over the past few months, and is at the weakest when Wei Ying is most honest with himself, in the throes of intense pleasure.

“Are you thinking of me,” Lan Wangji asks, swiftly undoing his lower robes so he can relieve the tightness in his pants. “Tell me how you think of me when you pleasure yourself.”

Wei Ying’s fox ears fold back down into his hair, utterly embarrassed. Through his hazy, half-lidded eyes, he can see his husband begin to thumb at the head of his thick, hard cock that he’s pulled out, and he wonders if this is how Lan Wangji has been pleasuring himself to thoughts of Wei Ying while he’s out in his camp, out at war. Surely the past few months have not been easy for a dragon with such a voracious sexual appetite; surely Lan Wangji, who is a healthy virile hot-blooded dragon, who has promised never to seek out another partner, must have had so many urges to curb in Wei Ying’s absence. Thinking about his husband being rendered helpless by his own sexual frustration, and sweatily jerking himself off repeatedly every night to thoughts of him and him only, sends Wei Ying keening in ways never before. He pushes a third finger into him, and produces the most deliberate, careless moan.

“I think of you and your thick cock fucking me good,” Wei Ying rambles out, in a feverish daze, working his fingers frenziedly inside of him. Tails pop up from behind him, one after another, betraying his true, lewd nature. “I...I think of you holding me down as I fight you, making me take it like you did that wedding night. I think about you b-breeding my womb with your cock, r-reaching my womb with your cock, m-making sure you fuck me so good I can think only of having your baby and your cock. I think—fuck—I think of being taken by you everywhere, in this bed, against the wall, in the garden, on the throne.”

“Haa,” Lan Wangji groans, his hand maintaining a firm grip around his cock. Pre-cum dribbles from the tip in white loads, filthily staining through his fingers—the man clearly hadn’t expected such bold, confident dirty talk from the fox, despite having challenged Wei Ying to do so; and hearing the bulk of it leave Wei Ying’s cherry-red lips and his seemingly innocent face had aroused the prince so, so much. “Mark your words, pretty fox.”

“Mark my...” Wei Ying repeats, in slight confusion. But then Lan Wangji’s two hands reach down to grasp firmly at his waist, pulling the fox closer to him until his two lean legs are folded into the air and his wet hole is pressed right against the head of his cock. Wei Ying’s three fingers slide out of himself, this time digging into the silk bed sheets for support.

“Lan Zhan, do you have to be so rough,” Wei Ying says.

“You like me rough,” Lan Wangji says, barely disguising the smugness in his tone. “I am only listening to the pleas of my pretty wife.”

Husband,” Wei Ying moans with scarlet cheeks, red foxy claws extending from his nails. He is sure he has been reduced to their true form in its entirety, now, nine tails completely out, fox ears twitching needlessly in the air. He has never felt more vulnerable—and yet so, so powerful at the same time. He knows the way Lan Wangji looks at him, looks at him like he wants to devour him. At their very core, they are animals, evolved animals but animals nonetheless, and Lan Wangji is his alpha mate.

“I am so lucky to be married to such a beautiful fox,” Lan Wangji coos, seizing his cock so he can guide it to the entrance of Wei Ying’s hole. “Do you know the way other men look at you. Even my brother, I see it in his gaze, I cannot trust him around you,” he nudges his cock right in, expecting a smooth glide as it usually is, all the other times before. But months of being apart has clearly tightened the fox right back up in some way, because only the head of his cock fits in, but nothing more. Fuck.

For some reason, Wei Ying grows, once again, embarrassed. “I’ve only had my fingers,” he whimpers, feeling the stretch. It’s not painful, but it’s slightly uncomfortable. “I, I’m not used to your size. Not anymore. You’re so big, it’s—it’s to be expected…”

“Like a virgin,” Lan Wangji’s golden eyes radiate with pleasure. “You did say you enjoyed our wedding night.”

“I, I did not,” Wei Ying stutters, turning his cheek to him. “I don’t know what I was saying.”

“Cute,” Lan Wangji purrs, reaching for Wei Ying’s hand so he can lift it to his lips to kiss it. “You get so cute when you are shy.”

“Lan Zhaan,” Wei Ying whines. He’s starting to prefer it when Lan Wangji only spoke in the mysterious dragon tongue. “I don’t like talking to you when I can understand you.”

