CHAPTER FORTY
P rince Zixin’s courtyard is close to mine but set back from the main path. It’s said to be the heart of the Palace of Nine Hills but appears cleaved away with the high walls circling it. Soldiers flank the entrance, dozens more patrolling the area, watchful and alert.
I quicken my step to keep pace with the prince, his stride longer than I’m used to.
We enter through the red lacquered doors into a vast courtyard.
Towering trees shield the place from outside, delicate sprays of water arching from a marble fountain, glimmering like rainfall as they catch the light from the lanterns.
A wide building rises from the middle of the courtyard, its walls gleaming like mother-of-pearl, its sloped roof adorned with small gold sculptures of animals.
My old home would fit five times over into the building.
Inside, the candles are already lit, a sandalwood fragrance drifting from an incense burner.
Miniature trees planted in carved bronze pots are set in each corner.
The windows are latticed in a design of squares interlaced with gilded flowers, closed and latched from within.
A silk carpet covers the wooden floorboards, embroidered with scenes of a forest, of birds alighting on branches, clusters of red jujube dangling beneath.
Yellow brocade covers are tucked neatly into the large bed by the side of the room, the curtains drawn back and tied to the posts.
As Prince Zixin’s attendants follow us inside, I frown. “Are your attendants present even when you sleep, Your Highness?” I want no witnesses tonight, even if the price is merciless gossip tomorrow.
A beat of silence pulses through us. “It depends on who is with me,” he says at last.
“Do I look dangerous?” I ask archly.
“I’ve seen you use a dagger. You’d make a fine assassin.”
It doesn’t sound like a joke when he says it, but I laugh anyway. “Does Your Highness think I could beat you in a fight?”
“An intriguing challenge; you did defeat my general. I would even enjoy finding out,” he drawls, his black eyes sliding to my face. “But I’m not in the mood for fighting tonight.”
With a curt command, Prince Zixin dismisses the attendants.
They leave at once, pulling the doors shut after them with a heavy thud—cutting off the ripple of the fountain.
Hopefully, all sound from within is buried too.
Alone with him, my pulse races, not in the flutter of anticipation but an uneven, jolting rhythm.
As he pulls off his outer cloak and tosses it over a wooden rack, my eyes are drawn to the broad silver sash around his waist. The iron seal dangles from it, revulsion flooding me at the thought of the dragon cruelly caged within those lightless walls.
The prince stalks toward me, his gaze startlingly bright.
Without a word, he pulls me into his arms with an impatience that steals my breath.
His hand curls around my nape as his body edges mine against the wall.
He pulls a jade comb from my head, then another, dropping them to the floor as my hair tumbles down my back.
A memory flashes, of how I’d felt pinned this way by Songmin, the farmer’s son.
The near-constant pain in my head pierces deeper.
When my hand flies up as a shield between us, his fingers capture mine, trapping them to the wall.
He touches me like he’s sure I want him—I’d teased him tonight, invited myself here.
But pressed against him now, my body is stiff and unyielding, my mind clouded.
Even as I knew this would be dangerous, as I’d tried to prepare myself…
now that it’s happening, I’m caught unaware. Afraid.
Prince Zixin lowers his face to me, but I turn aside, his mouth sliding along my jaw, trailing down my neck. I’m not kissing him back, my eyes screwed shut—my hands bracing to shove him away. But then, he stops abruptly, his breathing unsteady.
“What is wrong?”
I look down like I’m uncertain, like I’m fighting my own desire. “This is… too fast. I need time.”
“I thought you wanted this.” His tone is calm yet taut. “Why did you want to be alone with me?”
“I didn’t realize… I’m not used to this,” I say awkwardly.
He touches my cheek with surprising gentleness, then pushes himself away. “We have time. There is no rush.”
I tuck away a lock of loose hair, trying to regain control of myself. He is staring at my hand, the one with Dian’s amethyst ring. I tuck it behind my back—but he catches my wrist, brushing a finger across the purple stone.
“I didn’t see you wear this before. It’s an unusual cut of the stone. Is it a gift?” His tone thickens with suspicion.
My fingers curl, concealing the marks on my palm. “I bought it from the market in the Amber Forest.”
He releases my hand. “You don’t need to buy anything. Tell me what you wish, and it’s yours. There is nothing I cannot give you—if you would let me.”
He’s not talking about the amethyst ring anymore. An idea flickers in the haze of my mind. “Your Highness knows what I want.”
“Your old ring? The wooden one?” He’s watching me carefully. “We have far better jewels in the treasury.”
“Its worth can’t be weighed that way.” I move to sit by the table. “My ring was given to me by someone close—”
“A lover?” he interjects cuttingly.
