MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 188: You wore it unreservedly

Chapter 188: You wore it unreservedly

The grand mourning hall, once regal and composed, was now thick with the scent of incense and whispers. Lanterns lined the walls, casting a flickering golden glow over the black-veiled figures of nobility and court officials. Everyone was present—draped in somber mourning attire, their expressions clouded with grief. And still, through it all, no one had seen the Prime Minister.

Until now.

The great double doors creaked open once more, and in walked the man who had wielded more power in the empire than nearly anyone else, save the Emperor himself. Prime Minister Li Xian. His gait was slow, measured, and entirely unbothered by the collective wave of attention that turned toward him.

His absence had already stirred speculation. But his timing? That was gasoline on an already simmering fire.

Gasps, sharp whispers, the quick flicking of eyes from one face to the next. "Why now?" someone muttered. "Where has he been?"

"He should have been here the moment the bell tolled."

"This isn’t right."

But the Prime Minister carried himself with the same lazy confidence that always clung to him like a second skin. He wore no grief on his face, no sorrow in his steps. He moved straight to the front of the hall, where the Emperor’s body rested in full ceremonial glory, and bowed.

The moment his knees touched the ground, however, a blur of shadow cut through the air.

A force.

A presence.

Zhao Yan.

Zhao Yan rose to his feet in a sudden, fluid motion, the rustling of his mourning robes loud in the otherwise deathly quiet hall. The moment his figure straightened, a chill rippled through the chamber like a wave. Heads turned, whispers ceased, and breaths caught in throats as the weight of the moment crushed the air.

The Prime Minister, who had just entered the mourning hall with his usual air of practiced solemnity, lifted his head and found himself staring straight into Zhao Yan’s burning gaze.

There was no emotion on Zhao Yan’s face. Only resolve. Only fire.

In the blink of an eye, his hand moved. No one saw it coming. One moment, the Crown Prince stood tall, still. The next, his blade was unsheathed, gleaming under the oil lanterns and pressed coldly against the exposed neck of the Prime Minister.

The sound of steel on silk echoed as every imperial guard in Zhao Yan’s faction followed suit. Blades were drawn, tension crackled like lightning. A line had been crossed.

The Prime Minister remained still, his eyes dropping slowly to the sword glinting inches from his throat. The blade trembled not. It was held with purpose. With fury.

From the dais where the Emperor’s body lay in silence, the Empress gasped audibly and took a trembling step forward.

"Crown Prince! What are you doing?! Are you mad?! Your father lies dead before you, and this is what you choose to do?!" she cried, her voice shrill, threaded with disbelief and panic.

Zhao Yan turned to her slowly, his expression dark, deadly calm. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of thunder.

"And I wonder," he said, softly, "who I should thank for that."

His words echoed in the hall, hanging in the air like a death sentence.

He turned his face back to the Prime Minister, his sword unwavering. "The Prime Minister," he said, voice growing colder with every word, "who was meant to stand by my father as his most trusted hand, his shield, his shadow. Or the Empress," he turned his eyes briefly toward her again, "who was meant to guard his chamber and protect his legacy. Yet where were you both when he breathed his last?"

The court officials and the royal family froze. Not a whisper stirred. Every pair of eyes was locked on the confrontation.

"Surprising, isn’t it?" Zhao Yan said again, voice dipping into something lethal. "That neither of you were present. That neither of you could be reached until hours after his passing. Unless..."

He leaned in closer, the tip of his sword pressing harder into the Prime Minister’s skin, a thin line of blood beginning to appear. "Unless you were plotting treason."

Gasps rang out across the room.

The Prime Minister’s face twitched slightly, but he did not move. He did not blink. He simply met Zhao Yan’s gaze with a smile that was too calm.

"Crown Prince," he said, voice silky smooth, "are you accusing me of high treason before the eyes of the dead Emperor and the entire royal family?"

"I am," Zhao Yan replied, not flinching. "And this sword, drawn in mourning, is ready to deliver the punishment befitting that accusation."

"How dare you!" the Empress screeched, stepping forward. "Put down your sword this instant! You think you can accuse one of the empire’s highest ministers of treason based on your own fevered suspicions?"

