SOMEWHERE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH
Qin shi Huang x female reader
You are a miraculous Egyptian princess with pale skin and ethereal Egyptian features violet eyes and black hair of the Celesta royal family. Your presence and appearance intrigue Qin Shi Huang during your travels in China. The secret behind your name carries profound depth, which will be revealed gradually as the story unfolds.
During your travels to China, fate drew you repeatedly into the orbit of Qin Shi Huang, the Emperor of China the King of Beginning. Your encounters were never planned, yet never accidental. Each meeting left him more intrigued than the last. No Chinese princess, no noblewoman of his own empire, held his attention the way you did. And so, he never missed an opportunity however brief to claim even a single conversation with you.
Tonight was no exception.
The Grand Festival shimmered with lantern light and ceremony, and you stood among the honored guests as the Princess of Egypt. Draped in flowing green, you looked ethereal, timeless an embodiment of something ancient and untouchable.
As Qin entered the hall, his steps slowed.
His eyes found you instantly.
For a brief moment, the emperor of a vast empire paused taking in your presence, your bearing, the quiet authority you carried without effort. Then a faint smirk curved his lips as he approached, measured and deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours.
His voice was smooth, controlled, carrying the weight of a ruler accustomed to being obeyed.
“Egypt has truly blessed us with its finest treasure today.”
You turn to look at him, confident and imposing as always, a presence that demanded attention in any room.
“Well, if it isn’t the Qin Shi Huang himself,” you said, your voice smooth, carrying both curiosity and the subtle power of command. “Tell me, Your Highness, what brings the Emperor of China here?”
Qin’s eyes met yours, sharp and calculating, yet tempered with amusement. He allowed a moment, letting the anticipation linger, before speaking, each word deliberate, weighted with authority.
“Oh, don’t call me Your Highness,” he said, his tone low and controlled, yet threaded with a faint warmth that betrayed his interest. “It doesn’t befit the suit you have chosen for me. You may call me Qin.”
“Well,” you replied, the corner of your mouth lifting in that faint, teasing smile only you could wield so effortlessly, “if that is what you desire, then so be it. Yet my question remains: perhaps you were too desperate to see me?”
A soft chuckle escaped him, resonant and deep, echoing the quiet power he carried as ruler of an empire. The subtle amusement in his voice was unmistakable a recognition of your audacity, your fearless confidence.
“Perhaps,” he said, his tone laced with both jest and curiosity, “I was compelled… by the sight of you. Compelled, yet cautious, for few can match such presence without… consequence.”
He chuckled again, this time with a hint of admiration, the sound rich and restrained, befitting an emperor who rarely allowed himself indulgence.
"I'm honoured." you replied.
For a moment, both of you fell silent, standing together in the midst of the glittering festival. You were tall, as he was, and that had always been an advantage never intimidated by the emperor’s presence, able to meet him eye to eye without faltering.
Yet today, for reasons neither of you would admit aloud, not a single glance had passed between you. Words flowed effortlessly, but eyes had avoided each other, skimming over the crowd, scanning the festival, acting as though neither of you were bound by the invisible thread that pulled at your attention. And yet, you could feel it now his gaze burning into your skin, deliberate, measured, unrelenting.
“Well, if you’re done staring, perhaps you should go and greet your other fellow attendants,” you teased, your tone light but sharp, the faintest edge of mischief curling your words like a dagger wrapped in silk.
He was caught off guard, the momentary surprise flickering across his otherwise impervious expression. He cleared his throat, a deliberate motion, carrying the weight of centuries of authority yet betraying a hint of vulnerability.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice smooth, measured, each word deliberate, echoing the cadence of an emperor who rarely conceded error. “I did not mean to stare… yet your beauty is… quite overwhelming. The other attendants yes, of course though they pale in comparison. It seems hardly worthy of attention, but I shall,” he added, the finality of the phrase tempered with polite duty.
He began walking, excusing himself with the grace and restraint befitting a sovereign, yet every subtle motion betrayed the truth: he did not wish to leave. Every step away from you was a calculated compromise, a careful balancing of desire and decorum. He could not appear desperate, for even the most powerful ruler must never seem governed by longing. And yet, in the measured arc of his movement, the world if one looked closely could see the faint rebellion of will, the silent acknowledgment that he wished, more than anything, to remain in your presence.
You were also busy attending to other princesses from distant continents, yet Qin’s gaze never strayed far from you. You allowed yourself a single glance in his direction, and though brief, it seemed to anchor him entirely. Even beneath the blindfold, the intensity of his focus was unmistakable you could sense the tension in his posture, in the subtle tightening of his jaw, in the measured grace of his movements.
