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“You can’t. My father keeps the Divine Mirror Scroll on him at all times. In here.” Wenzhi tapped his temple.

I stared at him. “How is that possible?”

“It’s not easy,” he conceded. “It consumes a vast amount of energy. Only the most powerful among us are capable of such a thing, and only certain artifacts can be hidden so. But it is the most secure place, as the items can’t be stolen or taken by force, not without killing the vessel and destroying the artifact.”

“Why didn’t you hide the dragons’ pearls that way?” I asked.

“Oh, I considered it. I’m glad I did not. I might be dead, and not by my brother’s hand.”

I lifted my chin. “Do you think I would have killed you?”

“Yes, maybe without even knowing it. The item is tethered within the core of one’s lifeforce, and opening its pathway weakens one immensely.” He paused, before adding, “As you did once.”

I had done it to sever the dragons’ bond with their pearls, to set them free. The agony, the wrenching loss, were not things I was eager to relive.

He continued, “It is a drain on one’s power to keep the artifact intact, shielded from our internal energy. I could not have risked it then, not with the looming confrontation with the Celestials. The slightest slip in my concentration and the pearls would have been destroyed, and me along with them. This is why my father does not venture from our borders, why he is always surrounded by guards.”

“You could have given your father the pearls for safekeeping,” I remarked.

“Trust is something which goes both ways. I had always plotted for and taken what I wanted before. It was the only way to survive here—to thrive.” He held my gaze. “I learned too late there was another way, that trust need not be a weakness. If only I had been honest with you from the start.”

“It would not have mattered; I would never have agreed to what you did.” Such righteous words I spoke, though the anger that should have accompanied them had faded.

“Perhaps,” Wenzhi said slowly. “But I would like to think we might have found our way together. That you might have understood, and that we could have helped one another without hurting each other.”

I hardened myself. “A fairy tale.”

“My mother always said that I never believed in fairy tales. It was because I had known monsters since the day I knew my name.” His lips curved into a small smile. “Indulge me. Let me tell you how it played out in my mind on the days I allowed myself to dream.”

My emotions warred within; one part of me curious, the wiser part afraid.

“You have no love for the Celestial Kingdom,” he began. “Perhaps I could have offered my father something else in place of the pearls. Perhaps I could have renounced my claim to the throne once I secured my mother’s position. We could have left this world behind us and made our own way, whether in the realm above or below.”

“You would have given up your crown? After all you did to secure it?” My voice lifted in disbelief.

The light in his eyes rivaled that of the moon. “I would give it all up for you, if you would only ask.”

My mind went blank, an ache writhing in my chest. Yet he was cunning enough to say what he thought I wanted to hear. “I will not ask.” Somehow, I managed to speak steadily. “For it would change nothing between us.”

A shadow fell over his face. “What you told my father just now … are you really promised to the Celestial prince?”

“No.” I could not lie.

He pushed away from the door, coming to sit beside me. “I must ask, would you give this a chance? We could wed to please my father, to obtain the scroll. Once we defeat Wugang, we would have eternity before us. I would release you from your vows anytime you wished—whether a month, a year, or a decade after. We could live as you choose, doing nothing you did not want to. I will do everything in my power to make you happy, even letting you go whenever you wish because … I love you.”

He spoke plainly, haltingly, his voice catching a little over the words—and this moved me more than any practiced declaration. I could not feign ignorance of his intentions; he had implied them a hundred different ways. I had tried to avoid this, cravenly preferring to tread the surface of what we were, rather than risk drowning in its depths again.

Something else pierced me, something unexpected—a sliver of joy that he loved me still. Amid the rubble of our ruined dreams flickered the embers of something that could not be extinguished, no matter how I had tried. I had loved him, and then despised him—I believed I would hate him forever. Yet how could I truly hate someone who had saved me, whose life I had saved in turn, whom I had loved once? As I stared at his face, so grave and solemn, heat flashed through me at the recollection of our kiss—beyond desire, there was something else that frightened me, that could destroy all I had fought for if it was unleashed again.

My pulse quickened, an erratic pace. I almost despised myself for these thoughts, a betrayal of Liwei and myself. But I could not deny these feelings, nor should I be ashamed of them—for they were a part of who I was. The heart was an unfathomable thing that could not be tamed to one’s will. Some might think I was toying with them. That I was selfish, or a fool? In truth, I hurt too, for with my heart cleaved I would lose either way. Breathing deeply, I reined in my emotions. I could not allow such distractions to cloud my mind or weaken my resolve … to make me want things I could not afford.

“I will not.” I ignored the pang in my chest. “We have no future together.”

He stiffened. “Because of Liwei?”

I shook my head. “Because regardless of my feelings—I could never trust you again, not in the way that matters.”

“You are unforgiving, Xingyin.” A trace of sadness threaded his tone.