CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
T he iron seal the prince warned me against touching is clasped in his hand.
The starfire above it shines so bright, it almost hurts to look upon it.
Something clinks, the seal cracking apart—a melody rising, beautiful yet aching with grief.
I lean closer, careless of discovery, anxious to catch a glimpse of the tiny creature who sings like its spirit is broken.
Yet I can’t see it, hidden in the prince’s hands.
This must be what Jin seeks. Such a creature doesn’t belong in the Iron Mountains, trapped in the pitiless prison of the seal.
A rash impulse seizes me to help it, burrowing through my selfish heart.
I can’t explain this… just that its sorrow braids with mine.
Yet there’s nothing I can do now—and every moment I linger, I risk discovery.
As I move away, the air thickens like a storm is approaching. Light flares from within the forge, blinding and incandescent. It blazes from the seal—or is it from the creature?—cascading over the swords like a river of starlight, its force as potent as standing beneath a waterfall.
Fear digs through my spine. This is magic. Not an illusion nor a trick, but powerful and real and terrifying. How is this possible? How is this here in the Iron Mountains, in the Palace of Nine Hills?
I squint, trying to make out the creature again, but it’s too bright, too small. As the song fades the brightness dwindles, leaving just the swords on the ground—now shining with that fierce glitter.
My mind races. The soldiers’ weapons, my dagger from the prince…
such iron isn’t mined from the mountains, but infused with magic—the magic our rulers claim to revile.
Their hypocrisy is boundless. If the creature in the royal seal was stolen as Jin says, it’s clear why those of Thorn Valley want it back.
I curse Jin silently for entangling me in this.
I thought he was searching for a missing pet, not a creature of unfathomable power—one that frightens me, yet stirs my compassion.
Whatever this is, I shouldn’t have seen it.
And if I’m caught here… Anli’s fate could be mine.
“Are these the last of the weapons?” Prince Zixin asks, his voice seeming to waver.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The chief attendant emerges from the back of the room.
“Your Highness has worked hard these past months to equip our army well, to strengthen our wall, and to fulfil the tasks your father laid out in his final will. Once Your Highness chooses a suitable bride, the coronation can take place. But Your Highness must now rest, else you fall ill again.”
“I am glad this is over,” the prince says tersely.
The chief attendant sweeps a low bow. “Your Highness has done a great service for our kingdom, the heir your father deserves.”
Prince Zixin inclines his head as he turns away.
Is he leaving? Panic grips me. With the soldiers following him, they’ll find me, trapped in these narrow confines.
I back away, then race down the corridor, dashing into the room with the stairway.
I take the steps two at a time, trying to keep my tread quiet.
It doesn’t matter if I encounter the prince later—anywhere but here.
My lungs are burning as I finally emerge into the small chamber, panting from the strain of sprinting up the stairs.
I inhale deeply, the air here twice as sweet, not even minding the metallic tinge that usually bothers me.
I’m sweating, my breathing ragged, trying to calm myself before encountering the guards at the gate.
From below, I catch the thud of steps—the prince and his guards coming up the stairs.
I rush from the room, ducking into a cluster of trees.
Shortly after, Prince Zixin and his group emerge.
Once they pass through the gate, I wait several long moments before striding there.
The guards nod at me, maybe recognizing me from earlier.
As I hold out the sandalwood ornament from Princess Chunlei, they wave me through, none remarking on my disheveled appearance.
I make my way swiftly back toward my courtyard, smoothing down my hair, wiping the sweat from my brow.
The main square is finally quiet, the workers gone.
I’m walking so quickly, Prince Zixin is only a little ahead of me now.
Just in front, the sight of my courtyard fills me with relief.
But the prince halts by my entrance—then moves decisively toward it.
As the guards dip into low bows, my heart almost stops.
“Your Highness,” I call out from behind him, smiling through clenched jaws, acting like there is nothing to hide.
He swings around, his eyes piercing. “Where were you?”
I bow to him, glad to hide my face. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”
“You said you didn’t want to walk earlier.” Tension coils in his tone.
“That was before I ate,” I reply lightly. “Why is Your Highness here?”
“I wanted to speak to you.” He pauses, still looking at me. “I don’t like fighting with you.”
