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Prince Zixin is waiting by the hall’s entrance, surrounded by his guards and attendants. His body is rigid—is it with impatience at my delay? I should have walked slower. As my eyes meet the prince’s, a chill shrouds me. I loathe him, and how even now, it’s hard to look away. He is dazzling in his red brocade robe embroidered with silver dragons, his hair swept into a topknot, left without ornamentation. When he descends these stairs, the king’s crown will be set upon his head, the symbol of his reign, of the great power he will wield over us until the end of his days.
His gaze sweeps the length of me. “I hoped you would wear your pearl shoes. A fitting memento.” He speaks in an intimate way that once tugged at my heart, before I saw his true face.
“New beginnings.” My smile is mirthless. “Why should we look to the past?”
His smile matches mine. “Where is your veil?”
“Do we need it? Is Your Highness superstitious?” I counter. I’d rather not have my vision obscured when I’m trying to escape. Though when I glance at the crowd of soldiers lining the path to the hall, more of them surrounding it—my spirits sink.
“You’re right,” Prince Zixin says brusquely. “Who needs luck when we’ll make our own.” He pulls my hand into the crook of his elbow then stalks into the hall. I quicken my pace to match his; I won’t be dragged.
When we enter, everyone falls to their knees: the ministers in their formal purple robes and black ceremonial hats, the finely dressed nobles, the attendants in gray, and the guards in iron. A headiness grips me; it’s almost unnerving to walk past their bowed heads, witnessing their reverence to the power of the throne. I wanted this—I want it still, though on my own terms, not bound to another’s. Power that is borrowed or conferred can just as easily be snatched away.
The Grand Hall is transformed from the ethereal beauty of the ball into magnificent splendor. Swathes of red brocade fringed in amber are draped across the ceiling. Silk lanterns are strung from pillars, their gold tassels reflecting the light from the countless candles, set upon tall bronze stands—already lit though it’s daytime. The chamber is ringed by pots of chrysanthemums, their white heads curved like miniature moons. The dais is built higher and wider today, befitting the honor due to a king. An enormous jade sculpture of twin dragons is set behind the mahogany throne, a ceremonial bronze gong placed at the far end along with its mallet.
The way leading to the throne is flanked by courtiers and nobles, with only General Xilu in full armor like the other soldiers. I catch a glimpse of Lord Liuming beside Madam Wang, both wearing sour expressions. Hundreds of soldiers are clustered around the hall, blocking each pathway, some stationed around the dais. Prince Zixin is taking no chances.
Princess Chunlei stands just below the throne, her hands clasped before her. As she bows to her brother, then straightens—her mouth curves into a proud, affectionate smile. If I hurt her brother, what will she do? If it goes wrong, will she still protect Ruilin and my sister? Hopefully, we won’t stay to find out. I don’t intend to surrender. I’m going to run, and I’m taking my family with me.
I search the hall, catching sight of Ruilin holding my sister’s arm to steady her. Relief fills me to find Dian awake; the medicine must have worked. Yet her face is pale and drawn, her eyes bloodshot, the flesh around her finger still raw and torn.
Dian stares back at me, taking in my red garments, a match to those of the prince, her eyes fixing upon my ring. My insides churn. Does she think I’ve betrayed her and our people? If only I could tell her the truth: that I haven’t given up, still seeking a way to get us free.
The chief attendant ascends the dais bearing the royal crown, the starfire in it glittering brightly. He sets it on a table before him, then bows and steps aside. The coronation takes precedence over the wedding.
Prince Zixin turns to the audience, his voice resonant and clear. “As king, I pledge my life to protecting the Iron Mountains, to guarding our might. We will become the greatest kingdom across the realms; even those of the Land Beyond will bow to us. As I vowed to my father, I vow to you, that the shadow of Mist Island will never darken our borders. I have fulfilled all my father’s conditions, strengthened our army, laid the foundation for a future that shines as bright as our iron.”
Bright with stolen magic. My hands clench, my nails carving crescents into my palms.
Cheers ring through the hall. Dian is silent, her gaze burning into mine. Prince Zixin just declared his ambition to conquer Mist Island and Thorn Valley. Was this why Jin and his soldiers were barred from the palace? It’s clear the offer of Princess Chunlei’s hand in marriage is a ruse to lower their guard, maybe to place a spy within?
“Your Highness, we must proceed,” the chief attendant suggests.
Prince Zixin’s expression is grave as he plucks the royal seal from his waist, the starfire dangling above it. A quick twist and the seal splits apart like a ripe plum, dazzling light spilling forth—just as that night in the forge. When the glare fades, a small cage lies in the palm of his hand.
My heart almost stops. A tiny golden dragon writhes frantically within, his eyes as luminous as pearls, scarlet antlers rearing from his head. As his claws scrape the metal bars, a few red berries fall to the ground—familiar, yet the reason eludes my mind. This must be the Sun Dragon, stirring a fragment of memory all those years ago. I reach for him, but the chief attendant’s suspicious stare darts to me, the soldiers shifting closer. One wrong move and the guards would cut me down. I need a plan, an opportunity.
The dragon’s jaws part, his cry piercing the air. I resist the urge to press my hands to my ears—just as Dian is doing, her face twisted in anguish. No one else does the same; can the dragon only be heard by those of our island?
Prince Zixin unclasps the starfire from the seal—the cage breaking into shards like it was the gem that forged it, that held it together. As he cradles the dragon in his palm, his throat convulses.
Wind surges into the hall, rippling the red brocade hangings, knocking the hats off a few ministers, as several hold on to their skirts. Most of the candles are extinguished, leaving just a few flickering wildly. The guests exchange frantic glances, their confusion as clear as the skies beyond. “Magic,” a few whisper, yet are abruptly silenced. The soldiers surrounding the hall close tighter, almost blocking the light from outside.
Something slithers through the air—mist coiling around the dais like a translucent serpent. Along the wall, the chrysanthemums shiver, their tips turning red. Their delicate fragrance shifts, the sweetness tainted with a tinge of iron, and of blood.
“Your Highness, the auspicious hour for the coronation is upon us,” the chief attendant says somberly.
He hands the prince a small knife, agleam with that silvery sheen. Prince Zixin holds the dragon over the crown, his movements jerking… like he’s nervous or ill, a haunted expression dulling his gaze.
My hands are ice cold as I grab his arm. “Your Highness, don’t hurt the dragon.” In the silence, my voice emerges unnaturally loud, many of the guests swinging to us. As the dragon cranes his head toward me, my heart splinters at the recognition in his shining eyes.
“I won’t hurt it.” Prince Zixin speaks with such resolve, I almost believe him. “Just one small cut.”
As he pulls away, the chief attendant nods furiously at the guards who step between the prince and me. The Sun Dragon’s jaws part, his song rising, beautiful and melancholy. The prince’s eyes are bright as he places his starfire on top of the one in the crown. The clawlike prongs of the crown’s socket shimmer, widening to fit the second stone, snapping it into place. Slowly, he raises the knife—
“No!” My voice rings out, stronger this time. I dart forward, but a soldier blocks my way.
Alarm beats through me, the frantic pulsating kind that drowns reason. My fingers curl around the dagger stolen from Princess Chunlei. As I lunge at Prince Zixin, two soldiers grab me back—and then, it’s too late, the knife in the prince’s hand descending swiftly.
