CHAPTER TWELVE
S unlight spills through the windows, the scent of pear blossoms infusing the air.
I rise, unsettled, feeling like I haven’t slept at all despite the softness of the bed.
Maybe I’m not used to comfort. The reddish mark on the underside of my finger pulses faintly.
I try not to think of it as I stumble to my feet, rubbing my eyes.
After cleaning my face and teeth, I pull on a lilac robe embroidered with leaves.
I hesitate, then fasten a strand of pearls around my throat, fumbling with the delicate clasp.
A strange sensation, to not rush, whether to prepare breakfast or tidy the house.
Everything feels new and so unfamiliar, it chafes like a shoe not yet broken in.
Someone knocks on the door, then pulls it open.
Shan enters, carrying a tray of food: a bowl of congee garnished with slices of fried dough, a plate of dumplings and bean sprouts.
It smells delicious, but when I stir the porridge, unearthing pieces of fish—my stomach churns.
I’ll never forget the horror of seeing Little Dragon’s remains in my step-aunt’s soup.
I push the bowl aside, eating everything else, even the side dish of pickles and salted eggs.
When I’m done, Shan whisks the tray away, glancing curiously at the untouched bowl.
Alone, I pick up the first book I find—one on palace etiquette.
The first chapter drones on about titles, followed by a section on how to bow at court.
I wince at the illustrations, reminded of how clumsy I was last night.
A thump on the door startles me. As I open it, a broad-faced man in a stained apron enters.
He bows politely, yet appears to be bristling.
“I’m Cook Feng, the head of the kitchens in the Palace of Nine Hills,” he announces with the pride of a position well-earned.
“I heard you were displeased with your breakfast, and I came to find out what was wrong.”
“Displeased?” I repeat uncertainly.
“The fish congee you sent back, the bowl still full.” He scowls. “It’s an insult to eat everything yet leave my dish untouched. The fish was jade perch, the best quality and still wriggling when I chopped its head off.”
As he mimes the gesture, the urge to retch rises. “It was an excellent dish,” I say faintly. “The congee appeared smooth and silken, the fish tender.”
He nods, slightly mollified. “You sound like you know how to cook.”
“Just a little, nothing to your skills. I don’t eat fish… not since I choked on a bone stuck in my throat.” It’s easier to lie than to explain about the carp.
Cook Feng’s face brightens. “It happened to my little brother too. He cried so much and didn’t eat fish for six months!
You must still be hungry, especially if you ate all of Cook Nian’s dumplings.
They aren’t very good, the wrapper is too coarse.
I’ll send some of mine over, along with a bowl of noodles. ”
As I beam at him, a regal lady glides into my room in a swathe of peach brocade, her graying hair held up by amber pins. She casts a stern look at Cook Feng, who swiftly lowers his head and leaves.
“You may call me Madam Lau,” she announces, wrinkling her nose as she studies me. “Chief Attendant Mai requested that I instruct you on how to conduct yourself as His Highness’s guest.”
I smile woodenly as I bow. “I’m grateful, Madam Lau.”
She walks once around me, her eyes appraising. “Bow lowest to His Highness and his sister. Next are the nobles, officials, and ministers. Do not address anyone unless they speak to you first.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because your rank is lower than theirs.” Her thin lips stretch wide like she’s enjoying this. “Your rank is lower than everyone’s in the palace, except those who serve you.”
“And yet, I am His Highness’s guest.” Petty, but why show grace to those who don’t deserve it.
She taps the table sharply, her nail scratching the polished wood. “Show me how you’d bow to His Highness.”
I fold over, stretching out my clasped hands as I did yesterday.
“Not bad.” She sounds almost grudging. “Except you’re a lady, not a soldier. Grace must flow in your every move. When you walk, imagine you’re gliding. When you bow, especially to His Highness, imagine you’re a flower bending before the sun.”
I laugh before I catch myself, transforming it into a choking sound. “Don’t flowers grow up toward the sun?”
Her eyebrows snap together. “One as you should bend before His Highness, as low as you can.”
After the twentieth attempt to bow correctly, I don’t laugh anymore, nor will I make the mistake of aggravating Madam Lau again.
She sits by the table, eating the dumplings Cook Feng sent over as she barks a stream of infuriating orders.
Nothing I do seems to please her, whether moving, smiling, or breathing.
At last, she tires of me snapping up and down like a wind-tossed branch. “Your bow is passable,” she declares. “Now sit. Pour me a cup of tea.”
As I pick up the teapot, pushing my sleeve up to avoid spilling on it, she slaps my wrist. “Don’t bare your arm.
” When I offer her the cup, she sneers. “Use both hands to show respect.” Respect is far from my mind, but I silence any retort.
And when I walk around the room following her direction, she hollers at me to take smaller, mincing steps.
By the time she leaves, my mood is dark. But she is helping me, and if I’m going to swim in these uncertain waters, I must learn to stay afloat.
Days pass, one folding into the next until a week has gone by.
I haven’t seen Prince Zixin since the ball; maybe he’s forgotten me.
Yet Madam Lau arrives with teeth-gritting regularity each morning, staying till evening as she teaches me to speak, walk, bow, even to eat in a way that makes it seem like I have no interest in food.
