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The sky had lightened to a misty gray by the time we delivered the last of the treasure to the villages. I lingered behind the others, watching as a door swung open and an old woman stepped out—the first mortal I had seen up close. Her skin was wrinkled, and her yellowed eyes drooped. The ragged clothes which hung off her frame offered meager protection from the biting chill, while in her hands was a dirt encrusted shovel. Was she setting out to toil at this early hour? She stumbled over the box in the entrance, bending down to pick it up. Her jaw dropped, her eyes rounding at the king’s ransom within. A shrill cry escaped her lips, the sound piercing me deep. Cradling the chest, she ran through the streets with newfound strength, yelling for her neighbors to awaken. Doors were flung open, shouts erupting over the discovery of the treasure. Some of the villagers fell to their knees muttering grateful prayers, while others wept as they clutched each other. The air pulsed with their joy and relief . . . that perhaps this winter might not be so bitter after all.

I thought we were magnanimous in gifting the fortune, but this warmth in my heart seemed more precious still. When someone stepped beside me, I gulped down the lump in my throat. Stealing a glance at Captain Wenzhi, I saw a smile stretch across his impassive face. His black eyes reflected the golden fire of the sun as its rays swept over us, bringing forth a new dawn.

16

There were no silvery ponds or flower-filled gardens to grace my view; my small room overlooked the walls of the palace. But I had earned it through my own efforts and not by another’s grace. On the nights when my restless mind drove sleep away, I would climb up to the rooftop to stare at the stars above and the glittering lights of the kingdom below. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the cold jade tiles, lulled by the silvery glow of the moon. It reminded me of the lanterns in my home, whose light had shone through my window as I lay in my bed of cinnamon-wood.

In the privacy of my room, I stripped off my clothes, eager to wash the blood and sweat from my body. Captain Wenzhi’s balm was wearing off and as I sank into the warm bathwater, my arms stung. Clenching my teeth, I scrubbed myself raw. Afterward, I slipped on a white underrobe and sank onto the bed, hoping to rest before the healer arrived.

Sleep claimed me. When I awakened, the sun had darkened to amber. I sat up and stretched my arms—bracing for pain—yet there was none. Not even a twinge or a blemish remained. The healer must have come while I slept.

“Did you rest well?”

His voice startled me, one I knew as well as my own. My pulse quickened as I slowly turned.

Liwei sat by the table, calm, as though we had just seen each other yesterday and not months before, as though our last words were not choked with pain and regret. His gray robe was clasped around his waist with a chain of onyx links and his long hair was pulled through a silver ring. He looked just as I remembered except his face was leaner, his eyes darker than before—or perhaps, the light in them had been dulled.

I smoothed my features into indifference, though inside . . . I was a mess of tangled, writhing emotions. Scrambling off the bed, I bowed with stiff formality.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said in a strained voice.

“I wouldn’t need to if you didn’t come here uninvited.” I tugged the lapels of my underrobe closer together. “Liwei, this is hardly appropriate. I’m not dressed. These are the soldiers’ quarters and you . . . you do not belong here.”

When he did not appear inclined to leave, I stalked to the wardrobe, pulling out the first garment I found—a green robe that I slipped my arms through, tying its belt around my waist. Not wanting to take the stool beside him, I sat down on the bed again.

“Why are you here, Your Highness?”

“You called me Liwei just a moment ago,” he pointed out.

“A mistake,” I said. “You are the Crown Prince. I am a soldier. To me, you are ‘Your Highness.’”

His slender fingers toyed with the cup on the table. “I heard you had returned. I wanted to see you, to know you were unharmed.” He frowned. “Your injuries were severe. Why didn’t you heal yourself before?”

“My skills are at best rudimentary. And with the serpent’s venom, Captain Wenzhi believed the wound should be treated by a healer.” I did not meet his gaze. The sight of him fractured the shell around my heart, reviving the ache that I had long fought to suppress.

He cleared his throat. “I believe congratulations are in order. I heard you brought Xiangliu down with two arrows in a single strike.” He sounded pleased. Proud, even.

“Not me, alone. If not for the others, I wouldn’t have made it out alive,” I said with feeling.

The color drained from his face, yet I would not let myself read too much into his concern. “Your Highness, I thank you for your visit, but I wish to rest. Please see yourself out.” I stretched my hand to the doors, tempering my rudeness with a short bow.

He did not rise. He did not speak. Was he offended? The chief attendant would have had an apoplectic fit at my disrespect. But then it struck me, how could he have seen my injuries unless—

“Did you heal me?”

“Yes.” His gaze held mine.

My traitorous mind conjured the image of him sitting on my bed, his hands sliding over my arms as he channeled his energy into them. “I didn’t ask you to. But thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks,” he said. “Have you been well?”

I recalled the countless sleepless nights since I had left him, the grief gnawing at my heart. The tears I had swallowed until they ran dry. These were my secrets, hidden beneath my smile.

“Yes,” I lied baldly. “My training keeps me busy. Captain Wenzhi is a hard taskmaster.”

His jaw tightened as an unfamiliar edge cut through his tone. “Yes, Captain Wenzhi is most solicitous of you. One wonders why he spends so much time and effort on just one recruit?”

I simmered at the insinuation. If he was jealous, he had no right to be. “Why are you here?” I asked again, in a harder voice than before.