Chapter 20 Yù’chén
Yù’chén
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
As her lips meet mine, she breaks my heart. Her eyes fall shut; in the moonlight, I catch the silver of her tears as they slip down her cheeks, taste the tang of salt on my tongue as she begins to cry.
Alarmed, I draw back—but her hands slide over my cheeks, tangling in my hair as she draws me to her again. Eyes still closed, she kisses me, shuddering as she weeps silently.
“àn’yīng?” I whisper against her lips, but she captures my mouth in hers, her tongue sweeping over mine as she trails a hand down my chest—and I forget everything else.
I forget about trying to hide how I feel about her, forget about the practiced nonchalance I’ve been wearing around her, that mask of ice I held in place when my heart felt like it was on fire whenever I was close to her.
I yield and draw her to me, my eyes falling shut as I taste her, let myself drown in the feel and smell and touch of her as I’ve dreamt of for so many nights.
I hold her as if she is life itself, because I’m terrified that this is just another dream, that I’ll wake up calling her name and reaching for her on an empty bed in the darkness again.
But as I murmur her name against her mouth, she’s still here, warm and alive and in my arms.
I force myself to slow down, to let her lead. My fingers skim her back, gliding up her spine, the sharp blades of her shoulders, the soft skin of her neck and the silk of her hair.
She places her hands on my chest. I let her push me backward, stumbling over the threshold of my pavilion into my chambers, the silken drapes tangling between us briefly. She steers us to the partition in my room and pushes me down onto the futon.
“àn’yīng?” I’m breathing hard, but her face is carved of stone, as though she’s learned a new mask. It’s rare that I’m not able to read her; she used to wear her emotions on her sleeves, so that with each crease of her brows or downturn of her mouth, I could tell if she was irritated or pleased.
I don’t know what to make of this.
She turns to me and slides, liquid, onto my lap—and all semblance of thought scatters from my mind.
My hands go to her waist, gripping her as my body reacts, desire hardening every part of me and needing her to be closer.
I lift my gaze to her, drinking her in as though she is a drug, a poison, intoxicating me even as a part of me knows something is wrong.
Gods, I think, and I realize she could make me believe in such a thing again: Gods.
She’s beautiful. An ache spreads in my chest as I take her in, wearing the dress I made for her with my magic.
It’s the colors of the ocean at midnight, the hues I remember the waves that time I took her there and she let me hold her.
I wove in cherry blossoms and tiny stars, swept along by the ripples of gauzes and silks.
I wanted to make the most perfect dress for her—one that she could come to love, one that would make her feel strong and seen and empowered in this realm, in my realm.
I wanted everything to go as well as it could tonight.
If her only choice is to remain here, by my side…
foolish as it is, I can’t help but hope she might slowly come to accept it.
To accept me.
I gaze up at her, joy and disbelief as bright and sharp as a hot iron in my chest. As she presses her lips to mine again, I let myself touch her as I’ve wanted to for so many nights.
I kiss her hard, my palms roaming up her waist to the small of her back and encircling her rib cage as I pray to whichever gods might listen to me—as I dare to begin to hope—that I can hold her like this for a lifetime.
Suddenly, àn’yīng jerks back. She pries my fingers from her and pushes my hands off. I blink and hold my palms up as she tips her head away, breaking our kiss. Her jaw is tight, the tears on her cheeks fresh as she reaches up and wipes them away.
Confused, I reach for her, to catch her tears and hold her. She still hasn’t looked at me. Her gaze is downcast, and too late now, I catch a flash of something like reluctance in her eyes.
The ache in my chest spreads. Turns to ice.
You disgust me.
Even as she takes my mouth again, the words wash over me, and suddenly, I’m shaking, my hands trembling as I lower them and spread them against the seat of the futon.
My stomach twists from a burning hunger for her I have carried for so long—and now, a commingling of nausea and dread as the realization knocks all air from my lungs:
She doesn’t want me.
“àn’yīng,” I gasp, breaking away from her. My voice is unsteady. Black waters at my neck, rising to my chin. Threatening to drown me. I have to know. I have to know. “àn’yīng, look at me—”
Her hands are at my belt, her deft fingers undoing it, and then she eases onto me and I nearly lose control then.
I make a noise and lean into her, burying my face in the crook of her neck as sensation courses through me, my head growing light.
My fingers clench against the silk of the futon as I strain to hold myself still.
But as her arms encircle my shoulders and she moves against me, I yield to instinct, my hands coming to grip her hips.
I press her harder against me, gritting my teeth against the soft curve of her shoulder.
In the haze of my desire, I feel her shrug me off and push me back against the futon.
I let her hold me there as she shifts her hips against mine, the soft silks of the dress I made for her brushing against my thighs.
Her eyes fall shut again as she kisses me, slowly now, her lips soft against mine.
I’m reminded of the night we shared back in the Temple of Dawn, before everything had gone to hell: her eyes bright and liquid as she gazed up at me.