Titles and court etiquette are drilled into me, piles of books left in my room of classics, history, poetry.
I don’t touch them, but no matter how dull her lessons are, I make myself listen.
Every morning I study the mark on my finger, Little Dragon’s warning never far from my mind.
The throbbing is ceaseless, not painful but incessant.
Spidery streaks have appeared—barely perceptible—stretching from the flower like veins.
It’s lucky that I only had the flower a day before it was taken, but already something feels off, a heaviness tugging at me, a looming sense of dread. How long do I have—weeks or months?
The moment Madam Lau leaves today, I hurry to the courtyard entrance, eager to explore the palace—to find the treasury where my ring is held.
But a young woman is waiting outside, sitting by the marble table as she chats with Shan.
She looks a few years older than him, clad in the gray dress of an attendant but with a red hem and sash, indicating a higher rank.
She studies me in a speculative manner, her eyes moving from my face to my feet, then back up again.
“This is Mina, one of Princess Chunlei’s attendants,” Shan says.
As I greet her, she bows gracefully. “Chief Attendant Mai sent a message: His Highness was unwell, but has recovered and invites you to accompany him this evening.”
“Was His Highness’s illness serious?” I ask, concerned.
She shakes her head. “His Highness tires easily since his father’s death. The doctors claim that he only needs to rest.”
“Where should I meet His Highness?” My spirits lift at the thought—or maybe it’s because I’ve been stuck in these rooms with only Madam Lau for company.
As she smiles, a dimple forms in her right cheek. “By the lake, just outside the palace. It’s beautiful there.”
I thank her, my mind turning to what I should wear. How strange to worry about such a thing, so far removed from my life before.
Mina appears in no hurry to leave, following me into my room. “Do you like it here, Miss Yining?”
“The clothes are nice, and the food is good.” I offer her a plate of pastries, their flaky crusts wrapped around sweetened almond paste.
Since Cook Feng’s visit, food has arrived in a steady stream: walnut biscuits, coconut pudding, even a bowl of costly ginseng stewed in rock sugar.
I’m beginning to think the most important person here may not be Prince Zixin but his cook.
Mina bites into the pastry, crumbs scattering on the floor. My hands itch to sweep them up but Shan hurries into the room to clean it. I’m still unused to letting others tidy up after me when I’ve spent years doing the same for Mistress Henglan.
“What do you do in the palace?” I ask Mina.
“I serve Princess Chunlei.” As her gaze drops to the pearls around my neck, then slides to my hair, I straighten instinctively. “I can see why Shan asked me to visit you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I arrange Her Highness’s hair. I choose her clothes and accessories, the color of the balm on her lips.
I can’t come here every day, but I’ll try when there’s need.
” She cocks her head to one side. “I’d never choose that sash with that robe.
Nor those accessories. Otherwise, you aren’t bad looking. ”
From her, I decide it’s a compliment. “You want to dress me?”
“To style you,” she corrects.
“Why?”
“His Highness likes your company. He didn’t toss you into a prison cell after your audacious request, he allowed you to stay, and he wants you close by.
From the clothes in your closet and the jewels on your table, it’s clear you have his interest. To hold it, we just have to fix what he sees when he looks at you. ”
Fix? I’m not even sure I want her help. I barely know the prince… except the thought of him makes my heart beat faster, and I need his favor to get my ring back.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask.
“Maybe I’m bored. Maybe I want to see how far one can go with a little help. Maybe I want to turn a village girl into a princess… even a queen.” Her eyes pinch like she’s thinking. “You look like someone who remembers their friends.”
“I do. I remember all my friends and my debts,” I say quickly, smothering any disbelief.
Whether I want this or not, it wouldn’t hurt to have another friend in the palace, someone clever and well connected.
Yet girls like me don’t end up with crowns on their heads. If we reach too high, we get cut down.
Mina grins as she moves to my closet, pulling out the neatly folded garments, dumping them on my bed and arranging them into piles. “The blue silk with the pink sash, the white cloak with the lavender brocade, the green robe with the yellow belt.”
A week’s worth of clothing is laid out more swiftly than the time it takes to walk once around the room. Soon, the accessories are strewn on the table as she divides them up, muttering things like:
“Never wear this silver comb with those gold hairpins.”
“These sapphires go best with rubies and pearls, not jade.”
“Pearls can match anything, but coral needs a bright color like turquoise to complement it.”
I have no idea why some pairings meet her disapproval, just that everything looks better when she puts it together, whether melding in harmony or dazzling in contrast.
“Mina, this is magic,” I say with wonder.
She leans over to unclasp the pearls from my neck, then holds up a thin gold chain studded with sapphires. “You don’t need ostentatious jewels—they are meant to adorn, not distract. Prince Zixin is the only one you need to impress; the rest will fall in line.”
As I glance at the mirror, Mina unties the ribbon holding my hair up. Gathering a handful, she twists it deftly into coils. “Now, let’s turn you into a princess.”
I laugh, but Mina speaks with such conviction, I almost believe her—that I could be the girl in the fairy tale instead of the one who’d climbed a tree, hoping for a glimpse of it.