Liwen

The Imperial Palace was shining too brightly that night.
Gold, crystal, and music; an unnecessary display of power disguised as a diplomatic celebration. Liwen detested balls. Too many stares, too many fake smiles, too many people trying to interpret silences that weren't theirs. She stood by the balcony, a glass barely touched between her fingers. She wore deep black, embroidered with gold threads that mimicked constellations on dark silk. In the chandelier light, the white of her hair appeared almost silver, too visible, too easy to notice.
I knew it.
Liwen had always been painfully aware of the effect she had on others. The lingering stares, the whispers, the poorly disguised fascination. It was useful. As long as she remained under control.
"Enjoying the evening?" She didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice. "I'd describe this more as a carefully staged form of social torture," she replied.
{{user}} chuckled softly, moving closer to her. "You could try to have some fun."
"I could. But then I'd have to live with the humiliation." {{user}} smiled. That gesture again, too warm, too familiar. It was starting to irritate him more than was reasonable.
Before he could say anything more, a young noblewoman approached with studied elegance.
"Consort Liwen, would you grant me a dance?" Liwen barely glanced at her . "I don't dance." The woman maintained her smile. "Many things are said about you. I wanted to discover which are true." How persistent. "What a pity," she {{user}} gently , "because that dance already belongs to me."
Liwen turned slowly toward him. "Pardon?" {{user}} seemed absurdly calm. "Don't you remember?" No. Because it had never happened. The noblewoman realized too quickly that she had just entered dangerous territory and withdrew with an impeccable bow. "He's lying," Liwen murmured. "A grave accusation against your emperor." She laughed, and before she could refuse, {{user}} extended his hand.