Zhao Yan’s eyes cut toward her, ice and steel. "I think," he said, "that my father was poisoned. That there is blood in his veins not meant to be there. And that the two people with the most to gain from his death arrived last to the hall of mourning."

The Empress opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

"Your Majesty," one of the older ministers whispered from behind the crowd, "is this true?"

The Prime Minister exhaled slowly, his smile fading. "You claim I was absent... but did it occur to you, Crown Prince, that I was acting in service to the throne elsewhere?"

Zhao Yan laughed. It was cold. It was terrifying.

"Oh? You mean luring my seventh consort out to have her killed?"

The Prime Minister flinched.

The court fell silent. Shock crashed like thunder.

"What is he saying?"

"Did he attack the seventh consort?"

"Isn’t that treason?!"

The Prime Minister turned toward the Crown Prince, his eyes wide. "Crown Prince!"

"Prime Minister!" Zhao Yan roared back, cutting him off.

His voice thundered across the hall, echoing off the pillars. "You poisoned my father. You attempted to murder my consort. You dare stand in this sacred hall and pretend innocence?!"

His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted with rage. "My father is dead. My seventh consort, injured. Do you know the kind of rage that burns inside me right now? I should strike you down this instant!"

The Prime Minister shook, sweat beginning to bead at his temples.

"Guards!" Zhao Yan barked. "Seize him!"

Immediately, the imperial guards stepped forward in unison. No hesitation. They surrounded the Prime Minister, their armor clinking as they closed in.

Zhao Yan didn’t lower his sword until he was sure the Prime Minister could not escape.

"Effective immediately," he continued, voice sharp and commanding, "the Prime Minister is to be imprisoned in the Eastern Celestial Dungeon. All his titles, seals, and properties are to be confiscated. He will not be visited. He will not be released."

The Empress gasped. "You cannot do this!"

Zhao Yan turned slowly, the movement deliberate, calculated. His eyes were like shards of ice—cold, emotionless, and filled with a storm too dangerous to contain. He stared at her, not as a son would look at a mother figure, but as a sovereign looks upon a criminal.

The Empress’s voice faltered as she took an uncertain step back. This was not the Crown Prince she knew. This was not the boy she had watched grow up. This man—this terrifying man—was someone else entirely. His aura was suffocating.

She tried again, her voice shaking. "What... what is it that you think you are doing?"

But Zhao Yan didn’t answer immediately. He stepped forward, and the sound of his boots echoed across the vast mourning hall. The Empress’s guards moved instinctively, rushing in to intercept him, but they were met with the sharp steel and unwavering stance of the imperial guards. His personal guards followed suit, creating a ring of hostility around the Empress.

The room erupted into murmurs and gasps. Ministers looked at each other in disbelief. A few even stepped back in alarm. The power struggle had shifted right before their eyes.

Zhao Yan halted just a few paces away from the Empress. "Do you want me to recite your sins here? In front of everyone who’s watching?" His voice was calm, but each word sliced through the air like a blade.

The Empress paled, visibly. Her mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but she could not find the words. That gaze of his—he knew something. She could see it in his eyes. And the uncertainty of what exactly he knew made her entire body shiver.

Zhao Yan watched her reaction with grim satisfaction. "Judging by your expression, I’d say you don’t want me to. Which is why... you should not be too mad when I do what I am about to do next."

He turned slightly and raised his hand. His voice rang out, a command that made everyone’s blood run cold.

"Take the Empress to the Cold Palace."

Silence followed, deafening and absolute. The officials, the nobles, even the consorts—all frozen in their places. For a moment, it seemed like time itself had stopped.

"You dare!" the Empress shrieked, her voice breaking through the stillness.

Zhao Yan didn’t blink. "You should be thankful I am not sentencing you to something worse."

His guards moved swiftly, stepping toward the Empress. She backed away, nearly tripping over the hem of her robe. "You are insane! How dare you! I am the Empress!"

"Were," Zhao Yan replied coldly. "And even that title you wore undeservedly!"