Chapter Thirty-Two #2
If the King of Hell existed, then he must be as disappointed in his offspring as the emperor was with Xian.
He grabbed at the Englishman’s jacket, throwing caution aside. ‘Will you give me any hint of what shall happen? How shall my chance come?’
Sir William leaned towards him, bringing them almost cheek to cheek. ‘You’d like me to make you come? At last. How wonderful.’
‘No, no,’ Xian said, exasperated. ‘A wish…you said you’d grant me a wish.’
Sir William blinked. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all. Why did I do that?’
‘You don’t recall saying you would help me escape?’
William’s laughter left damp flecks on Xian’s forehead. ‘No.’
Xian pushed him away, stunned, and appalled that he’d actually believed in the promises of this inhuman man. Laughter, strained and devoid of humour, found its way out of him. ‘You are a devil, aren’t you?’
‘How vulgar of you.’ Sir William swayed on his feet. ‘Devils are the drivel of humanity and exist only in those boring books of faith the humans start wars over. Devils are not real. Daemons, though, we are firm and very solid.’ Another ridiculous wink.
‘But terrible fairy godmothers,’ Xian fumed.
The Englishman threw back his head and laughed, exposing a slender neck that Xian considered throttling. ‘Fairy godmothers? Have you been to France recently? I made an amusing friend there who wrote about such things.’
‘So you’ve said. How sad you are not still there with him.’ Xian grit his teeth.
Sir William’s laughter tore Xian’s hopes to shreds. ‘I tell you, though, even that imaginative fellow could not have thought up a gown so beautiful as the one you wear.’
‘I did not wish for a gown.’ He glanced down to where his legs were hinted at through the fabric, despite the dullness of the light. On the stage with those lanterns, it would be far worse. ‘Certainly not this one.’
‘Then what? What does a fox prince want most of all?’
Xian did not have to consider. ‘Freedom.’
‘Ha!’ Sir William snorted. ‘Well, there you go, no wonder I have forgotten all about this wish you say I granted. Why should you have something that I do not? We princes aren’t born for freedom.
We are created with our paths plotted for us, and that does not involve lives lived happily ever after with handsome shoemakers.
Sorry to disappoint, dear boy. If I’m to be chained by my station, and lonely as a fucking hermit in his cave, then so shall you be. ’
The tight waist of the intolerable gown pinched at Xian’s skin, antagonising his restless spirit beneath. ‘Numb yourself with your opium and drink if you like, but I’ll no longer tolerate my chains so readily.’
‘Readily?’ Sir William lurched towards him.
He would have fallen were it not for Xian’s hands pressed to his shoulders.
His warmth was unsettling. ‘You think I’ve not tried to forge my way?
You fucking, royal arsehole.’ Flames ate at emerald pools; a battle raged in William’s eyes.
‘You haven’t had the balls to lift yourself from your dreary existence, now you expect me to do it for you? ’
Xian blinked at the sudden furious shift, and the eye-watering fumes of overindulgence. ‘I expect nothing from you, Sir William, I just—’
‘Liar,’ he spat, swaying forward so forcefully Xian braced, but at the last moment William gathered himself.
‘Every living soul expects something from me, from the most pitiful purebred wishing me to drag their desires from them, to the mightiest of angels expecting me to finish the wars they began. Go away, fox. Find someone else who is in the mood for granting your wish for freedom, because I am not.’ The musicians tested their instruments.
Both Xian and the Englishman winced at the unevenness of the sound, but it was only Sir William who sought to do anything about it.
‘Another blow of that flute,’ he shouted, ‘and I’ll send it down your throat. ’
He stumbled over his own feet. Xian stepped aside, treading on his gown, but determined not to lift a finger to offer aid. Daemon or not, the man was a contemptible liar. Let him fall flat on his face.
‘What is going on here?’
Mandarin Feng stepped through the part in the curtains, grabbing Sir William’s flailing arm a second before he would have tumbled. Xian moved to speak, but the daemon beat him to the first word.
‘Nothing, sadly.’ He tilted his head, his eyes their usual vivid green, his smile reeking of lurid hopes. ‘Your prince is indeed chaste. But was kind enough to show me a step of the dance he shall perform. Lucky for me I have many other talents, for I shall never make it as a dancer.’
The change in the man had Xian reeling. Even the mandarin seemed to sense something wrong with the scene, for he hesitated, looking between them several times before he spoke.
