MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 179: She was his to protect

Chapter 179: She was his to protect

They found the horses just where they had left them, tethered quietly beneath the trees, their dark coats shining under the moonlight. Deng Mi had already swung into his saddle. Wei Ling took up the rear guard, ever alert.

Zhao Yan helped Hua Jing up, his hands firm at her waist, careful and steady, as if afraid she would slip through his fingers.

She looked down at him from the saddle and offered the faintest of smiles. "I can ride alone, you know."

He didn’t answer. Instead, he mounted behind her, wrapping one arm securely around her waist, the other hand gently taking the reins. "Not tonight," he whispered into her ear.

They began their ride, the hooves of the horses thundering softly against the path, swallowed by the mist that coiled around the forest floor like forgotten spirits.

Wrapped in Zhao Yan’s arms, the tension that had coiled in Hua Jing’s spine began to melt. The wind against her cheeks was cool, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, and the warmth of his body behind her radiated like the sun she hadn’t seen all day.

Her fingers lightly touched the arm that held her so protectively. His heartbeat was steady. She leaned back just a little more, until her head could rest against his shoulder, her breath mingling with his.

"I thought I would die," she whispered into the silence.

Zhao Yan tightened his hold, pressing his cheek to her temple. "You didn’t."

She chuckled softly. "Because you came. A little late, but you came."

"I’ll never be late again."

Something in his voice was so raw, so full of grief and love, that she turned her face toward him. In the moonlight, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with things too deep for words.

She reached up, brushing her fingers along his cheekbone. "You look as if you’re the one who fought tonight."

"Watching you bleed was worse than fighting," he said.

The sincerity in his voice laced around her heart like a silken tether. Hua Jing’s lashes fluttered, and before she knew it, the exhaustion that had clung to her bones began to pull her into quietude. She let out a soft sigh and relaxed fully into him.

Zhao Yan looked down and found her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. She had fallen asleep—safe, in his arms.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare move. He simply adjusted his grip to cradle her closer, letting her head rest against his chest, and pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

The moon followed them, trailing their journey back through the forest like a silent guardian, as if blessing this quiet reunion. And in that silence, Zhao Yan made a silent vow: anyone who touched her again would not live to see another moonrise.

For now, though, he allowed himself this moment—the warmth of her weight against him, the steady rhythm of her breath, the knowledge that, despite the chaos, she was his to protect.

The night had quieted into something sacred by the time their horses galloped through the outer courtyard of Hua Jing’s residence. The air was cool, scented with dew and the faint trace of wildflowers. The gates opened as if the night itself parted before the returning storm. All was still, except the rhythmic thundering of hooves and the soft, near inaudible breath of the woman sleeping in Zhao Yan’s arms.

Her weight was gentle against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, hair brushing against the silk lining of his robes. She had not stirred once during the ride. Not even when they had crossed uneven ground or when the wind had brushed against her cheeks with a chill sharp enough to wake most. Instead, Hua Jing remained deep in slumber, as if the sheer exhaustion of the night had consumed her entirely.

As they came to a halt in the front courtyard, Zhao Yan reined in his steed with one smooth motion. His voice, when it came, was soft yet firm—imbued with a steadiness that only a man deeply shaken could fake so perfectly.

"Deng Mi, Wei Ling," he said, not shifting his gaze from the woman in his arms, "leave us for now. I will follow shortly."

The two men exchanged a glance. They bowed in perfect synchronization, solemn and knowing, before turning their horses and riding off into the night, their figures quickly swallowed by the dark veil of mist that had settled over the estate.

Zhao Yan waited until the sound of hooves had fully faded before dismounting. He moved carefully, mindful of the precious weight in his arms. Hua Jing stirred slightly, her brow twitching at the shift, but she did not wake. Instead, she nestled even closer to him, a small sigh escaping her lips, as if she were content to stay wrapped in his arms forever.

He looked down at her with a tenderness that cracked something open in his chest.

What sort of woman sleeps like this—after everything? After blood, after blades, after betrayal?

He should have known. He should have known long ago that she was unlike anyone else. Not just in this world, but in every world.

With deliberate slowness, Zhao Yan stepped off the horse, both arms securely wrapped around her. He landed with the lightness of a feather, his boots making only the softest sound against the paved stone. Each step he took into the courtyard was as quiet as snowfall. He walked as though the wind itself might wake her, his grip secure, protective, reverent.

The doors to her chamber opened swiftly, and there stood Xia Lin, as pale as moonlight and twice as shaken. Her eyes darted from Zhao Yan to the woman in his arms. She opened her mouth, a panicked gasp escaping before her voice even took shape.

"What happened?" she breathed, her hands trembling at her sides. "What happened to her?"

"She’s just exhausted," Zhao Yan answered gently, but firmly, his voice carrying the unmistakable command of royalty, tempered with a lover’s worry. "Please warm some water for us."