I was dressed in crimson, the bright, joyous color of a bride, my lips pressed with carmine powder and my cheeks brushed with rouge. The jewels in my hair rattled and whispered softly as I made my way through the giant, bronze-studded gates, led by a line of maids, their faces blank as stones smoothed by waves. They were well trained. More goodbyes had been made: I bid farewell to Luyi, who squeezed my hand and promised to look after Fanli. If tradition had allowed it, I would have pulled him into a crushing hug, buried my head in his robes; but propriety reigned as it always did, and we merely nodded at each other, his face lined with understanding. I touched the worn wood of the boat, the cold of the water, until my fingers smelled faintly like river brine. Each of these small goodbyes was a hollowing; a hole had been punctured through my ribs, and there was my spirit, my essence, seeping out through it. But that did not matter. The worst goodbye was already behind me. My heart had already died.
And so I stepped into my new life.
My face was a mask. I hid behind a feigned look of admiration while I tracked my new surroundings. The palace buildingsgleamed red, with sloping gold and emerald roofs and statues of one-legged cranes and tigers standing on top of them. Dusk had turned the sky pink, its light glittering off the diamond-lattice windows and gold-framed doors. I made note of where one gate opened to another as opportunities for invasion; where brilliant gardens bloomed behind fences, offering protection from sharp eyes; where crimson-lacquered pillars and marble balustrades might deflect incoming arrows; where guards had been positioned at five-foot intervals, silent as shadows. The lanes here were wide and swept spotless, the distance from one to another like that between the heavens and the earth, and all pointed toward a palace that rose above the magnificence on steep steps.
This, I realized, was where King Fuchai awaited.
My heart hammered in my chest. I glanced over at Zhengdan, who walked behind me, eyes cast down like any obedient palace lady. Only I could have noticed how tightly her hands were clasped and known the depth of her fear.
At last the maids left us, and we entered the palace alone. The air was darker inside, colder. Our steps echoed over the vast polished floors. The tapestry-covered walls were so high that I felt like an ant inside them, something primordial and insignificant, scuttling for shelter. I fought to keep my expression pleasant, to stop myself from shaking. An elaborate throne stood on a dais before us, gleaming like dark jade. And sprawled across it, in a posture so lazy he might have been about to fall asleep, was the enemy king.
He was young. That was the first thing I noticed, foolish and simple as it was. I had been picturing a graying man, with a wisp of a beard and skin so rough and withered it looked like bark, a chin that melted into the loose folds of his neck. But Fuchai appeared to be at the age more fitting for a prince than a king: a mere couple of years past twenty. He was also surprisingly, disturbingly handsome, with clear black brows and the sharp, assertive features ofa wolf. And like the other men of Wu, he wore his hair cropped short, the dark, wavy strands ending just above his eyes and the nape of his neck. I wanted to recoil from the unnatural sight. It was a practice that defied the heavens. Our hair, our skin, our body; these were all gifts from our parents. They were not to be damaged.
Loathing bubbled inside me, black and rapid. This was the man who had ripped me away from my old life, from my family, from Fanli. This was the man who had tormented my people, who lounged on his throne while his soldiers picked our civilians off like vultures after hares. I should have unsheathed Fanli’s sword and run it through his heart until he bled out on the cold stone floors. I wanted so badly to. My fingers itched with the impulse.
Instead, a few feet away from him, I dropped into a low curtsy as I had been instructed, my face held at the perfect angle to catch his eye.
“Come forward, come forward,” he said. While Fanli’s syllables were crisp and cool, his were smooth, almost a purr, flowing off the tongue like wine. “Let me see you properly.”
I acquiesced, my steps nimble, silent on the palace floors. Women were not supposed to make a sound unless it was to sing. I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from screaming.
