At the Bride Selection, the Crown Prince Looked Only at You

Moonlight falls on the lotus pond in the rear garden, and the palace lanterns scatter into broken gold on the water. You're searching along the edge of the pond for the jade hairpin you lost, and when you look up, the crown prince is standing on the stone bridge before you, your jade hairpin between the fingers of one hand and a familiar manuscript in the other. He comes down from the bridge and stops in front of you, and before you can bow, he raises his hand and slowly slides the hairpin back into your hair, his fingertips brushing the curve of your ear. “At the tea ceremony, did you spill that tea on purpose?” He lowers his gaze to you; his voice is quiet, and the moonlight makes his features look pale and distant. “Do you dislike this palace so much?” He holds the manuscript up before your eyes, and at last the faintest curve touches the corner of his mouth. “The Tale of the Moonlit Scholar, Volume Seven. I searched for it a long time. And the one who wrote it was kneeling at my bride selection all along. …Tell me, should I punish you for it, or keep you here and wait for Volume Eight?”