The Second Prince lets out a wry laugh. He leans right over, until his mouth is mere inches away from Wei Ying’s face, and airs his hot dragon breath on his face. “So you prefer me like this,” he speaks eloquently, in a much deeper tone that Wei Ying recognises. “You prefer me when I am incomprehensible, and can threaten you in words that you have to guess?”

Suddenly his demeanour has shifted: his eyes glow, his antlers look all the more sinister, and his voice is dripping with venom.

If you want me to return to my native tongue,” Lan Wangji continues, drawing his head back. His hands return to the red marks he has left around Wei Ying’s waist, pressing his fingers back down for a firm clutch as he pushes another inch of his cock inside of the smaller man. “I can do that for you, Wei Ying. I can speak vile things in my own tongue, I much prefer that. If you think it safer for you to not hear the depraved things I think about you, if you think that somehow shields you from the dragon that I am, then…

It’s hot. God, it’s mind-stoppingly hot when Lan Wangji prattles on in dragon tongue, because his husband is so often fond of speaking in convoluted terms that Wei Ying is yet able to understand. He does this on purpose, Wei Ying knows. Should the man truly wish to communicate with him, he uses much simpler vocabulary, just so it is easier for Wei Ying’s comprehension. But there have been many a time—whether out of shyness, or him being a plain bully—he speaks purposefully so Wei Ying is left unable to understand him.

This is one of those times.

Wei Ying can only hazard a guess, though he’s sure his husband’s intentions are far from good.

Did you really think I could not understand you,” Lan Wangji hums, plunging the rest of his cock in without much care—Wei Ying’s increasing wetness receives his girth very well. “That wedding night? Hm? I listen to your every word, I hear your every cry. I want to know your every thought, I will make sure I know everything about you. My beloved consort, my one and only light of my life. You will never escape me, not a single word, not a single action.

“Zhan,” Wei Ying hiccups, teary-eyed. He chews on his lip as he takes in his husband fully, his red claws almost ripping the sheets. “Lan Zhan, what are you saying?”

I am thinking of doing bad things to you,” Lan Wangji hums again, ever so sweetly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Wei Ying frowns, somehow not trusting that is the intention of Lan Wangji’s words. He knows what ‘I love you’ is in the dragon tongue—and it certainly is not that.

This time, as Lan Wangji begins thrusting, his hands drift from Wei Ying’s waist to grab at the fox’s nine tails, pulling and fingering and rubbing at the fur, heightening all the sensitive areas of Wei Ying’s body. The fox spirit almost blacks out at the overwhelmingness of it all, his eyes rolling up to the back of his head.

They hadn’t ever fucked with Wei Ying’s tails thrown in the mix before.

“My pretty little fox,” Lan Wangji sighs, in an animalistic purr. “My pretty Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is in hysterics, choking out endless sobs as the dragon prince slams his fat cock back inside of him, while ruthlessly tugging at the sensitive ends of his tails. His own erection jostles in between his thighs, begging sorely for attention. “Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan, I—I—I’m your pretty little fox, I’m made to be bred by you—fuck—I’ve missed you so bad—missed being bred—”

“Wei Ying, you are always so honest for me,” Lan Wangji groans. He already knows he cannot last long at this rate with Wei Ying, having been apart from him for so long; but no matter, because the dragon has never been sated with just one round with the fox spirit. The stamina of a dragon is ferocious, and Lan Wangji will certainly not disappoint his clan by missing opportunities to breed Wei Ying as far as possible. “I will breed you good and well, until your hole is raw and red, until you beg me to stop and even then I will not stop, because you have a duty to uphold to me, my beautiful fox bride.”

Oh, his husband is fond of saying such terrible things. But Wei Ying grows harder every time; and with just a few more hard thrusts, Wei Ying is shamefully spilling all over himself with a loud cry like a—oh god, it’s just like Lan Wangji said, like an overly sensitive virgin deflowered for the first time on his wedding night.

Lan Wangji leans right over him as the fox cums, locking Wei Ying’s two wrists together and holding it up high over his head as his fucking grows even more urgent, even more desperate, as he nears his own climax. He holds Wei Ying down—just like Wei Ying said he liked—with such force he’s quickly turning Wei Ying’s skin red, ignoring the woeful whimpers and mewls of the fox spirit squirming underneath him.

“Terrible,” Wei Ying moans out, with wet tears dried on his cheeks. “My husband is so terrible.”

“I can be worse,” Lan Wangji’s lips brush against the tip of his ear, in a cautionary whisper.

