CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
T he morning of the coronation dawns clear and bright, the skies a brilliant azure—perfect, as though the heavens themselves have bowed to the bidding of the prince. With each moment, dread rises until it throttles me, until I’m fighting to breathe.
Today, the Prince of the Iron Mountains will take the throne, and me as his bride.
Between marriage and death—I’ll choose life. But promises mean nothing when forced. I’m still grasping for a way out, and I won’t think of what happens should I fail.
My hands crumple the silk of my gown, the gold phoenixes embroidered on the crimson skirt.
Red is the color of happiness and luck, but all I see is violence.
A glittering headdress of pearls and iron weighs on my scalp.
I look into the mirror, hating the sheen of the metal, not just because of the dragon’s stolen power, how it can unmask my people’s magic—but because it means I have none.
I’m wearing my ring, yet none of the iron discolors when I touch it, there’s no stirring of power, only emptiness when I grasp for more.
“His Highness sent these to you.” Shan holds up my pearl shoes, those I wore to the ball. I would’ve been glad to never see them again. “His Highness asked for you to wear them today.”
“His Highness can wear them himself.”
Shan lowers the shoes, his mouth turning down. “Why aren’t you happy? Isn’t this what you dreamed of ?”
You could be our queen, he told me when we first met. I laughed then, a little giddy at the thought—never imagining that one day I’d do anything to escape that fate. To Shan, to many, this must seem like a story in a book. Because I’m one of them, my elevation offers hope.
“Don’t worry about me, Shan.” I squeeze his arm lightly. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that dreams change. And we must let go before they turn into nightmares.”
Too late.
The door to my courtyard swings open. Princess Chunlei enters, clad in yellow, a chain of sapphires around her neck and iron pins in her hair, exquisitely crafted into tiny birds.
An ornamental dagger hangs from her side, the gold scabbard encrusted with coral.
It’s a little smaller than the one Prince Zixin gave me, the one I’m no longer trusted with.
At least I still have Dian’s herbs, the pouch concealed amid the folds of my gown. I experimented with some of them, trying to recall everything Dian had said, letting intuition guide me. The most useful are the bell-shaped flowers, almost blinding when set alight.
“I will accompany you to the palanquin,” Princess Chunlei says gently. She would have heard the gossip of my flight and recapture.
“Thank you, Your Highness. But I would rather walk.” Anything that takes longer.
“Then I will walk with you.” She smiles at me hesitantly. “I’ve always wanted a sister, though I wish there was more joy in today.”
“Can you help me?” I ask, searching her face.
She drops her eyes. “I’m sorry. You and I… we’re both pawns with different titles. We must obey. But while my brother can be harsh, he does care for you.”
“That doesn’t make it right, that makes it worse.” A question slips from me, as much to myself as to her, “What should I do?”
She touches my shoulder lightly. “What you must.”
A long silence falls between us, as I stifle the more dangerous questions. “Have you heard anything about Lady Ruilin and the other girl? I asked for them to attend today but heard nothing.”
“You don’t need to worry about their safety. Lady Ruilin and I have known each other since we were children. Brother won’t say why they are being held, but I will watch over her and her companion.” She clasps my hand. “You will see them today, and I promise no harm will come to them.”
My spirits lighten at the princess’s assurance. While she can’t openly defy her brother, she doesn’t abandon those under her protection. And if we’re all together at the coronation, maybe we can find a chance to escape.
Princess Chunlei releases me, then gestures to the chief attendant, who approaches bearing a silk-wrapped tray. “Here is my wedding gift.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I intone as expected of me.
As the chief attendant places the tray into my hands, I draw away the covering to reveal a necklace of lustrous pearls, a pair of jade bangles, a set of jeweled hairpins.
They are beautiful. Priceless. And I want none of them.
When I don’t reach for the jewels, the princess asks, “Are you ready to leave?”
“Wait, Your Highness.” The chief attendant bows to her, his tone deferential. “His Highness commanded that no guests are permitted to carry a weapon today.”
Princess Chunlei sighs as she unfastens the jeweled dagger by her side, dropping it on the table beside me. “My brother has grown suspicious, but it’s understandable today.”
My eyes fix on the weapon, my mind spinning. The weight of impossibility hovers, but I’ll need just one moment when everything aligns.
