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“How is this possible?” My heart refuses to believe what my mind has already guessed. He can’t be the “friend” my mother told the carp about, the one who helped me escape from the palace all those years ago—I don’t want this to be true.

“Since I was a child, I’ve carried these. My mother had them made for me, because the tiger is the emblem of her family.” He’s watching me intently. “You’re the one I gave the handkerchief to. The girl… the daughter.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I try to bluff, an instinctive denial.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His tone sharpens. “Attempt to deceive me again, and I will punish your friends.”

A chill suffuses me at his threat. “How long have you known?”

“The day we met—when they brought you to me, a thief dressed as a princess, one who’d stolen an invitation to enter.” His eyes are alight. “Your ring was wrapped in the handkerchief. When I saw it, I knew.”

Everything that happened… it was all a lie. “Is that why you allowed me to stay? Why you pretended to favor me, offering me a place as your consort?”

“I was intrigued by you, you seemed to like me too. You even risked your life for mine.” He says the last tersely. “But I wasn’t certain. Your ring disguised itself well; it looked nothing like your mother’s. When it was inspected and no trace of magic found, I thought I’d been mistaken. Part of me was glad; it would be simpler without this between us.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hands, though nothing can capture our blood-soaked past.

“But there were little things about you that didn’t fit. Nothing glaring, but I don’t believe in coincidences—they suppress one’s instincts,” he says. “The soldiers I sent to your village learned you were adopted, the years fit. And there were the pear blossoms in your courtyard. Flowers don’t grow in the Palace of Nine Hills, not since your mother died. Most of all, there was this feeling inside me, the certainty we’d met before.”

“I don’t remember you.” I’m still grappling for a way out.

“But I remember you.” He speaks slowly, almost bitterly, as he loosens his robe, pulling it away to bare his shoulder—the web of spidery white scars marring his skin.

I jerk back in shock, never imagining someone like him—privileged, royal, and powerful—would ever know what it feels like to be struck this way.

“Father discovered I’d helped you. He had me whipped for it, my starfire confiscated, and only returned to me later.” His hand brushes the jewel adorning the seal. “When no trace of you was found, my loyal attendants and guards were executed.” He falls silent, his face haunted. “That day I learned mercy is a weakness I can never afford again.”

When he looks at me, his gaze softens. “But I am glad I kept you alive. Your life is mine now; you will obey my will.”

Horror floods me, punctured with remorse for all he suffered for helping me. A child’s debt, I tell myself, yet its weight lies heavy. I push it aside; I can’t relent, I won’t pity him. The boy who helped me then is not the same as the prince he’s become… he’s lost his heart along the way.

“The other one—the magic-wielder—she is close to you, isn’t she?” he probes. “Your mother spoke of her two daughters. She must be your sister.”

It’s not a question; he knows. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of replying. He shrugs then. “Whatever it is, her safety depends on your obedience.”

“I hate you,” I spit out.

“Maybe you do right now.” His voice deepens as he continues, “But one day, you will see all that I am, and you won’t hate me anymore.”

I want to slap his face, the sheer arrogance of him. But I need to learn more. “How did you meet my mother?”

His lips stretch into a small smile. “I wandered into her courtyard by accident. The air was thick with the fragrance of lilies. She played games with me and read me stories. I visited as often as I could without rousing suspicion. Only later did I realize she was a prisoner.”

I don’t interrupt, eager for his memories, these glimpses of my mother—even as I resent him for them.

“Once, she asked if I’d seen a little girl in the palace, a captive like her. She was crying, pleading with me to help you. And so, I sought you out. A wisp of a girl, crying out for her mother because a servant had slapped her. I gave you my handkerchief to dry your tears, and you didn’t want to give it back.”

His expression hardens. “I heard an attendant say the king had plans for you, that no one would have to suffer your tantrums for much longer.”

“Your father was going to kill me?” I ask numbly.

“You were in danger. And so I disobeyed my father for the first and last time, ordering my most trusted guard to spirit you from the palace.”

Prince Zixin saved me, his one reckless act of compassion still rippling into the present. I hate this obligation, to owe him a debt. But it’s a harsh and bitter reality that even if he is the boy who gave me his handkerchief—it doesn’t change what I must do. He is my enemy, holding my sister and me captive. His father killed my mother. How can I get past this?

I never will.

He continues, “I was eager to tell your mother what I’d done, but my father punished and confined me. When I was finally able to return to her courtyard, your mother was gone.” His eyes darken with a grief I wish I didn’t see. “The guard who took you was killed by bandits. I believed you were dead too—until you attended the ball and stood before my throne, my handkerchief still in your possession. You are the girl who should not have lived… and magic runs in your veins.”

“You’re wrong,” I take pleasure in telling him. “The iron doesn’t change color when I touch it; I have no magic. I’m of no use to you.”