When he cums, it’s in bucket loads full. He pins Wei Ying down even harder, making sure the fox has little to no movement as he seeks to empty himself completely out inside of him.

“You will have my baby,” Lan Wangji pants, burying his head in the crook of Wei Ying’s neck. “You will have my baby, I will make sure of it, you will have mine and mine only, no one else’s, not my brother’s, not any other dragon’s. Mine. Mine, mine. Wei Ying is mine.”

“Yours,” Wei Ying whispers, his heart fluttery. “Your child, only, Hanguang-Jun.”

This dragon prince may be lethal—but he is his.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The story of the two handmaidens eventually comes to light. With Lan Wangji back in his arms—with Jiang Cheng and Jingyi, too, in tow—Wei Ying is finally confident enough to spill the beans on his suspicions on the true loyalties of his palace maids.

Lan Wangji takes it as well as Wei Ying imagines; which is, plainly, not at all. Upon hearing Wei Ying had been left to starve due to his unwillingness to touch any food served to him, the dragon prince goes absolutely berserk. There was a reason Lan Jingyi had to be drawn away from the palace, away from Wei Ying’s side, and evidently this must be the reason why. It is harder to poison your target with an overly attached dragon guarding every move and step of Wei Ying’s, and so Lan Jingyi had to be done away.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t factored the crown prince’s protection in.

Lan Wangji immediately calls for their execution, although Lan Xichen intervenes enough to ask for an interrogation, first. After acquiring their statements, as well as conducting a thorough sweep of the palace, it is determined that the two handmaidens acted on their own, having been personally approached by the Wens to poison Wei Ying and cause the fox to have a miscarriage, in exchange for the promise of being taken in as esteemed cultivators in the Wen sect once the job was completed.

“Why do they want my baby dead,” Wei Ying had asked, bewildered.

“They know of the prophecy,” Lan Xichen had explained—while kept in much distance away from the fox, as supervised by Lan Wangji himself. “They fear the prophecy, because that will guarantee our victory, and their loss, in this war.”

“It will not happen,” Lan Wangji maintains, insistently. “Wei Ying will have my baby.”

“Do you think,” Wei Ying’s hand moves to his belly. “Do you think the poison might have already taken effect?” They’d already gotten the physician to check twice, but as always, the physician has been unable to detect anything else but dark qi swirling within him.

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “The physician mentioned you’d be much sicker, otherwise.”

“I should have been more attentive while Wangji was away, I apologise,” Lan Xichen says.

“I am here now with Wei Ying, so it is alright,” Lan Wangji responds, rather curtly.

It appears his relations with the crown prince is still strained from their altercation, from before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Betraying the clan is one of the worst violations of the Lan sect rules, and a public execution is only fitting for such traitors—especially those who had deemed themselves worthy enough to poison a member of the royal family, an imperial consort, amongst all others. Wei Ying is not merely a consort, either; he has married in to fulfill an exceedingly important prophecy, and one that the victory of the war hinges upon. It can only be him, it can be no one else.

The Lans have the two handmaidens tied upon wooden posts, and hang them out to dry for all to see on public execution grounds. The entire sect is invited to be in attendance, and witness the consequences of violating one of the most sacred rules there is.

As is with every other event, the festivity of it all almost mirrors a celebration.

There are no torchbearers needed for the occasion. They are on Gusu Lan grounds, where every single member of the sect lives and breathes fire. Usually a guard is appointed to lead a dragon out to carry out the execution, but this time the Second Prince himself readily volunteers his services.

It’s also the first time Wei Ying witnesses his husband in his dragon form. He almost doesn’t recognise him at first, doesn’t recognise the pure white dragon that descends from the sky like a heavenly deity with such a lofty, imposing presence, so befitting that of an actual royal. Doesn’t recognise Lan Wangji in all of his raw power, two golden antlers sitting atop his head, two equally bright golden eyes sitting narrowly within his scaled, narrow skull, doesn’t recognise him with the huge sharp, predatory teeth jutting out from the side of his mouth. Four powerful limbs carry his body, hideously yellow claws extending out as if ready to hunt for prey. The very sight of an imperial Lan dragon is meant to instill awe and terror; its effect profound even on the other dragons. Lan Wangji exhales, and steam leaves its flared nostrils in a sheer act of dominance, heating up the very arena.