Princess Chunlei heads to the door, followed by the chief attendant and her guards. “Shall we go?” she calls after me.
My smile is bright. “I will join you shortly. I need my veil, and would like to wear some of your gifts.” The moment the princess’s back is turned, the attendants distracted with my veil and the jewelry—I slip the dagger into my palm, tucking it deftly into the inner fold of my sleeve.
As the cool iron presses the underside of my arm, a fierce satisfaction grips me.
No one notices, the attendants returning to clasp the pearls around my neck, sliding the jade bangles onto my wrists, as cold and hard as manacles.
Finally, they drape a piece of red silk over my headdress. As I inhale, the cloth is sucked against my nostrils, a suffocating sensation. The world is cloaked in a crimson haze like it’s been set afire.
I hate this. Yet there is a certain freedom to being pushed to the edge. The moment you’re about to lose everything, there is also everything to gain. Today, I’m not going to marry the wicked prince; I’m going to destroy him.
The sun beats down on us as we walk to the Grand Hall—a beautiful day.
I wish it would rain, to mirror the turmoil and fury leashed within.
I tear the veil from my face, shoving it into my sleeve.
Chrysanthemums are planted along the pathway, the only flowers that will bloom in this cursed soil, the shadow of my mother’s death haunting this place still.
A carpet is laid across the stairs to the Grand Hall, the large bronze censer outside crowded with joss sticks, thick smoke wafting to the skies.
Soldiers in armor flank the way, their weapons glinting with silent threat.
I climb the steps with Princess Chunlei, my feet sinking into the soft carpet—an honor typically reserved for the royal family alone. Once I envied them these privileges and gifts. Now I realize the most precious treasure is freedom, which eludes even those of royal blood.
Prince Zixin is waiting by the hall’s entrance, surrounded by his guards and attendants.
His body is rigid—is it with impatience at my delay?
I should have walked slower. As my eyes meet the prince’s, a chill shrouds me.
I loathe him, and how even now, it’s hard to look away.
He is dazzling in his red brocade robe embroidered with silver dragons, his hair swept into a topknot, left without ornamentation.
When he descends these stairs, the king’s crown will be set upon his head, the symbol of his reign, of the great power he will wield over us until the end of his days.
His gaze sweeps the length of me. “I hoped you would wear your pearl shoes. A fitting memento.” He speaks in an intimate way that once tugged at my heart, before I saw his true face.
“New beginnings.” My smile is mirthless. “Why should we look to the past?”
His smile matches mine. “Where is your veil?”
“Do we need it? Is Your Highness superstitious?” I counter. I’d rather not have my vision obscured when I’m trying to escape. Though when I glance at the crowd of soldiers lining the path to the hall, more of them surrounding it—my spirits sink.
“You’re right,” Prince Zixin says brusquely. “Who needs luck when we’ll make our own.” He pulls my hand into the crook of his elbow then stalks into the hall. I quicken my pace to match his; I won’t be dragged.
When we enter, everyone falls to their knees: the ministers in their formal purple robes and black ceremonial hats, the finely dressed nobles, the attendants in gray, and the guards in iron.
A headiness grips me; it’s almost unnerving to walk past their bowed heads, witnessing their reverence to the power of the throne.
I wanted this—I want it still, though on my own terms, not bound to another’s.
Power that is borrowed or conferred can just as easily be snatched away.
The Grand Hall is transformed from the ethereal beauty of the ball into magnificent splendor.
Swathes of red brocade fringed in amber are draped across the ceiling.
Silk lanterns are strung from pillars, their gold tassels reflecting the light from the countless candles, set upon tall bronze stands—already lit though it’s daytime.
The chamber is ringed by pots of chrysanthemums, their white heads curved like miniature moons.
The dais is built higher and wider today, befitting the honor due to a king.
An enormous jade sculpture of twin dragons is set behind the mahogany throne, a ceremonial bronze gong placed at the far end along with its mallet.
The way leading to the throne is flanked by courtiers and nobles, with only General Xilu in full armor like the other soldiers.
I catch a glimpse of Lord Liuming beside Madam Wang, both wearing sour expressions.
Hundreds of soldiers are clustered around the hall, blocking each pathway, some stationed around the dais. Prince Zixin is taking no chances.