"Your Majesty, it's late," a coy voice purred before their owner gave up at Liu Yao's unimpressed glare, the lilting seduction immediately replaced by a hearty chuckle.
The candlelight flickered. At this hour, the standing lanterns of the emperor's study in the imperial villa were already alight, the long tails of the pale blue luminescent wings of the moon moths fluttering like trails of pale silk in the night wind as they drew closer and closer to the irresistible flame.
"Close the window behind you if you're not going to learn to use the door," Liu Yao admonished. It shouldn't bother him; no emperor should be so soft at heart as to feel pity for the death of moths, of all creatures, even if such death were equally senseless. But lately, he'd developed a weakness for delicate, beautiful things that required no deep searching of his soul to understand.