His body is long in length, much longer in appearance than the other dragons Wei Ying has seen around here, and as it slithers down into and around the crowd, members of the sect disperse accordingly and make way for the prince as he navigates the grounds. Silence befalls the place; no one daring to utter a single word or ruining the majestic sight. Wei Ying has been told that Lan Wangji transforms and uses his dragon form for war and war purposes only, and that the reclusive war general rarely launches into such a form within the confines of Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying can guess why. His husband most likely thinks it’s too showy, too over the top, to be done without reason.

But today he does it for Wei Ying, and Wei Ying only.

Lan Wangji slithers right up to where Wei Ying is standing at the front, next to Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, and Jiang Cheng and Lan Jingyi for moral support. The white dragon bows its head slightly to the fox spirit, in what seems like an incredible act of submission (and love and devotion) to the man. Its golden eyes blink once or twice, its pupils noticeably dilating as Wei Ying steps nearer to the creature.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls after his husband affectionately. He pats at the scaly head, and watches as those big dragon eyes fasten to a shut, purring satisfactorily under Wei Ying’s head pats. “You look very handsome today.”

Puffs of steam leave his nostrils, like the dragon is pleased to hear of such a compliment. In this form, his speech is limited, and so he opts to hum instead, indicative of his agreeable mood.

“Don’t hurt yourself out there, alright?” Wei Ying says, smiling to the dragon.

Lan Wangji looks at him incredulously, as if such a thing is unfathomable. Wei Ying laughs.

The Second Prince makes his move. He rises into the air, and heads straight for where the two handmaidens are located, at the very centre of the square. The handmaidens continue to plead and beg for their lives, but Lan Wangji has long made up his mind. Anything—anyone—concerning Wei Ying gets no second chances.

He encircles the handmaidens once or twice, observing them with wrathful eyes. Letting out a roar with uncontrollable fury, he lunges straight at them, parting his mouth wide open so flames that he spits out burns the handmaidens alive. It only takes a few good seconds of tormented screams and animalistic howls before the two handmaidens are burnt completely to crisp, their black, charred remains crumbling down to the grounds.

Wei Ying is left slightly reeling, from the heart-stopping sight. Is this how he fights at the Great War outside, he wonders. Because now he fully understands why Jiang Cheng had placed utmost faith in him, in them, conquering the war against the Wens.

The dragons are all-powerful, and his husband is one—if not the most powerful—of them all.

They will win this war.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their victory from their latest conquest calls for another celebration, and so Wei Ying finds himself accompanying his war general of a husband to another one of the Lan’s festivities, held in their grand hall. This time, there seems to be special guests. Two men, or brothers as Lan Xichen tells them, have been invited to celebrate with them, as part of a new political alliance.

“Wei Ying, Wangji, I’m pleased to introduce you to the leader of the Nie sect, Nie Mingjue, and his younger brother, Nie Huaisang.”

“Oh, you are the fox spirit that’s been the talk of the town,” Nie Huaisang snaps open his fan, saying, quite eager to make acquaintance. He hides his smile behind the fan he holds, dark eyes scrutinising down the fox’s lean physique. “My heartfelt congratulations on your pregnancy.”

Lan Xichen pauses, unmoving for a good moment. “Are you sure?”

“I am not pregnant,” Wei Ying’s eyes fly wide open, wondering what has brought this about. “Not… not yet.”

“Nie Huaisang is a seer,” Nie Mingjue says, confirming Lan Xichen’s suspicions. “He has never been wrong in his predictions.”

“What?” Wei Ying asks again, hands instinctively moving to clutch at the front of his stomach. “I… am with child?”

“You have been with child,” Nie Huaisang cocks an eyebrow up. “For three months now.”

Ever since Lan Wangji left for war.

Wei Ying snaps his head back to meet his husband’s gaze—who looks equally dumbfounded.

“Wei Ying is with child?” Lan Wangji breathes.

“But the physician said,” Wei Ying’s hands have begun trembling. “The physician said there wasn’t life, just dark qi.”

“Oh, sweethearts,” Nie Huaisang grins.

“That is your child.”

Notes:

...I only realised after finishing this chapter that I ran out of space to write why LWJ kept his language speaking skills a secret, LOL. Oh well, it shall be revealed in the next chapter then! But did anyone else guess that he could actually speak common tongue?! Hazard a guess as to why he kept it secret from Wei Ying, I'm so curious what you guys think <3

Sorry I haven't been able to reply individually to your comments, but I read every single one and adore every one of them! Thank you so much for enjoying this fic <3<3<3