NOVEL NEXT Chapter 204: Worship
The door closed behind them with the softest sound.
Not a slam. Not a scrape.
Just the hush of old wood settling into privacy.
Shi Yaozu stood still, barely breathing, eyes adjusting to the warm dark of her room. He could feel the fire in the main hearth down the hall, but here, everything was quieter. Closer.
She let go of his hand.
And turned to face him.
Not as the creature the world feared. Not as the Crown Princess of the most ruthless dynasty the continent had ever known.
Just her.
Zhao Xinying. The girl who built a house with her bare hands before she had her second set of molars. The woman who had healed strangers and killed armies. The one who never once flinched when he showed her his worst.
She was standing in front of him, asking for something wordless.
And he didn't know if he was worthy of it.
Yaozu reached up, brushed his knuckles along her jaw. Her skin was cold from the wind outside, but it warmed under his touch. Her breath caught, just once, and then steadied.
He lowered his hand.
"I don't..." he started, but the words knotted in his throat.
She tilted her head. "You don't what?"
"You don't have to—" he stopped. Swallowed. Looked at her again. "You're..."
Too good. Too powerful. Too untouchable.
She took a step closer. Then another.
And then she was in his space, looking up at him, her fingers light at the edge of his collar. She didn't say anything, just rose to her toes and gently kissed his Adam's apple. The feeling of her soft skin against his made him bite back a groan as he stretched his neck just a bit.
Just enough to give her more space to keep going.
Her fingers moved up, slow, tracing the line of his neck, brushing the edge of his jaw as she continued to press soft kisses along the underside of his jaw and down his vulnerable throat to that little dip between his collar bones.
"Don't think," she murmured between kisses. "Just feel. But don't feel forced. Only if you want me, too. Do you want me, too?"
There was something in her voice.
Not command.
Not seduction.
Vulnerability.
And it shattered him.
Because how could she not see what he saw?
His hands moved before his mind could catch up, cupping her waist, pulling her closer. Her body pressed to his without hesitation, without flinch. She was so small compared to him, but nothing about her ever felt delicate.
Until now.
Until the moment she gave herself over to trust.
He bent and kissed her again—deeper, slower this time. She opened under him with a soft sound, her hands slipping beneath his coat, pushing the heavy fabric back. He let it fall to the floor.
When her fingers found the fastenings of his armor, he froze.
She didn't.
Her hands were steady as she undid each clasp, each buckle, working in silence. Like she knew how long it took him to lower his guard.
When the final strap was loosed, she stepped back and let her gaze roam his chest, the ridges of old scars, the tense muscle underneath. He'd never felt more exposed in his life.
She touched one scar near his ribs, a burn that never fully healed.
"This one?" she asked softly.
"Punishment. I failed a mission when I was fifteen."
She didn't apologize.
She kissed it.
Then her fingers skimmed the rest of him, cataloguing—not with pity, but with reverence. Each mark, each brutal truth etched into his skin, she didn't flinch from.
When he reached for her in return, his hands trembled.
She didn't move to stop him. Just stood there, allowing him the same permission she'd taken.
He untied her outer robe first. It slipped down her shoulders in a whisper of fabric. Underneath, her linen shift clung to her curves, already soft with heat. His breath caught in his chest.
"You're..."
Perfect.
But the word wouldn't come out. It felt too heavy. Too unworthy.
She reached for him again, took his hand, and placed it against her heart.
It beat fast.
"I've never—" she started, then stopped. Looked away.
"I know," he said, voice rough. And he did know. There was no way anyone, bandits or otherwise, could ever be able to force her into doing something that she didn't want.
She nodded.
Then, after a long moment, "I trust you. I want you to be my first."
That was the final blow.
He kissed her again, gently at first, but it deepened with every shared breath, every exhale that made them feel more like two sides of the same storm. He lifted her easily, cradled her against his chest, and carried her to the bed.
It was low to the floor, the blanket thick and scratchy. It smelled like cedar and the cold.
He laid her down with a care that almost broke him.
And when he touched her again, it was reverent.
Worshipful.
Every inch of her skin he explored like a language he had waited his whole life to learn. Her ribs, the curve of her waist, the sharp slope of her hips—his hands memorized them like scripture.
She reached for him too—no shyness, just certainty.
They undressed each other slowly. No rush. No practiced rhythm.
When she lay bare before him, he paused.
Her eyes met his. Unafraid.
He moved over her, supporting his weight on one arm, brushing her hair back with the other.
"If you want me to stop—"
"I don't."
He nodded once. Bent his head to her neck. Kissed her shoulder. Her collarbone. The inside of her wrist.
And then, when she was dripping wet to his touch, with the firelight casting low shadows against the wooden walls she had once built with bleeding hands—
He entered her.
She gasped. Not in pain. Just from the newness of it.
He didn't move.
Waited. Let her adjust. Let her breath steady.
Her fingers tightened on his back.
And then she moved.
It was slow. Gentle. The kind of rhythm that wasn't taught—it just existed. Their bodies fit like they'd always meant to find each other, like the world had burned down and rebuilt just for this one night.
She touched his face. Murmured something into his ear he couldn't catch.
But it didn't matter.
Because she was here.
With him.
And he was home.
When he had made sure that she came, when he, too, experienced a heaven that he never allowed himself to think about, he stayed above her a moment longer. Then slid to her side, pulling her into his arms. Her head tucked beneath his chin. Their legs tangled in the scratchy blanket.
He didn't speak.
Didn't dare ruin it with anything as fragile as words.
He just held her.
And listened to her breathe.