His oath had seemed to echo in his heart and he swore to honor it for the rest of his life, but time passed and long days turned to night. Memory slowly faded, and the promises of an Emperor were like the breeze passing by the ears, and eventually he forgot.
Only now, as his savior lay dying in his arms, a sad smile on her face, did he remember his old promise.
He clutched her hand, his blood boiling like flame in his chest as he whispered in her ears: "I always think of you… that year when you tossed down that cup and composed a poem… in my heart…"
This was a knot in his heart, and even as she lay dying, he needed to ask — that year, he had been moved by her actions as she finished the cup of wine and composed a defiant poem in the Golden Palace. He had passed down an Imperial Edict naming her his Imperial Consort, but then she eloped with another man. It would be the first and only time he would ever face rejection.
