I Became a Mother in Another World

Clink

The goblet clattered onto the ground with a high-pitched sound that lasted barely a nanosecond. The wine at the bottom of the cup spilled onto the ground, soaking into the hem of her robes. Part of her - the part which came into being as a result of relentless training of her senses - felt the wine seep through her clothes and onto her skin, the fabric clinging to her shin. She sensed a maidservant rush forward and clean up the mess, pouring another cup of wine for her.

The rest of the time, she could not bring herself to respond. She could not bring herself to even react. The entirety of her mind was centred upon the figure that had now come into light. She was frozen, still as a statue, her eyes fixated on those eyes. Those painfully familiar eyes, as clear as the sky on the sunniest day of summer, as clear as the lagoon that surrounded the Maldives. Even as cold and blank as they were now, there was no mistaking those eyes. Those eyes that she could have spent hours staring into once upon a time. Nor that blonde hair, which was much, much longer than she remembered it being. Nor those frustratingly beautiful cheekbones she used to love tracing while he pretended to sleep and failed. Nor those lips which she could still count each and every line of.

There was no mistaking him.

Ayden.

Ayden Henz.

Her lover.

The man she had once considered the love of her life.

The man she had once planned to marry.

The man she had thought was lost to her forever.

The clinical part of her brain identified the beginning of tremors in her body, her fingers jittery, the familiar quiver of anxiety she had not felt for a long time making itself known in her very nerves. It recognized the itch in her throat, the burn in her eyes, the twisting agony in her chest that threatened to rip her apart from the inside out.

She could feel the control of her emotions slipping from her.

Her mind could barely comprehend what was going on, and her limbs were not sure how to react. The young teen who had fallen head over heels for her asshole rival screamed at her to stand and run to his arms, bury him in kisses, and ask him where the fuck he had been all these years. The mother in her who knew any rash movement on her part might put Manu in danger held the young teen down, and the woman who had begun to slip into the sinuous arms of the Emperor urged her to run the other way, lest she did something that would make the man's soft gaze on her disappear.

The result was that she went rigid, her body refusing to make even the slightest movement, her mind drowning as the voices of her emotions, emotions she had long learned to control to a needle's point, threatened to overwhelm her.

"...ing. Lady Qing!"

The Emperor's voice brought her out of her own chaotic mind.

She clenched her fists beneath her sleeves, her nails digging into her palm, as she forced her body to move. She slowly turned her head, thanking her training for her ability to slip into a blank, emotionless mask that hid every single piece of her being deep down, and looked up at the Emperor.

"Are you quite well?" He asked.

She found those golden eyes on her, one brow furrowed slightly. His face was, as usual, unreadable. But Samaya had known him long enough to discern the concern beneath that blank mask. His eyes flicked down to the wet patch on the edge of her robes, before flitting back up to her face again.

She attempted a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. But she was not sure it even reached her eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty." She bowed her head, uncertain if she could hold that smile much longer. "I apologise for causing Your Majesty to worry."

Her voice was so cold it could be ice, and so devoid of emotions, she might as well be a damn robot. She tried to keep it as soft as possible, but allowing herself to show any sort of emotion would result in the dam breaking. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. It was him. His gaze. She just knew it. She did not move from her position.

"If you are feeling unwell," the Emperor started, clearly not convinced by her poor attempts at reassuring him, "you may take your leave for the night."

As if. She could not leave in the middle of such an important banquet. That would cause a scene, and the consequent drama would be the size of a Grand Canyon, especially since she would most likely take Manu - the only Prince - with her.

The Emperor asking after her had already put a spotlight on her; she did not need to make it worse. And whatever happened, she could not allow any suspicions to arise. No, she could not allow this bolt out of the blue to destroy everything she had built here, not when it could put Manu in danger.

She straightened and, this time, her smile was a bit more confident. No less fake, but slightly more convincing.

"I am grateful for your concern, Your Majesty. But Your Majesty need not worry. I am quite well."

The man stared at her for a long moment, his gaze seeming to search for something on her. She resisted the urge to clench her teeth, praying and hoping that the anxiety and fear coiled tight in her gut did not peek through the mask she was wearing.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Finally, after a long moment, the man nodded.

She exhaled softly, not even daring to show the relief she felt inside on her face, and bowed again to the Emperor, before turning around and facing the audience.

This time, she very deliberately kept her eyes away from the figure standing in the middle of the Hall, despite feeling his gaze burn holes into her. She cursed, wishing he would be more subtle and hoping desperately no one noticed the newest minstrel gazing obsessively at the commoner concubine.

She looked toward the scarred man. "It seems my woolgathering has caused some interruption. I apologise, sire."

The man's gaze on her was unreadable in a way that sent chills down her spine.

After a moment, he gave a bland smile. "Not at all." He turned to the Emperor. "Shall we continue, Your Majesty?"

At the Emperor's nod, the scarred man turned and walked deliberately towards Ayden. Samaya traced his path, and when the man finally reached him, Samaya allowed her gaze to unfocus, looking but not really looking. She could still trace their movements, but she kept her eyes firmly off their faces. She could not bring herself to look at the man, afraid that she might do something stupid.

