( Chrichter. A moment, and wheels and cogs ready and turn and there is no grease for them, no native appetite for political machination that might recommend him to understand this strategy. He sees the hand mere moments before it's played. Now, in retrospect, even Lan Wangji concludes: )

You suspect he conspired the dragon's siege.

( An injury that nearly cost the creature's mate her children. And how Lan Wangji remembers that, screams like flesh tearing from bone, the raw quality of shredded muscle, thinning.

Rasped, raw, his voice is leaves twisting underfoot — a secret. Theirs, under the watchful gaze of men who misunderstand why he lingers, and he indulges them, taking a step too close to Emilia, allowing his hand to linger on the warm, spasming flank of her dragon, as she negotiates the winding down. A hard flight, the descent in turbulence. Ferrying death on her back.

Let them think he is perhaps the vulgar paramour of a beautiful rider, come to take advantage of his intended's need to see her dragon attended. Let them presume. )

Your... betrothed refused cleansing. I ask.