CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
A kiss from a flower spirit can cure any poison.
Prince Zixin’s lips are firm and cool, he tastes of mint and tea, his skin warming beneath my touch.
Is it working? I fight the impulse to break away, shoving aside fear, anger, resentment.
One of his arms slides around my waist, holding me to him—and then, he’s kissing me back.
As his breath slips into my mouth, the intimacy jars, though he knows how to kiss and how to do it well.
Heat sparks, shame flooding me to feel this flicker of desire.
But I can’t stop. If I save the prince, if I break this curse, ending his bond with the dragon… it just might save us all.
Fingers dig into my shoulder as a soldier yanks me away, more surrounding the prince. My face burns as I wipe my mouth with my hand. The dragon remains unmoving, but his bleeding has slowed, the color returning to the prince’s face.
“What did you do?” The crown glints on the princess’s head, the starfire almost blinding. “How did you stop the poison?”
When I don’t reply, Princess Chunlei points at me, her lacquered nail gleaming. “Kill her.”
Terror locks my limbs. One soldier restrains me, the other raising a sword to my neck, the metal cold and unyielding. Dian is pushing her way to me, but a soldier shoves her back roughly; there are too many guards around the dais. Ruilin pulls her arm, tugging her away—
“Sister, if you execute her, you’re not as clever as you think,” Prince Zixin drawls as he pushes himself to his feet, his face still pale.
“What do you mean?”
“Her ring; it possesses the key to Mist Island. Didn’t you learn this in your ‘studies’?” he asks bitingly. “You can’t take it from her, and you need her alive to bring you there.”
Her gaze turns speculative. “Don’t hurt the girl,” she orders the soldier holding me. “Make sure my brother and her stay out of trouble.”
As the prince and I are dragged to the side of the dais, he whispers, “How do you wish to thank me for saving your life?”
“With a knife through your heart,” I snarl.
“You had the chance,” he reminds me, his eyes alight. “Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think.”
I glare at him as a tremor ripples through my body, still clasped in the throes of fear.
If I don’t sever the root of my ring, they’ll use it to invade Mist Island.
Yet without it, without my magic, I’ll never be as strong as Dian, I’ll never be powerful.
My resolve wavers—my mind tilting toward all I will lose.
Did it hurt? I’d asked Dian. Like a finger cut away.
I brace, pressing my nail to the root of my ring.
It stings, but I push down harder till it begins to give way, like piercing through my own flesh, the pain sharp and clear.
The jade-green root quivers. A little more force and I’ll sever it entirely—but I release my hold, my fingers curling.
Not yet. Not while there’s still a chance we can get away.
With Dian weakened, I have to be strong.
“The coronation ceremony must be concluded. Strike the gong,” Princess Chunlei orders the chief attendant, her voice thrumming with eagerness.
“Wait,” General Xilu commands. “Our wedding takes precedence.”
“We must secure the throne first,” Princess Chunlei says in a gentle tone.
“Indeed,” he agrees. “The strike of the gong is an ancient tradition that cannot be disregarded. Let’s not waste any more time.”
When he holds out his hand to the princess, she doesn’t take it, the general’s face clouding. My pulse races. If they’re divided, we’ll have a better chance to escape.
“There’s no need for haste,” she protests. “We have time to plan a proper wedding, a grand celebration.”
“Your Highness, you signed a betrothal contract with me to hold the wedding once the crown is on your head.” His tone is firm, almost harsh. “The terms have been met. Don’t forget, the army is mine; they will follow me to the death.”
Her eyes flit around the hall, the soldiers staring back at her. In a few months, she could have discarded him, but she needs him now. Although she wears the crown, she’s not queen yet—and the general is no fool.
“As you wish. We shall proceed with the wedding,” she says, though her smile is strained.
Attendants rush to prepare the dais for the ceremony, the arrangements unfolding with brutal efficiency.
A pair of brocade cushions is set upon the ground, an altar laid with incense sticks and twin candles of red wax.
As Princess Chunlei stands stiffly beside the general, a crimson square of silk is pulled over her head—similar to the one tucked in my sleeve.
Through the cloth, the starfire on her crown glows with unearthly light.
As the guests watch in silence, General Xilu and the princess bow before the altar, offering their vows to heaven and earth.
Next, they turn to the late king’s memorial tablet to pay their respects, and finally, they face each other.