His unexpected bluntness is disarming—but I recall the girl in the cell, the one whipped for spilling tea on him. “Why don’t you come inside?” I offer as he stands there, his gaze expectant.
His guards remain outside as he follows me in, the doors closing after us.
For the first time, we are truly alone—yet there’s no anticipation, just a crawling dread, a tightness in my chest. I sit by the table in my garden, reluctant to invite him into my rooms. Fortunately, someone has lit a lantern here, a silk orb swinging from a rosewood stand.
White petals drift from the tree above, gliding like pale feathers.
Prince Zixin stares at them. “The flowers are beautiful.”
“Why not plant more in the palace, Your Highness?” I’m grasping for something to say—not from any desire to entertain him, but from fear. “Not all flowers require much tending. Some are just as beautiful when allowed to grow wild.”
“My father didn’t like them—their fragrance, how quickly they withered.” He looks around my garden, his lips pursed. “This place is smaller than I remembered. Tomorrow, I will have you moved to larger quarters.”
“I like it here, Your Highness.”
His forehead creases as he sits across from me. “It doesn’t suit your position.”
“My position?” I laugh to conceal the edge in my tone. “I have none.”
The eyes he turns to me are pools of ink. “I will bestow one upon you,” he says formally, like this is a great honor.
The world seems to slow, taking on a hazy quality. I don’t speak; I don’t know what to say.
“Yining.” He says my name softly. “When I ascend the throne, I want you by my side as one of my consorts.”
Even though the princess had alluded to this—it’s too soon. I’m caught unaware, grasping at a reason to delay, one that won’t offend him. “I… I’m not worthy of the honor, Your Highness.”
“Will you accept?” He brushes aside my protest. After all, he is offering power, safety, and wealth: a life in his palace, draped in silk and gold, attending a whirl of banquets where every guest will have to bow to me. Even Jin. The last thought tempts me more than it should.
I should be overjoyed—grateful. I should accept wholeheartedly. Anything else would be to throw the door open to disaster. This moment should be perfect, except for one thing: I’m not in love with the Prince of the Iron Mountains.
I almost wish I were.
Prince Zixin’s eyes harden to shards of obsidian. Cold glazes me, my heart leaden. In all my dreams, even in my nightmares—I never imagined that I’d turn him down.
“Why are you hesitating?” he asks sharply, almost incredulously.
Silence has never felt so loud. I must say something to dispel the cloud settling over his face. “Your Highness will marry several consorts.”
“Does that matter to you?”
“Yes.” I’m hoping he will take this as flattery.
“I must marry to strengthen my kingdom,” he explains in a calmer tone. “A formality—a necessity, even. But there is no one else I’m looking at; all I see is you.”
My heart quickens; I hate that it does. I must stamp out the remnants of this dream, a hard one to relinquish. I have to ease the sting to his pride, like he’s a disgruntled customer who doesn’t like the fortune he’s been told.
“Why me, Your Highness?” Perhaps I can persuade him otherwise.
“Because I like you.”
He speaks with the simple assurance of choosing what to wear or eat—not that of a life partner. This is an easy decision for him because I will be one of his consorts. While if I agree, he will be my only husband. Unlike me, he can afford to choose wrong.
“Your Highness has countless admirers here.” I’m trying to make it seem like he’s better off without me. “Many who are far more beautiful and—”
“Are you jealous? Do you fear being outshone?” A smile hovers on his lips like he’s solved the puzzle to his satisfaction.
No. Yet it’s safer that he thinks so. “I need time, Your Highness. We only just met—”
“What I’m offering you is far better than your life in the village, than anything you can hope for here.”
As I drop my head, biting my tongue—he snaps to his feet, looming over me.
A dull flush creeps up his neck. “Since you need time to think, you are confined to your quarters. Send a message to the chief attendant when you come to your senses.” He speaks with cold, righteous fury though he has no right.
Is this how he behaves when thwarted, when things don’t go his way?
As he stalks from my courtyard, I’m seething at being confined like when Mistress Henglan used to lock me in the storeroom.
I grind my fist against the stone table, bruising my skin.
Prince Zixin only sees the world through his eyes, imagining it fits his needs, his wants and desires. And when it doesn’t, he forces it to.
But he’s wrong about me; I won’t yield that easily.