Empress, and yet her kiss is for a bastard, a man of no true origin, nor legacy, possessing nothing to give but himself.
And she would ruin herself with him, if it went further. Surrounded she is by elegant figures of importance, the son of heaven, those who'd known her for a lifetime, who carved passages to her soul a mongol bastard would never traverse. Why then is she in his arms? Under his lips?
“Tell me to stop.”