As they bow for the third time, a chill envelops me. It’s done; Princess Chunlei wed to General Xilu. When he pulls off her veil to signify the end of the ceremony, a hunted look creeps into her eyes, the general’s flashing with triumph.
He takes her hand, his fingers engulfing hers. “Strike the gong,” he orders.
The chief attendant hurries forward, lifting the mallet and slamming it against the gong, the brassy sound shattering the quiet.
Once the last echoes have faded, the chief attendant falls to his knees, clasping his hands as he intones, “Long live Queen Chunlei! May she reign with divine favor for a thousand years across the Iron Mountains, the Three Kingdoms, and the Land Beyond.”
How dare they claim dominion over what they have no right to?
My stomach roils as cheers erupt from the guards, the courtiers, and attendants, all falling to their knees.
A soldier shoves Prince Zixin down, and I quickly lower myself rather than be forced.
These are dangerous times. A queen is crowned, a prince lies bloodied on the floor.
Queen Chunlei smiles, basking in the adulation while General Xilu watches her.
As everyone rises, most of the soldiers are still looking at their new queen.
Maybe to them we’re no longer a threat, the throne already lost. Dian and Ruilin have almost reached the dais, eluding the distracted guards.
My sister looks exhausted but straightens as she meets my gaze.
I slant my head at the candles, then pull out the bell-shaped flowers from my pouch.
Once she nods, I swing to Prince Zixin. “Give me the Sun Dragon.” I don’t dare snatch him, afraid of hurting the dragon or drawing attention.
“Whatever you’re planning, take me with you,” he demands.
“Chances are we’ll both die here anyway,” I say to brush him off.
“I don’t want to die among enemies—nor do you.” His stare is piercing. “You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing. You imprisoned me here.”
“I helped you escape before—”
I smother the stab of remorse. “A child’s debt.”
“Then I’ll take my chances here.” His expression shutters. “I’ll negotiate with my sister.”
Inside I’m seething, but I laugh mockingly.
“You have nothing to negotiate with. Your sister betrayed you. Your chief attendant and most powerful general have taken her side. They’ll seize the Sun Dragon from you, then cut your throat without hesitation.
” Cruel words—but I have to bring him low enough to give me what I want.
“How is that different from what you offer?” Prince Zixin retorts. “If I give you the dragon, you’ll leave me here to die.”
He’s not wrong. After what he did to us, he’d deserve it. But it’s a painful and inconvenient truth that he did save me before. And I can’t let his sister win; she’s the reason my mother is dead.
“I’ll bring you with us if we escape,” I concede, “but you must return my sister’s ring, along with the dragon. Now.”
As he unfastens Dian’s ring from his waist, I reach for it, but he pulls away. Our eyes lock, his darker than night. Just when I think he’s going to threaten me, or force another unwilling promise, he presses the ring into my hand. “I trust you.”
Somehow this feels worse.
Once I slip my sister’s ring into my pouch, Prince Zixin places the unconscious dragon gently into my hands. His lips stretch into a hard smile as he glances at our red garments. “This could almost be an exchange of our wedding gifts.”
“Except these things you’re giving me are those you’ve stolen,” I reply cuttingly.
The Sun Dragon is cold in my palm, his scales possessing a golden sheen tipped with red, his beak and claws the vivid shade of a persimmon.
A small pair of cuffs is attached to his legs, his claws curled.
As I wrap the dragon in my discarded veil, his eyes open, their whites glazed with silver.
A voice unfurls in my mind, the one I heard in the forge.
Daughter of Mist Island, I remember you from the day the Iron Mountains soldiers came to our home.
These words stir something deep within, a sense of belonging, long forgotten but not dead. No one seems to notice, like the dragon is speaking to me alone. I remember, Honored Dragon, I think the words. But we are in danger, trapped in the Palace of Nine Hills. We must escape.
A pause, the dragon’s eyes closing. My strength is almost spent. The curse is broken, but it doesn’t replenish what was taken. Daughter of Mist Island, will you bring me home?
How I wish I could. I don’t have magic, I admit.
The dragon’s eyes open again, as luminous as twin moons. I will help you with what remains of my power.
I don’t want to weaken you—
Then we will die. You. Me. The cursed prince. The Sun Dragon lifts his head. Use what I give you to bring us home.