The day they took Ah-Yan away, Golden Blade Princess stood by the gate, silently watching her youngest son disappear into the distance.
In fairness, the child remained blameless. Having cared for him these past days, I too felt the sting of separation. Noticing her strained expression, I offered measured comfort: "Though His Majesty removed Ah-Yan, court attendants will nurture him. With renowned tutors, wouldn't this surpass life at your side?"
"He's reached riding-and-archery age," she remarked abruptly before retreating into silence.
"All Liao men must master mounted warfare." My words hung awkwardly - Ah-Yan's Han father complicated this assertion.
The Princess merely glanced at me, offering no rebuttal.
After Ah-Yan's departure, the palace lost its last vitality. We moved through empty days like ghosts, our silence broken only by necessary tasks.
Time deepened my understanding of why they called her Liao's foremost beauty. Hardship had chiseled resilience into her striking features, the coldness she cultivated never fully masking inherent gentleness.
Had she not eloped with that Han man, humiliating our nation... None could resist her grace.
Days later, she handed me knitted kneepads. Examining them, I noticed fresh needle marks on her fingers - clumsy efforts from untrained hands.
Her lips twitched faintly. "As my request... Since the Emperor bars me from Ah-Yan, will you deliver these?"
Riding indeed strains knees. Having no grounds for refusal, I inexplicably added: "Any messages to send?"
She blinked, then smiled like dawn breaking stormclouds. "Tell him... His mother loves him beyond measure, and never wished this separation."