I want you, she whispered, and it felt as though my entire life had been leading to that point, to those words from her lips.
Look at me, I want to say to her as I kiss her back, hungry and desperate and unable to help myself anymore. Open your eyes, àn’yīng—I’m right in front of you.
But her eyes remain closed, her lashes fluttering like black butterflies across her cheeks as she moves against me. Her lips part and she tips her head back, and the sight nearly destroys me.
Please, I think, like a litany, a prayer. I reach for her, and this time she doesn’t stop me. Please look at me.
My heart breaks and breaks and breaks as I hold the woman I love, the only one I have ever wanted in this lifetime, because as much as I can delude myself, I know deep inside that she never wanted this.
Never wanted me. That she is here only because of circumstances, that I was never any choice for her but the last. And I know that if this is the only way I can have her, I will take it, and it will be more than I deserve.
So I love her, I love her with everything that I am and every piece of my soul, even as it breaks me and even as I know that it is all that I can give and nothing that she wants.
She clutches me, her nails digging into my neck and my back, and I let myself go, too.
Slowly, the tides ebb and my head stops spinning, enough for sensation to return to my body.
I’m holding her in my arms; I feel her quiet breathing against me, the warmth of her skin and the silk of her hair, the gentle pressure of her fingertips as she presses them against my back.
I lean my cheek against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her neck.
Her cheeks glisten as she bows her head, her hands tracing the lines of my shoulder. I kiss her gently again on her cheek. I will wait for you, I want to tell her. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many tears you need me to catch. I will be here.
She stiffens. Then she begins to turn from me.
I reach for her, because now that I’ve held her, I can’t imagine not holding her, and there it is again, the terror that I’ll wake up in the dark again without her.
She hesitates. Her throat moves as she swallows, but then she pulls her hand back, swiping it across her face. I only feel cold again as she stands sharply; catch glimpses of the dress I made her sweeping out of my chambers. There’s a splash of water as she enters the crystal spring.
Slowly, I straighten. Rearrange my shirt and robes. Fasten my belt. Then I sit and hold my head in my hands as I listen to the sounds of her washing me off her.
The pain in my chest sharpens until I can’t breathe. It is as though I’m in one of my mother’s rage sessions again, drowning in plain air, only this time, it’s worse. I know all my mother’s sessions will end at some point.
This will not.
I can’t fathom an end to everything I feel for her, because that would be an end to life itself.
I grew up knowing cruelty and pain in the Court of the Aurora, and then anger as my mother’s scheme—and my entire life—fell apart in the Kingdom of Rivers.
I didn’t know what it felt like to live and to love until I met àn’yīng.
A man living in eternal night who finally sees the sun could never hate it for leaving him in search of bluer skies.
I grip my chest with my hand, fingers digging in as though that will stop the pain. I finally realize that my mother was wrong. No matter how much we try, some things in life were simply never meant to belong to us.
—
By the time àn’yīng returns, I’ve collected myself. I’ve rearranged my expression into the mask of nonchalance I’ve always worn in the Kingdom of Night, the one I’ve upheld before my mother and her court no matter what they did to me.
Still, I drop my gaze as she steps through the gauze curtains, the dress I made for her sweeping across the floor of my chamber.
The moon is halfway to its highest point; we have only hours before we are due in the Court of the Aurora. It’s time to enact our covenant.
All the joy and hope and giddy disbelief I felt when she accepted my offer now tastes like ashes on my tongue.
I recall the relief I felt when she began to yield, her anger toward me shifting to a tentative trust. The elation that surged through me when she cemented our alliance with a proposal of a covenant.
The possibility of a lifetime with her, which had once felt as inconceivable as reaching for the sun, suddenly opened before me.
Now I feel only shame at shackling her to a life she never wanted.
I stand sharply to shake these thoughts from me. “Ready when you are.”
The seconds trickle past; I can feel her eyes on me, can sense the thoughts running through her mind as she considers her last chance to renege on our agreement.
I understand: In saving her realm this way, she is giving up on sunlight, on a life with her family.
Choosing to align with me will forever be a compromise. A sacrifice, on her part.
“I’m ready,” she says.
I try to meet her eyes as I offer my palm to her.
Can’t.
àn’yīng takes my hand. Her fingers curl around it—and she squeezes, just once.
I look up to find her gaze on me. Soft, open. Trusting.
I draw her gently toward me, the dark magic in my veins heating as I summon my full strength to conjure the spell.
A reverberating gong echoes across the night. The moon seems to brighten, the aurora shifting to crimson, then violet. On the balcony before us, red oleanders bloom and grow into an arch swirling with cold black shadows.
Sansiran.
àn’yīng’s lips part, the crease between her brows mirroring my confusion. It’s still early; “when the moon is highest in the midnight sky” were Weirufeng’s precise words, and we are several hours away from that.
Vines shoot out from the gateway, twining around our arms. And before either àn’yīng or I can say a word, we are pulled into the darkness of the flower passageway.
To the Court of the Aurora.