The Vermilion String

Chapter 6: Mine to Keep, Yours to Rest

The bolt slammed home.

Wen Shuyan hit the stone floor of the cell. Alone.

His shoulder screamed. The guards had thrown him like a sack of rice. His infirmary robe tore more, blood seeping through the bandages on his back. Eight strikes. That’s all it took to remind him he was nothing.

Shuyan laughed. It came out as a cough blood in his mouth.Of course

Across the courtyard, another bolt slid shut.

Xiao Yichen.

They put the Crown Prince in the cell next door. With a bed. With a brazier. With care.

Shuyan pushed himself up, back to the wall. Every breath was fire. The rope burn on his throat. The eight strikes on his back. The vermilion string on his wrist — still there. Still his. Still unbroken.

Because Yichen’s was still on too. Somewhere. Behind that wall.

“Wen Shuyan.”

His name. Through the stone.

Shuyan froze.

“Answer me,” Yichen’s voice. Low. It wasn’t Jade Frost. It was something worse. Unhinged. “Are you hurt?”

Shuyan pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t give him that. Wouldn’t give the Dowager the satisfaction.

Silence.

Then a thud. A fist against the wall between them.

“Damn it, Shuyan! Answer me!”

The obsession was clear even through stone. Frantic. Possessive. Terrified.

No answer. Only the sound of Shuyan choking back a sob. He slapped a hand over his own mouth. Bit down on his palm to hold the sound in. Silent. He wouldn’t let Yichen hear him break.

That’s when Yichen broke.

“GUARD!” He roared it. The stone walls shook. “OPEN HIS DOOR. NOW.”

“Your Highness, the Dowager’s orders— we cannot—”

“I don’t care what she said!” Yichen’s voice cracked. “You don’t shove a Crown Prince. You escort me to him or I’ll have your head before sunrise.” Every word a blade. “I’m the Crown Prince. I own you. Everything I say goes. We are not escaping.” A pause. Deadly. “We are mine to deal with.”

The guard left, shooting the bolt home as he went.

The bolt on Shuyan’s cell scraped.

It slid open.

Xiao Yichen stood there.

His court robes were gone. He wore white inner robes, stained brown at the back. Ten lashes. He moved stiff, but he moved. He wasn’t dying. He was furious.

“H-how did you—” Shuyan stuttered. Then a gasp cut him off. Pain lanced through his back. He couldn’t finish.

“You’re not fine,” Yichen said. His eyes dropped to Shuyan’s torn robe. To the blood. To the way Shuyan was holding himself, trying to get away, to put space between them against the far wall.

Distance.

That did it.

Yichen crossed the cell in one stride.

His hands slammed onto Shuyan’s shoulders. Not to hurt. To stop him. To keep him.

“Stop running from me,” Yichen snarled. His fingers dug in — not enough to bruise, but enough that Shuyan felt it. Enough to remind him he was caught. “You think a wall can keep me from you? You think ten lashes will?”

Shuyan gasped. Not from the grip. From the pain. Yichen’s hands were too close to the wounds.

Shuyan’s whole body seized. “Yichen—” It slipped out. A whisper. Broken. From pain. From relief. From everything.

Yichen froze.

That name. In that voice.

His whole body went taut. Like a bowstring pulled too far. His eyes went black. Not cold. Hungry.

Yichen broke.

He surged forward. His mouth found Shuyan’s. Hungry. Desperate. Claiming.

“Yichen,” Shuyan gasped against his lips.

“I know,” Yichen breathed. “I know, I know.” His voice was gravel. Wrecked.

“It hurts,” Shuyan choked out.

Then he stopped.

He saw it. The flinch. The way Shuyan’s breath hitched — not from desire. From pain. Eight strikes. Rope burn. A body that had been through hell.

And Yichen’s obsession cracked.

“No.” He jerked back like Shuyan had burned him. His hands flew off Shuyan’s shoulders like they were fire. “No, no, no—”

He stumbled back a step. Raked a hand through his hair. His chest heaved.

“F-F-Forgive me,” he choked out. Stuttering. The Crown Prince. Begging. Kneeling. “I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have grabbed you. You’re hurt and I—”

He looked wrecked.

Shuyan’s heart did something stupid then. It ached for him.

Shuyan moved. He went to him. Kneeled too. On the cold stone, facing him. He took Yichen’s trembling hand.

And put it inside his robe.

Yichen’s breath punched out of him. Heavy. Starved.

He undressed him. Slow. Shaking. His hands were everywhere — over Shuyan’s throat, thumb brushing the rope burn like he could erase it. Over his chest, over the racing heart beneath. Over his waist. Thirsty. Hot. Juicy with want. His breathing was ragged against Shuyan’s skin.

“Yichen,” Shuyan whispered. So intimately. Right on Yichen’s ear. “Stop— not here—”

He wanted it. Badly. But scared. Scared to be caught. Scared of more lashes. Scared of what the Dowager would do if she found them like this.

Yichen stilled. His hands froze on Shuyan’s hips. Breathing heavily. Like he was mourning something. “I know,” he whispered. Slowly. Broken. “I know, I know.”

Then he stepped back. Not far. Just enough.

He kissed Shuyan’s forehead. Soft. Reverent. Like a vow.

“No matter what,” Yichen said, voice shaking, “you must not distance yourself from me. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you not looking at me. Not talking to me. Don’t— don’t ever do that again.”

His forehead pressed to Shuyan’s. Both of them kneeling. Both of them bleeding. Both of them unbroken.

The vermilion string on their wrists pressed together. Still one.

Slowly, Yichen pulled Shuyan down with him. Onto the cold stone. No bed. No brazier. Just them.

They lay on their sides. Facing each other. Close enough that their breath mingled. Close enough that every exhale was shared.

Xiao Yichen slid a hand into Shuyan’s hair. Fingers carding through it, gentle now. Brushing. Soothing. Undoing the knots the guards had left.

“Rest,” he whispered. His thumb traced Shuyan’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shuyan’s eyes fluttered shut. The pain was still there. The eight strikes burned. But Yichen’s fingers in his hair…

It was the first peace he’d felt since the courtyard.

“Not going anywhere,” Yichen murmured again. A promise. A vow. His breath warm against Shuyan’s lips. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The Cold Palace wasn’t cold anymore.

It was theirs.