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“The same Lord Hong who is in your debt, Minister Guo?” It was Minister Hu who spoke as he limped to the front of the hall. He suffered from an inflammation of the joints that had worsened with age. While he was one of the more reserved courtiers, I trusted his opinion; his loyalty wasn’t for sale.

I inclined my head in silent thanks to Minister Hu. “I will hear no more of suitors. When I choose to hear about this, I advise you to find more suitable candidates—those who will enrich our kingdom and not your own treasury.”

Minister Guo’s eyes squeezed to slits. “What of your health, Your Ladyship? Your marriage must take precedence over all else, as your responsibility to Tianxia is to secure an heir.”

As several of the courtiers nodded, a cold fury sank into me. “My responsibility is to the people of Tianxia, to guard their welfare and happiness, to keep them safe. I know my duty, do not dictate my responsibilities to me, Minister Guo”—my tone was soft yet needle-sharp—“else you will find yourself barred from court.” I resisted the urge to punish him right there, still hopeful of securing compliance without drawing blood.

Minister Guo flushed, fighting to hold himself in check as he bowed—a triumph I keenly felt.

“There is no urgency to my marriage,” I told the court. “I am in good health and not in need of a spouse. I am strong enough to bear the burdens of the throne alone. If any doubt this, speak now.”

A gamble, to toss this out. But those who schemed in the dark were often cowards in the open, only moving once victory was assured. It was too early yet for any to have gained prominence, too uncertain to stick one’s neck out in case it was cut off.

The court stirred, a few scowling. They definitely did not like me now, an almost liberating realization, even as I found myself tensing. The slightest weakness, and Minister Guo and his cohorts would swarm over me. If I did not assert myself, I risked being usurped, relegated to the shadows. By allowing them to speak for me, to dictate my actions—they would undermine me at every turn.

Once, I might have shied from the palpable displeasure in the room, wary of confrontation. But my grandfather had not sacrificed himself so I could lose his throne to another, unworthy and avaricious. If anyone thought I’d choose a life of ease as a puppet ruler, they were wrong. Grandfather believed me worthy to rule, he’d taught me against the counsel of his advisors, and I wouldn’t let him down.

“Is Your Ladyship tired? Perhaps Your Ladyship should retire to your chamber and we can handle the petitions, to ease your burdens,” Minister Dao, a grasping courtier, offered.

If I did, I’d return to find a third of the kingdom ceded to his sycophants. “Are you asking me to leave my own court, Minister Dao?” I said icily.

He blanched. “I would not dare—”

“I’m glad to hear it, Minister Dao,” I said darkly. “It would be dangerous for you, if you did.”

Aunt Shou cleared her throat from where she stood by the side of the dais. A sign that I’d pushed as hard as I could today, and I was grateful for her experience. Despite her refusal of an official position, she had been my grandfather’s confidante, her astute opinion bearing as much weight as any minister’s.

I gestured to the guards by the door, allowing the first of the petitioners in. Some sought aid, others wanting to resolve disputes. Hours passed as I listened and passed judgment when needed, at times deferring to the ministers with more experience. Part of me kept bracing for my fatigue to return, for my mind to cloud, my body to ache—marveling and grateful when it did not. The Divine Pearl Lotus had cleared all trace of my poisoning and more, somehow leaving me stronger than before.

As the sun dropped lower, some of the ministers began to shuffle restlessly, except for Minister Hu, who sat comfortably in the chair Chengyin had given him. I’d kept the court in session this long to prove I could bear the strain as well as them, to dispel lingering rumors about my health.

At last I rose, to sighs of relief. “The court is dismissed for today.”

The minsters bowed as I strode from the hall, holding my head up until I reached my room and closed the doors after me. The lamps were already lit, hanging from carved bronze stands. Through the latticed window, the sweetness of jasmine drifted in. I could almost hear Grandfather’s voice asking me to close it for fear I’d catch a chill. The mahogany desk in my study had belonged to him. I sat on the chair, remembering how he used to work here, my fingers brushing the mother-of-pearl pheasants and cherry trees inlaid into the wood. It was almost seamless but for the small drawer tucked into the side, one Grandfather had never let me open. I tugged at it now, finding just a thin book within, the cover weathered as though numerous hands before mine had leafed through it, the characters of Tianxia painted upon the cover.

I turned the pages, my fingers creasing the paper in my haste. As I read the first page, my heart leapt—this was written by Lady Zhirong, one of the earliest rulers of Tianxia, describing how the Wuxin had come to our kingdom.

Long ago, these creatures were little more than spirits, drifting unnoticed through the Golden Desert in the Immortal Realm. But over time, they developed appetites that helped them take physical form—not for food, but for emotions. When Queen Caihong ascended the throne of the Golden Desert, the Wuxin refused to accept her rule. A terrible war broke out between both sides that left the sands drenched with blood.

It was then the Wuxin descended to Tianxia. Devastation followed, our people helpless against their magic. What they craved from us most of all, what strengthened them—was our sorrow.

“Beautiful, vicious monsters,” Lady Zhirong had written of them. “Scavengers of joy.”

Countless lives were lost, much suffering inflicted, until one day, the immortals of the Golden Desert descended from the skies in their shining armor. A treaty was signed with Queen Caihong, who claimed our service in exchange for their protection during the war. The Shield of Rivers and Mountains, a sacred treasure of our kingdom, was surrendered to the immortals—enabling Queen Caihong to craft an enchanted wall that snaked around Tianxia to protect its secrets and prevent the Wuxin from infiltrating the rest of our realm. Once this threat was vanquished, our obligation would be fulfilled. Only then would the Shield of Rivers and Mountains be returned to us, and the walls brought down.

My fingers brushed the imperial seal I wore, tracing its carving of the shield. Why had Grandfather never mentioned this before? Maybe he believed he had time yet, or maybe he was afraid of awakening the ambition that was now stirring in my heart.

I turned the page, my eyes riveted to the words. The battle raged across the heavens and earth, with great losses on both sides. At last, the Wuxin were defeated—banished to the banks of the Wangchuan River in the Netherworld. However, before then, the Wuxin dealt a devastating blow to the immortals, killing the queen’s consort.

It saddened me to think of her loss—though why should I pity the immortal queen? But after losing my own family, I could never wish such anguish upon another . . . not even my worst enemy.

My heart sank as I closed the book. A high price to pay, trading our service for our safety, isolating ourselves to serve the immortals. Yet when one was falling into the ravine, one would grasp at the slenderest branch. What did today’s price matter when it would be tomorrow’s debt? Except danger touched our lives still: not just illness but creatures like the Winged Devils, the storms that the queen’s anger inflicted upon us. Grandfather had urged me to secure our people’s future, and I believed that lay beyond our walls.

A knock on the door broke my thoughts. Yifei, my personal attendant, announced Aunt Shou and Chengyin, sliding the doors apart for them to enter. They were among the few who were welcome in my private rooms.

“Court always gives me a headache,” Aunt Shou said, taking one of the seats before me. “You handled today well.”

Chengyin grinned as he flicked a piece of lint from his brown robe. “Indeed. You were the perfect blend of cunning and intimidation. Few will dare gainsay you next time, for fear of losing their heads.”