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I lifted my head. “There are worse things to be.”

The light in his gaze dwindled, like the fading of stars come dawn. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I thank you too.” A sudden tightness pressed around me, a hollow gaping within. A door shut, a path untrodden. A future unlived.

“What do we do now?” I asked. “How do we persuade your father to give us the scroll?”

“My father expects a wedding, so we will have to give him one.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “Try not to look so distraught at the prospect of marrying me, Xingyin. A wedding need not mean a marriage.”

THIS TIME, THERE WAS no barrier upon my window, no guards outside my door. After Wenzhi had gone, I left to meet Liwei in the Golden Desert. The sky glittered with sparks of white flame, starlight casting their radiance upon the sands—yet even they could not dispel the void left by the moon’s absence. As we stood there, a warm breeze wound between the dunes, tinged with a rich sweetness.

“A wedding?” Liwei repeated stonily, his pupils darker than the night. His expression had grown thunderous after hearing the Cloud Wall king’s demand.

“He will not relent. This is the only way to get King Wenming’s help,” I explained.

He searched my face. “Is this what you want, Xingyin?”

“How can you think that?” I countered. “The last thing I need is some devious monarch dictating my future. This is only a means to an end.”

“Or is it a convenient excuse? You do not seem particularly unhappy, when you broke our own union with such ease.”

His anger stung. “I tried to refuse. King Wenming was adamant. He threatened to form an alliance with Wugang, and worse.”

“Don’t go through with this,” he said. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Wenzhi promised not to hold me to anything.”

Liwei’s expression hardened. “You must not believe him.”

“I trust my own instincts, not him. He does not want to be forcibly wed to me either,” I assured him. “Nothing will go wrong, though I will need your help.”

“Anything.” A faint smile formed on his lips. “It would give me great pleasure to incapacitate the groom.”

“If he plays me false, I will help you.” Despite my answering smile, there was little humor in my tone.

With a step, he closed the distance between us, clasping me into his arms. My eyelids drifted shut as I leaned against him, the warmth of his skin sliding through the layers of silk. Part of me wanted this moment to last forever—just the two of us, as we had been in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility, the fragrance of peach blossoms drifting in the air, the lightness in my heart when I awoke each day. A pure and uncomplicated joy, an undivided heart. If only I could shut out our past, our doubts and regrets. The troubles that bore down upon me, the searing heat from the Sacred Flame Feather even now burning its way through the enchantments woven around it. A constant struggle to keep it whole, to keep it from destroying me.

“Let him go,” Liwei whispered into my hair. “He’s not good enough for you; he never will be.”

I fought the urge to wind my arms around him, to ease his hurt and mine. To let us find some joy in the little time we had. The dream of happiness was at once a strength and a terrible weakness, and I dared not succumb while the future was so bleak. I would make no promises I could not keep.

As I drew away from him, his eyes shadowed with pain. Hurt wrenched me within, twisting and sharp—yet I forced myself to walk away, even as I sensed his gaze upon my back. I did not turn, no matter how much I yearned to.

The wind howled mercilessly against my face as I closed my eyes, letting the tears slide down my cheeks. I did not need to conceal them anymore, for no one could see them. Despite the heat of the Golden Desert, a shiver coursed through my flesh. For a life without love was a night without stars, and only the darkness awaited me now.

Three days slipped by like three hours, consumed by elaborate plans and preparations. I played little part in them—nodding when I was asked about the embroidery on my gown, the jewels on my headdress, or the food that would be served at the banquet. A most agreeable bride, a most indifferent one. All the while my mind churned incessantly with thoughts of what lay ahead, of the devastation that awaited us should we fail.

The day of the wedding dawned pale and gray. There was no joy in me, just a sinking foreboding like the moment before the dark clouds break, when you stumble and know you will fall. I stared at my reflection in the golden surface of the mirror. The heavy brocade gown was a vivid red, the color of joy and luck—and blood, my vigilant mind whispered. Magnificent phoenixes in gold and turquoise, and peonies with jade-green leaves were embroidered upon the cloth. An exquisite headdress crafted with coral flowers was fitted onto my hair, strands of pearls falling to my shoulders. Crescent-shaped brows arched over my eyes, plucked by a diligent attendant who cared little for my grimaces, while my lips and nails were painted a glossy scarlet. A part of me wanted to laugh at the futility of these efforts, but I merely clenched my jaws with frustration. None of this would help us stop Wugang. What use was soaking in a rose-petal bath or combing my hair with camellia oil until it gleamed like a river of ink? This was my wedding, but I was no bride.

An attendant arranged a red square of satin over my headdress, draping it over my face. For a moment I could not breathe, stifled by the veil, the weight of the ceremonial robes hanging from my shoulders and the gold upon my head. All I glimpsed was a crack of the ground through where the cloth gaped—as an attendant took my arm, guiding me from the room.

Four bearers carried my palanquin, its latticed windows covered by thick cloth. Lifting the veil, I peeked through the curtain to find a grand pavilion with malachite pillars rising from the violet clouds. Sunlight struck its arched roof, glittering across its tiles. As my gaze shifted to the crowd of guests within, my insides twisted into knots. I fell back against the cushioned seat, my hands clasped in my lap as I sifted carefully through the mingled auras. Finally, I sensed his warmth—Liwei, in the skies above, out of sight. Some of the tautness within me eased, even as my mind wandered to all the things that might go wrong: What if we failed in our pretense? What if Wenzhi and I wound up truly wed? Would he honor his vow to release me? If this was a trick, another of his schemes, I might really kill him this time.

The palanquin lurched to a halt, the back of my head knocking the wooden panel behind. I hastily rearranged the cloth over my face, sensing the forceful approach of Wenzhi’s aura. The curtain rustled, then parted, as Wenzhi reached in to help me out. Gold dragons were embroidered over his crimson brocade sleeve, the accompaniment to the phoenixes on mine. A tremor ran through me, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Drawing a deep breath, I placed my hand into his and stepped from the palanquin.

We walked toward the pavilion at a measured pace, the cloying fragrance of incense and flowers almost stifling me. My beaded slippers crushed the petals strewn thickly across the walkway—a lush carpet of azaleas, camellias, peonies. As a breeze teased at my veil, I suppressed the urge to rip it away. Why did brides have to be covered in this manner? Was it so they would not flee at the sight of their grooms?

Before the altar, Wenzhi halted, lowering himself to his knees. I sank down beside him upon the flat brocade cushion, my pulse racing. Three unlit sticks of incense were pushed into my palm. Three bows were all it would take to seal us into an eternal union. A hiss pierced the silence, heat grazing my hand as the incense caught fire—wisps of fragrant smoke drifting in the air. Together, Wenzhi and I pressed the incense sticks into the brass brazier.