Though you had never seen his true eyes in life, only in the rare paintings he permitted of himself, you knew them in essence: a startling blue, with a solitary star nestled in the center. Unique, impossible to forget. And yet, the mystery remained why did he always wear the blindfold? The question lingered in your mind, tantalizing, unanswerable.
Before your thoughts could wander further, your eyes met his. For the first time since your arrival at the festival, the two of you shared a gaze. He stared undaunted, commanding, utterly present and for the first time, you felt the full weight of his attention. The world around you dissolved.
He excused his attendants with the quiet authority of a ruler whose command brooked no denial. “Uh… Your Highnesses, may I steal the princess for a moment?” he asked not requested, but commanded, the words carrying the subtle imperiousness of one accustomed to obedience. They bowed immediately, relinquishing you to him.
He extended his hand. You studied it for a moment: strong, deliberate, the callouses of command tempered by the care with which he offered it to you. Then, slowly, deliberately, you placed your delicate hand in his.
He led you through the festival crowds with a careful precision, each movement elegant and controlled. His rough palm brushed against your brief, electric an unspoken reminder of the subtle power exchange between sovereign and equal. Every step he took was measured, every motion deliberate, and yet entirely fluid, as if the very ground itself bent to his presence.
Together, you moved out of the and into a garden illuminated with countless lanterns, fountains glittering like captured starlight, and flowers that spilled color across the pathways. Towering above it all, a Chinese dragon statue seemed to watch over you, majestic and eternal, echoing the weight of his empire in its stillness.
You both walked together in silence, the soft murmur of fountains and the glow of lanterns creating a private world amidst the festival chaos.
“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice calm, appreciating the tranquility that seemed to exist just for the two of you.
“It indeed is,” he replied, his tone measured, deliberate, each word carrying the weight of a ruler accustomed to precision. “I often take walks here.”
You hesitated, then spoke carefully, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
He smiled, a subtle curve of his lips, fully aware of the question that lingered unspoken between you: the mystery of the blindfold.
“You can ask,” he said, his voice even, regal, yet soft enough to invite curiosity.
“Why are you dressed in woman’s clothing?” you asked bluntly.
For the briefest moment, he was caught completely off guard. The question was audacious, direct a boldness few dared, yet not unexpected coming from you. He regained his composure with the ease of one accustomed to command, each motion controlled, his voice settling into a calm cadence that demanded attention.
“No one has ever asked me that, or dared to,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, measured. “And of course, you would be the one to ask me that. I am not surprised. So, I may answer. No one knows this, but it’s the outfit my master used to wear… actually, not my master more like mother.”
He smiled, a subtle, reflective gesture, eyes lowering slightly as if recalling something sacred.
Now it made sense to you.
“You must care about her much,” you said softly, curiosity tempered with respect.
“I do,” he admitted, voice tinged with a rare vulnerability, “but she’s long gone.”
“Ah… my sincere condolences. I didn’t know.”
“No, it’s fine. I love to talk about her,” he said, the authority in his voice softened by reverence.
You listened as he continued, each word deliberate, each memory treated as a relic:
“She taught me everything. My life was hell before she came into it. She taught me how to laugh, how to cry, how to survive, how to fight, how to live, and how to become a proper king. I see her more as mother than my master,” he said, the weight of his truth settling between you.
You smiled, touched by his reverence. “She sounds like a kind woman,” you said.
“She was,” he admitted quietly, eyes distant. “She died protecting me. She told me to become the most amazing king and make my people happy.”
“Did she… well, at least you’re an amazing king as she wanted,” you said, your voice warm, genuine.
He turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting beneath the blindfold, a small, measured smile touching his lips. “You think so?” he asked, his tone carrying both curiosity and the rare vulnerability of someone used to command yet rarely questioned.
“Yes,” you said firmly, your words deliberate. “Considering everyone in this kingdom seems happier than ever, it proves that you’re an amazing king.”
A smile spread across his face, rare, genuine, and full of quiet pride a fleeting crack in the armor of an emperor whose life had been sculpted by duty, loss, and devotion.
“Do you judge me?” he asked, his tone deliberate, measured, as if weighing your answer before it was spoken.
“Why’d I?” you replied lightly, though your curiosity was clear.
“For me… always being in women’s attire, as a man,” he said, his voice carrying the authority of one accustomed to command yet tinged with genuine vulnerability.
“No,” you said firmly, meeting his quiet intensity with confidence. “I possess no authority to judge such an act.”
He blinked, taken aback by your composure.
“You do not?” he asked, his voice sharper now, probing. “Find it… rather unmasculine?”
“No, at all,” you replied, smiling with warmth and ease. “It’s completely fine. Be yourself. Be whatever you want to be.”
A pause lingered, and then he spoke, voice low, rare vulnerability threading his words. “You’re the first person… not to judge.”
“Who dared to judge the Highness?” you asked, teasing, the corners of your lips tilting upward.