‘Is that all that has gone on, Sir William? I’m well aware your talents include that of the art of seduction. You’d not be looking to indulge yourself here, before the proper arrangements have been made?’
William clutched his hands to his chest. ‘You’ve found me out, my dear esteemed Feng.
But his highness has made it very clear I am not to touch what I do not own.
You’ve trained him well already.’ He pulled a small green and gold bottle from where his chaofu fastened at his waist. ‘Any chance of more of your madak? Wonderful stuff.’
Mandarin Feng’s smile spread greedily. ‘An old recipe you shall revive before the year is out, with your great appetite, your grace. I’ll see that some more is brought to you. But for now, I am here to introduce the prince to his eager audience. Shall I have someone assist you to your seat?’
‘I can walk in this pleated skirt, my most gracious host, it is not the fanciest I’ve owned. Good evening.’
He moved unsteadily towards the curtains. Never glancing back. Not a word of the promise he’d made. Or explanation for its sudden and violent withdrawal. Xian seethed; every muscle tense, every nerve tingling.
‘Let me see you.’ Mandarin Feng’s hard touch at his elbow made Xian jump. His gaze traced the length of Xian’s body. ‘Was it sorcery?’
‘My lord?’
‘The fire. Did your mother cast a spell she could not control? That is what they say.’
Xian’s body surged with a rippling heat, the hum beneath his skin rattling his bones with savage abandon. He tried to relax the tightness in his jaw, and ran his tongue along the jut of his teeth, cutting himself against an unfamiliar sharpness.
He’d had enough of this place and all the others like it. Xian was tired of people like Feng and William Black, Noble Consort Jing and Marchioness Shen, whose avarice and lies and arrogance ruled the world.
Run. Run. Run.
‘I will not speak of ill-fortune on a night such as this,’ he said, tasting blood in his mouth. ‘When we are safe in the prosperity of the New Year, perhaps I’ll share my secrets with you.’
‘An enticing prospect. You are far more intriguing than I imagined, Prince Xian.’ The man would never know. ‘Ready yourself now. And if you please me tonight, we shall see what arrangements can be made to make your shoemaker more comfortable.’
Xian squared his shoulders, and took the fabric of his gown in hand, stepping one foot forward to reveal the slippers adorning his feet. The shoes did not need enchantment now.
Mandarin Feng’s gasp rose over the musicians, who warmed their fingers and lips against their instruments. ‘These are the shoes he brought you?’
‘They are.’
‘I see I was hasty to talk of casting him out.’ The mandarin fairly salivated, the golden shine from the slippers highlighting the glint of greed in his eyes. ‘The captain did them little justice.’
‘Your captain is a hùndàn of the highest order. But perhaps he sought to covet my shoemaker’s talents for himself? Master Lim told me that your captain and your shoemaker were speaking of an agreement. Did Captain Duan speak to you of such a matter?’
Lim had told him no such thing, but the corridors of the Governor’s manor had taught Xian that ambitious and rapacious people were always suspicious of those like them.
With satisfaction, he watched consternation shadow Feng’s face.
‘Of course he did. Now, enough of this. We will speak more on the shoemaker tomorrow, or whenever I’m recovered from the celebrations.
’ His attempts to make light of the matter made Xian’s heart sing.
Doubt could cripple a self-assured man like Feng, and protect a shoemaker well enough for him to see in the New Year.
‘Yes, my lord. Best we do not keep your audience waiting any longer.’ Xian let the fabric settle over his feet. ‘Introduce me, if you will. I am eager to begin.’
Feng’s gaze lingered on him before he turned and stepped through the curtains to a round of rowdy applause and drunken cries of impatience.
He was an entertainer; that could be said of him at least. His introduction was fanciful and dramatic, and quick.
Xian was to dance for the remaining half hour until midnight, and the crowd was restive.
‘I present to you, without further ado, Prince Xian, thirteenth son of our beloved Son of Heaven, the Daoguang Emperor. To welcome in this Year of the Dog, I present to you the man of many names. The Veiled Prince, the Dancing Prince, but from today a Prince of the Cinders no more.’
Xian listened to the mandarin’s prophetic words, his true spirit scratching at his bones.
Run. Run. Run.
He touched a hand to the restraining bodice, and whispered to the vulpine within. ‘When Song Lim is with us, and only then.’