For the next several days, Sheng Long was consumed with one task: getting close to Princess An Li.
Every morning, he left early, armored not in steel but in cold courtesy and calculated smiles.
Every night, he returned late, his face expressionless, his words clipped.
Xiao Lin watched him go and come back, the distance growing between them like a canyon widening with each sunset.
At first, Xiao Lin tried to be understanding.
He's doing it for the Empire, Xiao Lin told himself over and over. He's doing it for all of us.
But the ache didn't listen to reason.
And every time he glanced at the dragon pendant Sheng Long wore — the dragon entwined by a fox — the ache sharpened into something fiercer.
The training grounds were crowded that afternoon.
Xiao Lin, determined to distract himself, threw himself into practice until sweat ran down his spine and his limbs trembled from exhaustion.
"Your form is good," a warm voice said.
Xiao Lin turned, blinking.
A tall, handsome man stood nearby, watching him with friendly golden eyes. His hair was a soft brown, his armor polished but modest. A faint, almost cat-like air of mischief clung to him.
"I'm Lu Jian," he introduced himself with a casual bow. "Mind if we spar?"
Surprised but grateful for the company, Xiao Lin nodded.
Their sparring was light, playful, and quickly grew into laughter and banter. Lu Jian wasn't just skilled — he was kind. Encouraging where others might mock, patient where others might grow bored.
For the first time in days, Xiao Lin smiled without forcing it.
They ended the match with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You're strong," Lu Jian said warmly. "Not just in body — here too." He tapped his own heart.
Xiao Lin flushed, pleased.
It felt good to have a friend.
By the time Sheng Long returned that evening, Xiao Lin was laughing with Lu Jian beneath the training grounds' outer trees, the fading sunlight casting them in a golden haze.
Sheng Long froze when he saw them.
A strange, unwelcome fire licked up his spine.
He strode forward, his presence sharp enough to cut.
"Xiao Lin," he said curtly.
The laughter died instantly.
Lu Jian, oblivious to the thunderclouds gathering, smiled and offered a courteous bow. "Marshal."
Sheng Long nodded stiffly, his eyes cold.
Without another word, he turned and walked away — but the way his hand tightened at his side didn't escape Xiao Lin's notice.
Dinner that night was a tense, awkward affair.
Xiao Lin poked at his food, appetite gone. Sheng Long sat silent across from him, radiating a chill so thick it weighed down the room.
Yan Shuo, halfway through his drink, wisely excused himself early.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Xiao Lin couldn't take it anymore.
He set down his chopsticks, heart hammering. His fingers twisted nervously around the fox pendant at his throat.
"I..." he began, then faltered.
Sheng Long looked up sharply.
"I need to say something," Xiao Lin forced out, voice trembling. "I—"
He took a deep breath.
"I don't like it when you're with Princess An Li," he blurted. "I know you're doing it for the Empire, but... it bothers me. And today, when you saw me with Lu Jian — you were angry, weren't you?"
The words spilled out, messy and raw.
Sheng Long stared at him.
For a heartbeat, Xiao Lin feared he had gone too far. That he had overstepped whatever invisible line stood between them.
But then, slowly, Sheng Long's shoulders relaxed.
And to Xiao Lin's astonishment, the Marshal — the cold, proud dragon of the Empire — looked almost... ashamed.
"You're right," Sheng Long said, voice low. "I was angry."
He rose and came around the table, standing before Xiao Lin like a towering wall.
"I hated seeing you laugh with someone else," he admitted, quiet but fierce. "Even though I had no right to."
Xiao Lin swallowed hard, staring up at him.
"You always have the right," Xiao Lin whispered. "Because... because you're important to me."
There. He had said it.
Sheng Long's hand lifted hesitantly — then settled, warm and steady, atop Xiao Lin's head, fingers threading gently through silver hair.
"You're important to me, too," Sheng Long said.
Neither said the word 'love' yet.
But it was there, hanging unspoken in the charged space between them — growing, inevitable.
Outside, unseen in the darkness, darker forces moved.
The storm was gathering.
But inside that small, lamplit room, for a moment, the world was only them.
Dragon and fox.
Bound by fate, tempered by fire, and learning, slowly, to trust.