“Nobody… yet I can feel it in their demeanor, in their eyes,” he said, voice measured, precise, betraying the subtle irritation of a man constantly observed, constantly weighed.
“Don’t mind their attention,” you said softly, assuredly. “They’re mere interruptions to your uniqueness.”
He smiled, a small, rare flicker of amusement and intrigue. “You intrigue me,” he said, as always, his words deliberate, curling around your presence like smoke.
“That none other, none other noble woman has,” he interrupted, voice firm, commanding yet tinged with private intensity.
You went silent, feeling the warmth of your cheeks burning at the weight of his gaze. He noticed, no doubt, yet said nothing, letting the unspoken tension linger between you.
Your eyes wandered, drawn by the crimson petals swaying in the lantern light. “Oh, look—it’s spider lilies,” you said, running lightly toward them, your excitement effortless.
“Ah, indeed,” he replied, following, voice calm but edged with quiet pride. “One of my favorites.”
“Mine too!” you exclaimed, delighted.
He moved beside you, kneeling gracefully, mirroring your motion. Together, your hands brushed lightly as you reached for the same flower. With careful restraint, he withdrew, letting you take it first. As you stood, holding the flower between you, he rose as well, matching your posture, their quiet proximity charged with tension.
“It symbolizes rebirth,” he said, voice low, deliberate, as if speaking both to you and to the weight of history itself.
“And death in Egypt,” you added after a pause, the contrast rolling from your lips like a quiet lesson in duality.
“Very opposing symbols,” you said softly, pondering the dichotomy, the shared flower suspended between life and death, the tension between worlds reflected in a single, fragile bloom.
“Life and death,” you murmured, your fingers brushing the delicate petals of the spider lily.
“Two sides of the same coin,” he replied, voice calm, deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of one accustomed to weighing worlds, not just people.
He stepped closer, the red spider lily held carefully between the two of you, a fragile bridge connecting two entirely different worlds. His gaze lingered, unreadable yet piercing, and his voice dropped to a low, thoughtful whisper, rich with the weight of command and something far softer.
“Yet… I feel, for a moment, standing here with you in this garden, it feels as though life and death are not so far apart after all,” he said, leaning closer.
The proximity caught you off guard. Your breath caught as you inhaled the faint, intoxicating scent clinging to him.
“You smell like sakura,” you whispered, your voice barely rising above the soft rustle of the garden.
His fragrance carried a contradiction, delicate and floral, yet his presence screamed the authority and raw masculinity of an emperor in command.
“Is it… bad? For me to smell like a woman? This fragrance…” he asked, his words deliberate, careful, yet threaded with the faintest vulnerability.
“Something the nobles would think… not me,” you replied softly, your tone gentle but unflinching.
“And you… what, pray tell, do you think?” he asked, his hand brushing yours as the flower remained between you, the touch deliberate, electric.
“I think I like it,” you said, smiling, letting your amusement and approval linger in the warm evening air.
He drew in a deep breath, inhaling your own scent as though committing it to memory. The closeness between you tightened, charged with something neither command nor protocol could diminish.
“Princess…” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, almost a prayer.
“Odessa,” you answered softly, and the slight surprise in his tone betrayed him.
“My name,” you continued, whispering it with deliberate intensity, “is Odessa,” meeting his eyes beneath the blindfold, fearless.
“Odessa,” he repeated, your name falling from his lips like a sacred invocation, reverent and reverberating through the quiet of the garden.
“Not The Miraculous Egyptian Princess?” he murmured against your lips, a teasing shadow in his tone.
“No,” you chuckled softly, warmth curling in your words. “It’s just a title.”
He looked again into your violet eyes, his expression unreadable yet expectant, brushing his thumb across your cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His breath warmed your lips, deliberate and controlled, the weight of his presence pressing upon you.
“Your Highness…” you whispered, almost a plea, your voice betraying the flutter in your chest.
“I told you not to call me that,” he murmured, authoritative yet intimate, his tone a velvet command. “Just call me Qin. Say my name.”
Without hesitation, without waiting further, he pressed his lips to yours. The first taste was commanding, intoxicating, and entirely consuming. You yielded, letting yourself melt into him. His lips were absolute, divine, and when he bit lightly at your lower lip, a soft gasp escaped you.
His tongue traced yours with deliberate precision, mastery woven into every movement, while his hand slid to the nape of your neck, brushing over the sensitive skin there. The flower you held slipped unnoticed to the ground, abandoned in the intensity of the moment. Every gesture, every movement carried authority, desire, and the quiet insistence of an emperor claiming what was his, yet with the reverence of a man who had never met anyone like you before.
Since y'all liked previous qin x reader pov so much so, i came up with a new one and this one actually will have many parts and plot twists I'm genuinely excited to write more so stay tuned hehe<33
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