1 Death on a Silver Platter
Somehow, it wasn't until he was staring at the cold corpse of his Empress, lying on her bloodstained bed, that he realized what he'd lost. The birthday celebration of his firstborn son's second birthday was in full swing, and just a few minutes ago, he had been full of nothing but pride and joy.
When he realized that his Empress had neglected to attend the celebration, thereby displaying a weakness for their enemies to use, he had been furious.
How dare she miss this?! This was his darling son's birthday and she was the Empress!
So instead of ordering a servant to retrieve, in his rage, he had gone to the palace himself.
But his Empress, his first wife, was dead.
For some reason, his eyes hurt.
He stumbled a little on nothing but air, his knees suddenly unable to hold him up. There was something wet trailing over his cheeks. What was it? Leaning against the doorframe, he felt his breaths come out faster and faster, and unpleasant sound ringing in his ears.
His vision worsened and worsened, until he couldn't see anything at all, and his breath came out so fast he was choking.
Jian Li tried to walk to her, some desperate need to wake her up burning in his chest, but he tumbled to the floor on his first step. He couldn't hear anything above his own heartbeat, and the feeling in his chest only worsened, until it felt like there was a stone crushing him.
Somehow, he couldn't stand up.
He tried many times, but the only result was him falling to the floor again. Where was he? What was he doing here?
He blinked, and he blinked and he blinked, but he couldn't clear his vision. There was some sort of liquor flowing from his eyes, keeping him from seeing. No matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, it didn't cease. Slowly, so slowly it felt like time stood still, he crawled his way over to the bed.
There was dried blood on the floor, covering the entirety of the linens. Jian Li pushed himself up onto his feet, and then he could see her.
She looked like she was sleeping. She was smiling. Why was she smiling? She was dead, so why was she smiling?!
Why did she look so happy...
He didn't understand where the sound was coming from. Was someone crying? Why were they crying so close to him? Was someone else in the room? No, they couldn't be, no one else was allowed to enter, not even the servants.
His hand shook when he laid it on her cheek. He didn't understand why. He didn't love her.
He didn't. No, he loved her, he loved...
When had he fallen in love with her? Why had he fallen in love with her? Why was she always be his side, and not his Empress? Was that not where his Empress belonged? Was that not why he had married her in the first place?
Why couldn't he remember the last time he saw his Empress?
Why couldn't he...
He fell on the bed, next to her. Her blood that stained the whole thing was dry and crusted, and not even his persistent tears could fix it. He was the one who was crying. His whole body shook with the force of it, a dreadful sound that he had never heard before emerging from his aching throat.
Her hand, when he caught it, was so cold. Her hand wasn't supposed to be cold. He loved holding her hand, he used to hold it every time they fell asleep together... when was the last time that happened?
Why couldn't he remember...
Something was lodged in his throat, something was going to kill him. What was it? Why did it hurt so bad that he wanted to die?
Why was she so cold?
She never used to be cold, not all those times that they touched, not even on their wedding night, when she hadn't let him touch her. She was always warm, always.
Jian Li found himself on his knees next to her, kneeling on the bloodstained bed. He stared at her, with tears still flowing.
She wasn't moving. Why wasn't she moving?
When was the last time he saw her smile? What did her smile look like? He loved it, he treasured it, so why couldn't he remember it?!
What had he been doing, that his Empress was lying dead in her own bed?
Why did she look so happy?
The lodging thing in his throat tore out of him, but he couldn't hear it over the sound of his pounding heart. It was beating so fast. Why was it beating so fast? He couldn't close his mouth, his throat aching and his eyes burned, and he bent over her, his head on her chest. There was nothing. Not a heartbeat, not the sound of her breathing... She was supposed to breathe! She was always supposed to breathe!
Why wasn't she breathing?
Water dripped down on her chest, his hair falling like a curtain around them. He didn't understand what was happening. His Empress was... she was... why was she so still? Why wasn't she pushing him away? She always pushed him away when he entered her bed uninvited!
She was so cold...
So cold...
She wasn't supposed to be cold!
He gasped, but he couldn't catch his breath. His throat burned, as if he had been screaming for hours. What time was it? How long had it been since...
There was no more water trailing down his cheeks. His heart thundered, pounding so fast he feared it would erupt from his chest. He couldn't breathe. The gasping came faster, and his hands clenched down on her clothes, the clothes that she wore for the funeral. The clothes that she refused to take off but for cleaning.
The white, white clothes that he hated.
Well, they were red now and he hated them even more.
The funeral... the funeral for her daughter. The funeral for their daughter. He could still remember the look on her face. She hadn't cried. Why hadn't she cried? She had stood there, in front of hundreds — thousands — of people without a single tear falling.
Their daughter. How long had it been since she died? Why couldn't he remember the date?
He should know the date of his daughter's death!
The stone crushed him. That must be the weight on his chest. It crushed him until it hurt so bad that he wanted to cry again, but no more tears came. His eyes were so dry that they hurt.
The nursery, it was in the room next door. His Empress had insisted on it, she wouldn't allow anything else and he had just... not wanted to deal with it? Why? Why, why, why? She was his Empress, the first woman that he had ever chosen to marry and it was their daughter. Why hadn't he wanted to be with his daughter and his Empress?
He couldn't even remember what his daughter looked like...
What color was her skin? Her hair? Her eyes? Did she smile like her mother?
He couldn't remember.
Why couldn't he remember?!
Why...
He didn't know how long he sat there, bent over his Empress. Time had no meaning to him. He couldn't feel the cold as it set into him, he couldn't see it as night fell and the stars twinkled through the large window. He didn't let go of her clothes, clinging to them like they might somehow bring her back.
By the time no more sounds came from him, by the time silence settled over the room like a looming specter, he was hollow — there was nothing left in him.
He breathed, and the sound was unfairly loud. His heart beat had stopped hammering.
But he couldn't see anything. He couldn't see anything but the cold, stiff corpse of his Empress.
There was not even a ringing in his ears anymore. There was simply — nothing.
What had ever made him think that he could live without her? What had ever made him think that that woman was worth more than her? What had ever made him think that he didn't care about his Empress? The beloved woman he had married was strong, independent, beautiful and intelligent. When had he stopped seeing her like that?
When had strong become distant? When had independent become cold? When had beautiful become haughty? When had intelligent become deviant?
When had she become cruel?
No, that was simply his own blindness. She had never been cruel, not a day in her life.
It was that woman... she was the one that had whispered in his ears. She was the one that told him how cruel his Empress was, how she bullied her and hated her and felt threatened by her. Why would his Empress feel threatened?
Did he not love her? Did he not intend to die with her?
How could she ever be threatened by a mere concubine?
He opened his burning eyes, and stared down at her. His back hurt from how long it had been bent over her, but he hardly noticed it. She was colder, somehow, than before. Her skin was pale, and there were bruises under her eyes. She looked tired.
Had she not been sleeping well?
His breathed escaped him suddenly, and for some reason he felt like laughing. Of course she hadn't been sleeping well! Her daughter was dead!
And he had been angry with her for missing the celebration banquet for his son's birthday...
How thoughtless was he? How cruel was he?
How much must she hate him?
Was that why she looked happy? Because she had escaped from him? Because she would never see him again?
If she was dead... if she was gone... if she was never coming back...
What value did life hold?
He gripped his dagger, and before he even knew what he was doing, he had slit his own stomach open.
