An Evening's Conversation
or: the crown prince absolutely does not have his shit together
Langfeng frowned, folding and refolding his hands on the table while eyeing the contrast between his skin and the dark wood. His parents sat across from him, dressed down by their standards but still draped in flowing silks decorated with intricate embroidery done in richly colored thread. He pressed his thumbnail into side of his hand, watching with faint interest as the soft skin turned white and then red again, white and red, white and red, white and-
“Xiaofeng?”
He could feel the pulse of the bruise on his collar, put there just the night before.
“Feng,” his mother repeated. She flashed him a quick smile as he looked up, the soft curve of her eyes and lips telling him that she wasn’t annoyed by his distractedness. For a moment Langfeng found his attention drawn to the golden glow of her dark hair in the firelight, the familiar dip in her cheek, the creases at the corners of her eyes - had those always been there? “Langfeng, dearest son,” she said, taking one of his hands into hers. “You know we have no desire to push a topic that makes you so uncomfortable, but you know too that for the good of everyone we must. You must marry, dear.”
Langfeng blinked from where he had been staring at his hand, cradled between his mother’s soft palms, affixed a perfect smile to his lips, looked up into his parents’ eyes, and took stock of the love and worry and warmth he found there. They were earnest, oh-so-earnest, and that made what he knew he was doing all the harder. “I know, mother, father. I will, soon. I swear it. I will not let you down.” After a moment’s hesitation, he drew his hand back and rose from the table, doing his best not to flinch at the sound of his mother’s quiet oh and to ignore the quiet scrape of his father’s chair and the rustling of silk as he, too, rose and reached out as if to stop his son. “My apologies. It is late, and Xuejin expects me in the training grounds early tomorrow morning. With your permission-“
“Feng-“
“I will take my leave for the evening. You should rest as well. Let us continue this conversation another time.” The words rolled from his tongue as though he had been born to say them. He turned from his parents and the concerned looks on their faces, took a step toward the door-
“Feng-“
“Good night, mother, father. May your sleep be peaceful.” And then the heavy door was swinging quietly shut behind him and he was half-running through the halls, polished stone cold beneath his feet despite his thin slippers. It wasn’t until he reached his chambers and felt the solid presence of his door behind his back that he finally relaxed. Langfeng heaved a sigh, dragged his hands roughly through his hair, and then slid finally into bed.
When he drifted to sleep that night, he dreamt of dark hair and tanned skin and warm brown eyes and a gentle smile and the rest of his life.