My laughter is unplanned, and just right, as his tension vanishes. “From family. From someone I’ve lost.” I press on. “Will Your Highness return it to me?”
He lifts a bent finger to his mouth like he’s considering it. My heart is beating too fast, my hands damp as I wait, afraid to say the wrong thing. It’s becoming harder to breathe, like the moment I’m about to steal something—the anticipation of the prize knotted with the fear of getting caught.
“If I return your ring, will you relinquish all claim over Duke Yuan’s starfire? Will you stay?” he asks.
Of course he would demand this. “What about Thorn Valley?” My voice wavers like I’m nervous. “Won’t they be furious if they don’t receive the starfire?”
“I will arrange matters with Duke Yuan. Once Lord Chao weds my sister, they won’t complain.” When I remain silent, he probes, “Do you agree?”
This isn’t a command. He’s waiting, unsure of my answer. Excitement flares but I suppress it, afraid of appearing too eager. “Yes,” I lie, “this is all I need—all I want.”
“Once you are mine,” he says quietly, “I will give you the world—not just a ring of wood.”
The gravity of his words startles me. As he unclasps an iron chain from his neck, he pulls it from his robe. Something dangles from it, a worn wooden band carved with a six-petaled flower.
My ring.
He slides it off the chain then takes my hand, placing the ring over the tip of my finger. “A mark of our pledge, of my trust.”
My insides recoil, alarm pulsing through me. Right now, my ring looks drab in his hand, nothing of note—but if I wear it, it will transform. No lies will save me then. With a smile, I pluck my ring from him. “Could I have the chain as well, Your Highness? I want to wear it just as you did.”
He returns my smile as he holds out the chain, waiting till I slip the ring back onto it, then he clasps it around my neck.
My skin prickles from the cold metal as I look at myself in the mirror.
Devoid of my magic, the brightness of the iron remains undiminished—yet I can’t wait to rip it off.
As we stare at our reflection, the prince’s hands fall to my shoulders in a possessive hold… like he’s claiming me.
Despite my unease, relief crashes through me—the lightness of joy. I have my ring; I’m not going to die.
“You’re happy,” he observes.
“Beyond words.” The first honest thing I’ve told him tonight.
“I will make you happy for all your days.”
The way he’s looking at me—a tightness coils within. The false promises I made to him are despicable, dangerous, yet I’ll be far away when he comes to collect. I just have to secure the dragon first.
I wrap my arms over myself. “Your Highness, it’s growing cold. May I borrow a cloak?”
As he walks toward the wooden rack, I flick apart Dian’s amethyst ring to scatter the powder over the incense burner.
The fragrance in the room shifts subtly, infused with a frail sweetness.
As I quickly sit back down by the table, he returns, wrapping a thick brocade cloak around me.
It smells of sandalwood and spice, of him.
I pour out a cup of tea and offer it to him as a distraction. “Your Highness should drink this while it’s warm.”
As he takes it, I resist the urge to glance at the brazier, toward the perfumed smoke winding from it.
Prince Zixin blinks slowly like his eyes are growing heavy, like he’s struggling to see.
I lapse into silence, waiting for the incense to work.
It only takes a few moments more for his body to slump, his head falling upon his palm.
I rise and bow to him. “Your Highness, it’s late and you’re tired. I will retire to my room.”
I speak clearly, to imprint this in his consciousness. He nods groggily as he rises, staggering to his bed. At once, I move to the door—but don’t open it, wary of the guards outside. Instead, I slip into a corner of the room, folding myself into the shadows, my body tense until all falls quiet.
Prince Zixin is fast asleep, half sprawled across the bed, though his legs are still on the ground.
In slumber, he looks younger, his eyelashes curved against his skin.
When he awakens tomorrow, all he will recall is that I bid him good night and left his room.
I blow out most of the candles, leaving just one, then pull Prince Zixin’s legs onto the bed.
He is heavier than he looks, but I’m strong from lugging firewood and water back in my old home.
The ring tingles against my chest, hot then cold—the mark on my finger pulsing with sudden force.
As the prince shifts to his side, the air prickles with tension.
I reach for the iron seal, but he thrashes, his limbs jerking—I snatch my hand back.
His eyelids flutter, is he waking already?
But then his body stills, a low sound rolling from his throat.
Maybe it’s the nightmare from Dian’s herb.
The seal thrums, the metal gleaming, the starfire above it glittering.
Anticipation spikes as my hand hovers over the seal, my fingers closing around it: cold, like it’s been buried in the snow.
Along each corner are slender ridges like bars, etched with strange markings.
As I press them, trying to pry them apart, the starfire blazes brighter, the carvings aglow as tendrils of smoke pour from the seal—pain erupting, like I’ve plunged my hand into hot oil.