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I nodded in acceptance, moving to stand behind the line. His arrow whistled as it flew toward the target, but I averted my gaze. His performance was a distraction I could ill afford. Keeping my attention upon my board, I released the first arrow, piercing the target in the center. The second followed in its trail, into the crimson eye of the board. And my last arrow split the former right down its middle. Having scored three perfect strikes, my confidence swelled—until I saw Liwei’s board, a mirror of my own.

General Jianyun frowned, unable to decide the victor. Striding to the weapons rack, he pulled out a clay disc, no bigger than my fist. “Our advanced archers use this to practice their skills. When the disc is released, it will soar away. The first person who shoots it down will be the winner.”

I groaned inwardly. I did not have much experience with moving targets.

“Perhaps this is too difficult for Xingyin,” Liwei said.

Pride got the better of me. “It’s fine,” I said curtly, drawing an arrow through my bow.

General Jianyun threw the disc high. It shot through the air, faster than anticipated. I blinked—half a heartbeat of hesitation—my arrow already hurtling toward the soaring disc . . . as Liwei’s gold-feathered arrow shattered the clay.

I fought down my dismay. It had been a fair match. “You win,” I conceded.

“I’ll collect tomorrow.” He flashed a grin at me, which raised my hackles. “Another month or two, I wouldn’t be able to beat you. Time your battles better next time!”

As he strode away, I glowered at his retreating back, no longer caring about the dignity of losing with grace.

Shuxiao clapped me on my shoulder. “It was close. For a moment I thought you had him, but those flying targets are tricky. I miss mine half the time.”

“Close is not good enough.”

She pulled a face. “You’re too hard on yourself. He beat you today, but you’ve only been training for a few months.”

A little cheered by her words, I turned to General Jianyun. His head was tilted to one side, an assessing light in his eyes as he stared at the boards.

“General Jianyun, could I try that disc again?”

I would not lose a second time.

8

A loud pounding on the doors jolted me awake.

“Xingyin, are you up?” Liwei called from outside.

I groaned, my limbs and eyes still heavy with sleep. “Come back when the sun is up!”

“No.” He sounded gratingly cheerful. “Must I remind you of our wager?”

I glared in his direction, a wasted endeavor when he could not see it. How tempted I was to leave him waiting outside, while I stayed in bed and ignored him—but that would be both petulant and pointless. More than the fact he was the Crown Prince, I had given my word. Kicking aside the covers, I dragged myself up and washed my face with cold water—too tired to even heat it—before throwing on a silk robe and gathering my hair into a low knot. When I stepped out, I found Liwei leaning by the wall, tapping his foot impatiently. He had dressed simply in plain gray brocade, his hair tied up with a black ribbon.

It was dark outside, except for the glowing rosewood lanterns. Not even the kitchen attendants had risen yet to prepare the morning meal.

“Where are we going?” I asked, as we hurried through the courtyard.

“Outside the palace. We don’t have lessons this morning as our teachers will attend court for an audience with my father. Even General Jianyun has released us today because of Captain Wenzhi’s return from battle.”

My ears pricked up. Captain Wenzhi was one of the youngest and most celebrated warriors in the Celestial Kingdom. The soldiers spoke of his accomplishments, and his skill with the sword and bow with such reverence, my curiosity had been roused. Unfortunately, he was often away on assignment, to the dismay of his many admirers—and when he returned, it was never for long. I had hoped to meet him myself on the training field, and part of me was a little disappointed to miss this chance.

Yet a thrill coursed through me at the thought of leaving the palace, as I followed Liwei to a deserted courtyard ringed by a thick stone wall. A pulse of his energy glided over my skin, as warm as a sun-drenched breeze.

“I’m disguising our auras,” he explained. “Otherwise, the guards will sense me leaving.”

From Liwei’s furtive behavior, this was not an official outing. Little wonder that we did not head to the main entrance as he was not permitted outside without the customary troop of guards and attendants. Only after he assumed his court duties, could he come and go as he pleased.

Struck by curiosity, I asked, “What’s my aura like? I can sense yours, those around me, just not my own.”

He gazed at me intently as I tensed with anticipation.