Fuchai’s voice traveled over my head to one of the ministers waiting on the sides. “She is the concubine Goujian promised?”Goujian.Not even a title placed before the name. It was how you spoke of a servant, or an old friend.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came the minister’s low reply. I snuck a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He was a tall, strongly built man, also younger than I’d imagined, somewhere in his late twenties, with a sharp jaw and dark set of brows which were currently furrowed in my direction.
“He has not underdelivered; she is lovely to look at. She has aslightly different… quality than our women, doesn’t she?” I stiffened, but he went on, “A good thing, to have some variety around here. What is her name?”
This was my cue. I lifted my head a fraction. Four scantily clad girls lingered around his throne, silk sashes flowing from their sparrow-boned shoulders to their slender waists. Their perfume thickened the air, a cloying scent like wilted flowers and cinnabar powder. When Fuchai waved an impatient hand, they immediately curtsied and retreated into the background.
“I am Xishi,” I greeted him, holding his gaze for three heartbeats. It was a bold move; most were afraid to look the king directly in the eye. But he gazed back down at me with increased fascination.
He descended the dais and stopped before me, so close I could count the glint of every jade button sewn into his robes. There was a black, wolfish gleam in his eyes; his lips were sculpted into a smile that looked more like a smirk. Without warning, he grabbed my face, his thumb and forefinger pressed to my cheeks, and lifted it up higher. His touch was not rough—in fact, I do not think he could have been any gentler. Yet my skin burned from it.Enemy.The dark word pulsed through me like another heart.
“Xishi,” he murmured; I wanted to rip my name from his tongue, to stop him from corrupting it, from replacing the sound of how Fanli called me. I could not bear to forget anything. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
Did he know how numb I was to hearing such lines? But of course I reacted with necessary humility. “I’m only a peasant girl from a faraway village, Your Majesty,” I said with sickly sweetness. “It is an honor to be here.” In my head, I corrected bitterly:It is a torment. There are a million places I would rather be, including a pigsty.
“Don’t be so polite. You’re one of us now.” He brandished hissleeve toward the high-ceilinged palace, the gilded chambers, the golden hangings, the dozens of ministers and concubines and servants waiting to do his bidding. “Welcome to the Wu Kingdom, Xishi. Welcome home.”
I smiled so I would not cry.
“You must dine with me,” he said abruptly, snapping his fingers with an almost childlike excitement. “Are you hungry? What is your favorite dish? I will see that it is prepared at once.”
“I…” Fanli’s lessons flashed through my mind. I steeled myself, remembering the other concubines who had surrounded his throne. Fuchai must have once treated them with such enthusiasm too, but now he did not even spare them a second look. Men like him liked challenges, and novelty, the thrill of the hunt. I had to pull away, to keep him intrigued. “I would love to, Your Majesty, truly… but I’m afraid I’m rather tired from the journey here. Perhaps another time?”
He looked, for a moment, stunned. He had not been prepared for a rejection; he had so little experience with it. I felt a sudden, spine-tingling rush of fear. What if I had played my cards too soon? What if instead of reeling him in, I had done the opposite, and insulted him so greatly he would never wish to see me again? My stomach churned.
After a long, terrible silence, he nodded. A trace of disbelief clung to his countenance. “Of course. You should go rest; there will be plenty of opportunities for us to spend time together in the future.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I hoped he could not detect the relief in my voice.
He was already returning to his throne, throwing himself carelessly across it without even bothering to smooth out his robes. The gold crown on his head had slid askew, only further accentuating his wild, dark features, his unruly black waves. He flicked hiswrist at the same minister from earlier, eyes heavy-lidded, almost falling shut. “Zixu, you have finished assigning their rooms, haven’t you?”
Zixu.Wu Zixu. My pulse skipped. So this was the man Fanli had warned me about.
The minister stepped forward and dipped his head. Fuchai’s eyes were nearly closed now, so he could not see what I did: the tension that ran through Zixu’s frame, the charged look in his gaze. “All has been arranged.”
“Good, good. Make sure they know where to go.”
