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Dragging myself to my feet, I walked to the front of the dais and knelt, awaiting her command.

Her piercing gaze reminded me of a hawk swooping down upon its prey. “Your hairpin is lovely, a rare treasure indeed. Where did you obtain it from?” The softness in her tone sheathed the dagger in her words.

Heat rushed into my cheeks as I fumbled for a response. A polite reply, a witty remark, anything but the yawning silence implying guilt where there was none.

Liwei rose and clasped his hands before him, folding over in a bow. “Honorable Mother, it was my gift to her.”

“You’re fortunate that my son is so generous. How do you plan to repay such kindness?” Her red lips parted in a mirthless smile. “Today is my son’s birthday. What gift did you bring him? I can only hope it is one of equal worth.”

Liwei raised his voice. “Honorable Mother, there is no need for this. If this offends you in any way, I ask that you speak to me alone.”

She ignored him, the covers on her nails glinting as she tapped them on the armrest. She meant to humiliate me, announcing to everyone that I did not belong here. But I was not ashamed—I was furious. Not just for myself, but for her threats to my mother, her failed attempt to ruin my father, her selfishness in not reining in the sunbirds until tragedy had struck.

No, I would not flinch from her stare, I would not cower from her condescension. I lifted my head, a bright smile on my face. “I have given His Highness my gift. However, if you wish me to share it, I would be pleased to oblige you.”

She stared at me as though I were the lowliest of insects. With an imperious nod, she gestured for me to proceed.

I drew the flute from my pouch, my fingers as cold as the jade in my hands. My tongue flicked over my dry lips as I stole a glance at the crowd, beginning to regret the reckless words that had gotten me here. Some guests appeared bored, while others glowed in anticipation of my encroaching humiliation. How could I perform before such an audience? I could barely breathe, my ribs clenching as though they were squeezed together. Behind me, footsteps clicked against the floor as someone approached. It was Captain Wenzhi, carrying a stool, which he placed before me.

Bending down, he whispered in my ear, “When the battle lines are drawn, advance with a clear mind.”

I swallowed hard, nodding to him in thanks. His words were a comfort to my debilitating fear. To retreat now would indeed be worse than failure. I would rather the empress think my performance lacking than believe me to be a coward or liar. I sank onto the stool, grateful to sit and hide my shaking legs. Drawing a deep breath, I lifted the flute to my mouth. The empress, the emperor, the royal guests blurred from my vision; all I saw were Liwei’s eyes looking into mine. This was his song, and to him alone I played. My notes soared clear, strong, and true—reflecting every emotion he had ever evoked in me.

The moment it ended, I bowed to the dais and fled back to my seat. I wished I could disappear into the ground amid the silence, punctured by a smattering of applause from those who had not yet realized the expression on the empress’s face was not admiration, but rage—boiling over like a pot left too long on a stove. My anger had cooled and I worried how she would retaliate. Not now, but later—she would not forget this insult. I had done nothing except what she had asked and yet, we both knew my defiance lay in refusing to let her make a fool of me. While she was the Celestial Empress, she was also Liwei’s mother. Through my rashness and pride, I had tangled further the ties between us.

I tried to catch Liwei’s attention, but then the sweets were brought out, the guests murmuring in delight. The confections were exquisite—almond cakes pressed into the shapes of flowers, golden squares of osmanthus jelly, crisp sesame balls, and a rainbow assortment of puddings—but my appetite had vanished.

The empress whispered to her husband, who nodded once. His deep voice rumbled across the sudden hush in the hall. “Tonight, we come together to celebrate the birthday of our son, Crown Prince Liwei. As it happens, this is a double celebration. We are just as delighted to announce his betrothal to Princess Fengmei of the Phoenix Kingdom. May they forever be of one mind and find everlasting happiness together.”

As though in a trance, my hand moved of its own volition, joining the others in raising our cups to our lips. I did not taste what I drank, if it were anything at all. The emperor’s announcement slid into me as a blade to my chest, twisting cruelly when it struck. I heard nothing beyond the roaring in my mind—not the cheers from the guests springing to their feet, nor the clapping which resounded throughout the hall. My fingers curled on the table, my nails scratching the polished wood. Tears pricked my eyes but I fought them back, biting down on the inside of my cheek until the warm taste of metal and salt filled my mouth.

A wedding was a joyous occasion, believed to bring luck. As the guests fought to outdo each other in lavishing praise upon the couple, I sat numbly in my seat without the strength to even flee.

“What a harmonious combination of pearl and jade!”

“The Phoenix Princess and the Dragon Prince, an auspicious pairing indeed!”

“See their beauty? Truly a match made in heaven!”

Each word was a stab to my festering wound. I glanced up at Liwei in disbelief, half expecting him to leap to his feet in denial. To tell me this was just a cruel prank. He did not look at me, though, and his eyes were wintry, devoid of light. Worse yet, he accepted the congratulations from the guests with a terse nod. Princess Fengmei blushed at the attention and when she touched Liwei’s arm, my insides shriveled as a dry leaf dropped into the flames.

This was real; he was betrothed to another. A desperate urge to leave gripped me. I wanted to be alone, to let my grief pour from me as a river into the ocean. But I crushed the craven impulse. I would not run, nor would I hide. Just when I thought I would surely collapse from the pain, a hand covered mine—firm and strong—the cool touch penetrating my daze. Lifting my head, my gaze collided with Captain Wenzhi’s, alight with understanding. He was a stranger whom I had met just this evening, but right now he was my only anchor in this raging tempest. I accepted his silent comfort, clutching his fingers—feeling as empty as a discarded wine vessel which had been tipped over, spilling its contents into the uncaring soil.

13

The night was clear with a hint of frost, but I was already frozen inside. I sat in the courtyard, staring at the solitary moon in the sky. Could my mother see me? For the first time, I hoped she did not. I did not want her to sense my pain, to know what a fool I had been.

A shadow fell over me, but I did not look up. Not even when he sat beside me.

“Xingyin, let me explain.”

My fists clenched in my lap, the veins straining against the skin. To have my love toyed with so callously, as a blossom plucked and left to wilt on the ground. I deserved more than this. I would salvage what pride remained, for I had lost too much already.

“Your Highness, do you require my assistance? If not, I’ll retire for the night.”

“Will you listen to me?” The light in his eyes was extinguished, drowned in an abyss.

I stood up, my legs like planks of wood. He reached for my arm but I recoiled, not wanting to be touched—least of all by him.