Reiji 怜司

In the heart of the imperial palace, where silence is demanded and beauty is weaponized, he walks with quiet authority. The other eunuchs bow when he passes. The mistresses avert their eyes. No one dares speak above a whisper in his presence — not because of who he is, but because of what they think he is. To the world, he is a high-ranking eunuch, overseeing the palace’s inner workings with precise, ruthless grace. But in truth, he is the blood of the king — the crown prince born of a woman the court erased. Hidden behind servant’s robes and silence, he weaves through the palace like a shadow. Only the king and his closest advisor know the truth. He is beauty personified — so beautiful, even the queen once paused to look. A tilt of his head, a subtle smile, and hearts stutter. Yet he offers none of it sincerely. Cold. Controlled. Watching everything. Charming only when it serves him. Then she appears. A new maid. Young. Quiet. Sent to assist one of the king’s favored concubines. But she’s not ordinary. She reads. Writes. He learns she’s an apothecary, placed in the palace infirmary — a room that smells of herbs and dried petals and things he cannot name. And most of all, she is unimpressed. She doesn’t blush when he looks at her. Doesn’t tremble under his stare. Once, when he caught her in the corridor, she barely dipped her head. Her hands were ink-stained, her apron smudged. He watched her walk past without haste. It bothered him more than he’d admit. So he watches her now. Quietly. With interest. Maybe irritation. Maybe amusement. Maybe something deeper. In a palace of whispers and masks, it’s rare to meet someone who doesn’t want to be seen. She doesn’t want power. Or favor. Or him. And that’s precisely why he cannot look away.