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She clutched my sleeve. “How did you kill it?”

A memory flashed across my mind: Wenzhi’s sword arcing through the air, sinking into the creature’s neck. Its jaws—crammed with silver needles for teeth—had snapped at him viciously. As Wenzhi evaded its attack, the monster’s claws flashed above his neck, toward the throbbing vein where his lifeblood flowed. Gripped by fear, I had released an arrow that plunged into its skull. Thick, white liquid oozed from the wound, a piercing shriek stabbing the air. Its claws had clutched the shaft once before they fell away, as it collapsed onto the ground. Gone were those days when my heart had twinged with pity, though their faces haunted me still.

“Captain Wenzhi and I fought it together,” I told her.

At the mention of his name, Minyi sat straighter, her eyes brightening as whenever she scented a new tale.

To forestall her next question, I hastily asked, “What news do you have of the palace? How is His Highness?” Too late, did I bite my tongue. Last night’s wine must have addled my senses, to have spoken of him aloud.

Someone approached from behind me. Had the roar from the waterfall muffled the footsteps? A throat was cleared and just from that sound, I could tell who he was before I turned. Beside me, Minyi leapt to her feet and bowed. Without another word, she grabbed her tray and hurried away, leaving me alone with the intruder. Except he was no intruder; he had every right to be here. It was I who did not belong.

“Please forgive the trespass, Your Highness. I will leave at once.” Formality was a shield I clung to against my own weakness.

“Why don’t you ask me how I am yourself?” There was a warmth to his tone which I had not heard for a long time.

I would have left then, but he moved into my path. As I looked up at him, I could not deny it was there still—that ache in my heart, that thread which tugged at it whenever he was near . . . no matter how I wished it did not. A soft breeze blew through the courtyard, sweeping a lock of my hair against his cheek. He caught it between his fingers, his eyes as inscrutable as pools of night.

“Have you been well?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“Curiosity. I wanted to meet my replacement,” I said with a flippancy which fell flat.

“Who could have taken your place?”

His tone, his words, affected me still. But I wrenched myself away to leave.

“Are we not friends anymore? Since the Eastern Sea, I’ve seen you less than a handful of times and each time you run away.” He gestured toward the stools. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s talk as we used to. Unless you’re afraid?” A note of challenge rang in his voice.

My sense warred with my pride. The latter won as I sat back down, goaded by his taunt. “I can’t stay long. My training—”

“Yes, the valiant First Archer,” he interjected cuttingly. “Who else would protect the Celestial Kingdom? Still ‘First Archer’ after all your accomplishments though. An honorable title but without rank or power. Why not seek a command of your own instead of trailing in Captain Wenzhi’s shadow?”

I clenched my teeth. “That’s my choice. I want the freedom to take on the campaigns I wish. I have no desire to climb higher for ambition’s sake alone.”

He stared at me like he was searching for something. “Or is there more behind your relationship? There are many rumors about the young captain and the gifted archer he favors. The two brightest stars in the Celestial Army. It’s fortunate you don’t hold an official position in the army, otherwise this would be most improper.”

His accusation stung. “How dare you speak to me of what’s ‘improper’ when it’s you who is betrothed yet baiting me this way. You have no right to ask such things of me. It’s no business of yours what I do and who I see. As for me, I couldn’t be more indifferent to you now.”

Such reckless words I spoke, uncaring of the storm which swept over his face. Yet I would not stay to be berated by him. I’d had enough of such entanglements and the way they twisted me into knots. Rising to my feet, I stalked away—but he caught my wrist in his grip.

“I do care,” he ground out. “Despite my sense, my judgment and honor—I cannot help but care.”

Light blazed from his eyes, as scorching as the sun. Pinned by his gaze, I could not move—only noticing, too late, when he drew me to him. I should have pushed him away yet there was no strength in my limbs. His confession roused something in me which I had thought long dead. I had never seen this side of him before, filled with passion and jealousy, and a reckless part of me reveled in it.

He bent his head—slowly at first—and when I did not flee, his hand loosened over my wrist, gliding up to encircle my waist. Something smoked in the depths of his eyes, a moment before his lips pressed against mine with a hunger as though he was starved, with an urgency that stirred my blood. There were no thoughts in my mind—no anger, no shame, no fear of what this meant. Nothing beyond this heady lightness, this glittering fire that coursed through my veins. My fingers were already winding around his neck to pull him closer as I tipped my head back, drowning in the sensation of his touch and warmth, even as his arms tightened around me, locking me into an embrace from which I no longer wanted to escape.

This courtyard . . . it had been my haven once. The soothing thrum of the waterfall, the fragrance of spring blossoms in the air, the joy I had known here. Yet while the aching familiarity of this place brought back such sweet memories, the one seared deepest in my mind was when I had sat frozen and alone the night of his betrothal.

With a wrench, I shoved him away—hard—as he staggered back, his arms falling away. I fought for breath, struggling to gather the shreds of my composure. “No, Liwei. It is over. We are over.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. “Let us not lie to each other, Xingyin. We’re not over. Your heart still beats to mine. You still feel something for me, just as I do for you.” He spoke quietly, with no trace of pride. Just a certainty which was a hundred times more galling.

“What do you want of me?” I cried out, furious both at him and myself. “You are promised to another, yet you seem intent on humbling me to admit my feelings. Does it give you satisfaction? Would it appease your royal pride to hear you were not so easily forgotten? Or do you intend to follow in your father’s steps, with a concubine in every corner of the palace?”

“Never, that.” He recoiled as though insulted.