"May I present Aidan, a minstrel from the faraway land of Ura'aise. He has travelled far and wide and is well-versed in different kinds of music from around the world. Please, allow him to present something for you."

Aidan.

She pushed down the hysterical laughter that bubbled up in her throat and threatened to spill. Aidan. He had not changed his name, just … mandarinized it a bit. Granted, neither had she. But … gods, it all felt so damn ridiculous. She took a grape and popped it into her mouth, letting the sweet and sour juices fill her mouth as she bit down on it. There was no reason for it. She just needed something to do if she did not want to crash out in a hall full of people.

"Your Majesty."

Her heart quivered.

His voice. Oh, that voice. That voice that used to seek amusement in annoying her. That voice that used to go breathless when they would spar and she would straddle him after trapping him between her thighs. That voice that used to make her go weak in her knees. That voice that used to whisper sweet nothings in her ears, even in the middle of a goddamn mission.

The voice that now seemed to boom like a thunderous arrow that shot straight through her heart. She dug her nails further into her palm, attempting to distract herself from the unbearable pain in her chest. The sounds around her faded; all she could hear was her own thudding chest and his voice.

"This one would be honored if Your Majesty would grant him the opportunity to display his humble ability."

Every word. Every word made her heart twist and turn. She was surprised that it had not burst out of her ribcage. Absently, she hoped that the Emperor was too occupied with the rest of the banquet to notice it. She exhaled harshly and calmed herself down. It was another reminder that she was getting sloppy. She had been trained to pass a damn polygraph under the highest possible pressure, and now she was losing her mind over the return of her lost lover.

She exhaled softly and pulled on her training, counting down from 100 and trying to match her heartbeat to the intervals until she brought it back under control.

"Granted." The Emperor's voice boomed, pulling her out of her trance - during which she realised she'd been peeling an orange - and, strangely enough, calming her a bit.

"Are you alright?" Fu Caiyi's whisper reached her.

She turned her head to find Fu Caiyi's concerned expression trained on her. She must have let quite a bit of her turmoil slip if Fu Caiyi could detect it. Either that or Fu Caiyi's uncanny perception had allowed her to notice that something was wrong. Samaya hoped it was the latter. Well, at least it was only Fu Caiyi who noticed it. Everyone else was too far away

She sent a reassuring smile her way. "Yes," she whispered back. "Do not worry."

Fu Caiyi did not seem like she believed her, but before she could say anything, that painful voice once again reached them.

"This one is grateful, Your Majesty."

Samaya turned her head to find him sitting down on the ground, folding his legs beneath him, and an erhu in one hand and the bow to play it in another. There was that painful tightening of her chest, but the exercise came in handy, and she managed to retain the steady rhythm of her heart.

His head was bowed, the hair covering falling over his face, hiding his expression. The hand holding the erhu pressed two fingers onto the two strings, and the other held the bow at the base of the strings. For a moment, he waited, and a hush fell over the Hall as everyone eagerly waited for this exotic musician to weave his music.

The first note floated through the room, thin and trembling, like a breath caught between hope and despair. The sound that filled the room was, of course, that of a traditional erhu, an expressive timbre filled with a trembling, mournful quality. But the melody, the tune that came from the erhu, was nothing like the melody found in the Empire of Xin, nothing like what music from Ancient China should sound.

No, it was a modern song, translated onto an erhu.

She knew that song.

How could she not? It was one of her favorite songs, one she used to play nonstop when it first came out. So much so that Ayden and her mentor both had become sick of it.

It was a heartbreaking ballad about incomplete love and unbearable yearning, which captured the story of two people who loved each other deeply but could not be together because of circumstances beyond their control.

If she'd had even a sliver of doubt that this was not the man she had loved and lost, that doubt was now crushed completely.

It was that same song, but without words. Simply the voice of the instrument itself, carrying the weight of everything unspoken. Each gliding note, each longing vibrato, tugged at her chest, recalling memories she had tried to lock away. Laughter that still rang in her ears, touches she could feel on her skin, scent she could still smell. The scar on her heart - that she'd once told the Emperor had faded - ripped open, leaving an open and bleeding wound.

She dug her nails deeper, feeling the wet droplets of blood seeping onto her fingers. The control she regained over her heart threatened to slip.

Samaya felt the music wrap around her like a shroud. The erhu's mournful wail echoed the ache in her own heart, reminding her of what she had loved and what she had lost.

She could almost hear the lyrics in her ear.

"If the heavens are here, then why do I not see you?" The singer, the separated lover, would ask. "I have been waiting for you, sitting here parched for decades."

Her throat threatened to clog up. It was only music, but the message he was sending was clear. Every note was a question, a confession, stirring up the turmoil raging inside of her. It echoed in her ears, sinking deep into her blood and wrapping around her heart like poisonous vines.

Then, he lifted his gaze, and her gaze locked onto hers.

She froze, not daring to breathe. The melody did not change; the song was a repetition of the same kind of tune. But she knew, she knew deep in her bones, which part he was playing. It was clear in the glimpse of expectancy that peeked from beneath his cold gaze, which was steady as those eyes bored into hers. It was only something that she would recognize, having stared into those stormy blue-grey eyes for hours at a time.

"This craving will come to an end, and the gods themselves will come to rewrite our… incomplete story."