[quantal_goldfish]

Ah, the Sejabin. Suho wondered how she was doing.

The last he had heard was that she had slipped into a deep coma. But that was weeks ago, away in the confines of his room, from the soldiers bringing him supper who were just tipsy enough to loosen their tongues. No one knew the exact cause of her illness or when the symptoms began to set in- only that one night the Emperor had found her writhing on the floor, her own hands gripped like a vice around her neck, and no poison in her tea.

(Alas, whether there was poison or no poison made no dent in the grand scheme of things- the scullery maids were all sent home, and the chefs abandoned to the gallows.)

Then, he could only assume that her condition had worsened. The difference in the way the Emperor treated her and the rest of the concubines was how open he was about sharing them- with the Sejabin, there had always been a mysterious sort of silence. Even within the court her name only appeared in thin slivers of pocket conversations. But he allowed it then, because he enjoyed the good things people had to say about his lady.

Now the complete lack of news must mean there was nothing desirable to speak of. There was to be a feast- but not one to celebrate her waking, nor was there fanfare on any one morning, with an eunuch running down the halls hammering on all their paper doors announcing. Or perhaps, the King had hoped that he could impose something on the meandering river that is life, as though if he planned the banquet beforehand, she must surely sit by him and allow him to feed her sweets.

Suho couldn't help himself, then, and chuckled. His hands returned to their place in his lap. The men of the court had always been this careless- this free in assumption, thinking that all things would walk their way.

"I see," he replied, smiling serenely. "I hope she is there to enjoy it."

And said no more on the matter.

"By that time, will you have returned from your expedition?"