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“He is considerate.” If she heard the catch in my voice, she gave no sign of it.

“I’m also here to help prepare you for the pledging ceremony,” she added. “Her Majesty commanded that it take place in three days.”

My fingers crumpled the bedsheet. Time was running out. I had to find the Shield of Rivers and Mountains soon, or at least secure Lord Zhangwei’s support—someone who would speak for us here. After what I’d seen, no other immortal would be willing. A strange twist of fate, that the God of War was now the only one I trusted here.

“Is Lord Zhangwei in his room?” I asked.

“Yes. Shall I bring him here?” she offered. “He asked to be informed when you woke.”

“I will go to him, if you’ll tell me the way.” A useful excuse to explore the palace.

After Weina left, I dressed quickly in a light-yellow robe, tying up my hair with a long ribbon. In the mirror, I examined the reddish welts left on my shoulder where a wound had gaped yesterday. They stung as I touched them, though nothing compared to the blistering pain of before. Without the God of War’s healing, such an injury would have taken weeks to recover from, maybe months.

Leaving the room, I followed Weina’s directions, crossing a bridge that arched across the sky. I took a winding route to cover as much of the palace as I could, mapping the place in my mind, especially the paths leading to the entrance. Whenever any immortals passed by, I dropped my head, the memory of the Dragon Platform still fresh in my mind. In this realm, the slightest mistake could have dire consequences.

After some guards cast suspicious looks my way, I headed to the God of War’s chamber. Outside his room, I knocked on the door. When there was no response, I tried again—the panels gaping like they’d not been properly closed, like he’d left in a hurry. This could be a chance to search his room. I buried a twinge of guilt and fear. After all, there was nothing to hide; I’d told Weina I was coming here.

Quietly, I slid the doors apart and stepped inside, then pulled them shut after me. The god’s chamber was far larger than mine, a round table in the center with six stools around it. Silk-lined lamps were hung upon ebony stands, a tall brace of unlit candles in the corner. Something clinked in a gentle rhythm—a wind chime—one of the windows thrown opened. A carved rosewood screen was spread out at the end, its panels inlaid with gold. Steam drifted around its sides, infused with the scents of flowers and herbs, the fragrance almost intoxicating. The curve of a bronze bath peeked from behind the screen. Lord Zhangwei was lying there, his back to me. His arms were spread around the rim, his head flung back, eyes closed like he was asleep.

My heart almost stopped. I cursed myself for this intrusion, yet he had not stirred; I could still leave unseen. Holding my breath, I turned toward the doors. Water gurgled, droplets scattering. A strong hand clamped upon my arm, spinning me around and pushing me against the wall. The breath was knocked from me as the God of War caught me in his firm hold. The ribbon holding my hair up came undone, loose strands falling across my face as I struggled to wrench free. Our eyes collided, his flaring in recognition—but I shoved him away as hard as I could.

He released me, though his hands slid to the wall, his arms trapping me in place. As I glared at him, my throat went dry. He’d pulled on a thin inner robe, almost translucent as it clung to his damp skin, water beading in the hollow of his neck. Heat surged through my veins from his nearness, the scent of him filling my senses, mingling with the fragrance of flowers.

This was wrong, foolish, and above all, dangerous. While I wanted him to grow closer to me to secure his support, since yesterday something had changed. There was a new awareness of him now, tangled with something that went deeper that I did not understand . . . that I must be wary of, suppress and lock away, for such weakness led to ruin.

He was still staring at me, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Have you looked your fill?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoffed, forgetting myself for a moment.

“Why are you here?”

I breathed deeply to compose myself, trying to soften my manner. “I was concerned about you; your injuries were worse than mine. I didn’t realize I’d be attacked.”

The back of his neck reddened. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Why don’t you lock your doors the next time you don’t want to be disturbed?”

He grinned. “Maybe you should stop coming into my quarters without an invitation.”

“If I’m unwelcome, then let me leave.” I tapped his hand, still pressed against the wall, but he didn’t lower it.

As he leaned toward me, his mouth formed a single word. “Stay.”

A glittering current rushed through me; I found myself unable to move—or maybe, I didn’t want to. It wasn’t his arms that held me in place any longer but the intensity of his gaze, the low pitch of his voice. I made myself pull away, ducking beneath his arm to stalk to the garment rack. Picking up the robe slung over it, I handed it to him. “You should cover up before you fall ill,” I said without thinking, repeating what I’d been told most of my childhood.

He didn’t laugh at me as he shrugged the robe on, fastening it with a belt. His hair hung straight down, still wet from the bath. We were so close, the chill from his skin drifted across mine.

As a breeze darted through the window, I shivered. “Are you cold?” I asked.

His eyes flicked to mine. “With you, I am warm.”

The words resonated, my heart quickening. He said things sometimes that I didn’t entirely understand, that reached deeper than I wished—that I was afraid to examine. It was becoming far too easy to see him as someone other than the God of War who’d burned my home, who struck such terror into the hearts of mortals, immortals, and monsters.

But I was not here for him. My smiles, my words, were for my kingdom—and how he could help us. I had to regain control of myself, else I risked being swept away.

“How are your injuries? Do you need to rest?” I was trying to blunt my earlier rudeness when I’d been caught off guard.

“You are one of the few who ask such things,” he said. “Most think I feel no pain.”