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Prince Zixin.
I’m staring at him; I can’t look away, though it’s rude and intrusive. Not just because he is beautiful, heartbreakingly so—but because I’ve seen him before. The black of his eyes, the pattern of his clothes… he was the one watching me outside the palace, as he stood among the archers. My body grows taut, flushing hot then cold.
As the music fades, Prince Zixin looks up, right at me. It’s like the sun has risen, a tingling sweeping through my veins. This doesn’t feel real, like the flowers by the pond, the pears on the tree. For a moment, I’m lost in his gaze—not a girl from the village but someone he is waiting for, someone he might ask to dance. For a moment, I’m falling into a fairy tale, daring to believe it might be real.
Maybe there is magic in the Iron Mountains too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he music starts again, breaking the spell. Swiftly, I move behind a pillar, out of the prince’s sight. I mustn’t forget why I’m here. Mistress Henglan will be in the less brightly lit areas, in a crowd, easier to lose oneself. As I search for her, snatches of conversation drift toward me, most of the guests gossiping about one thing: the Prince of the Iron Mountains. And I find myself listening too attentively.
“Why is His Highness’s coronation delayed? It’s been months since the king’s passing,” a man asks, the large mole on his upper lip quivering.
An older woman flicks her fan across her face. “Our late king stipulated several conditions before the coronation. I hear one of them is for His Highness to choose a suitable bride to ensure the line of succession.”
“Suitable?” a young girl repeats, her eyes bright. “What does that mean?”
“Rich. Titled. Beautiful,” the man lists out in a supercilious tone.
Another woman shakes her head, glancing around like she has a secret. I step closer to listen. “They say His Highness is looking for his bride tonight, one from among the people. That’s why those from the villages and towns were invited—”
The man laughs coarsely, cutting her off. “Royals like him want princesses that smell of flowers and look like fairies. Not someone who stinks of mud and chews with their mouth open.”
My stomach turns like I’ve eaten something bad. Though I’m wearing a dress as beautiful as any of these nobles’—most days, I’m the girl who smells like mud. Turning my back on them, I slip into another throng of guests as I comb the hall. Most of the conversation I overhear follows a similar vein: speculation about the royal family and the reasons for the ball, many bemoaning the recent tax burden, though in hushed tones.
“Yining?”
At that deep, familiar voice, I look up, my eyes meeting those of brown, almost gold in the light. Jin stands before me, an intimate smile on his lips, his hair grazing the collar of his midnight-blue coat. I suppress a curse, yet shouldn’t be surprised to see him, with every noble and person of means invited tonight.
He glances at my dress, then back at my face. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“If only you hadn’t,” I say lightly, yet meaning it. I’d rather what happened in the market remain forgotten.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“Not looking for you.”
Rather than being insulted, his mouth slants wider. “I’m hurt.”
“Don’t pretend.”
“Who said I was pretending?” he says, tilting his head back.
He looks at me with such warmth, it’s easy to forget my wariness of him. But the only things I should feel around Jin are caution and a healthy dose of fear. I owe him a debt, but I don’t trust him.
“Do you always speak this way, implying more than you mean?” I ask.
“Do you always imagine the worst of everyone you meet?” he counters.
“I’m rarely disappointed.”
A beat of silence. “I’m sorry for that. You should know better people.”
“Like you?” I laugh, like his words haven’t struck a nerve.
“Definitely not.” He slides a finger over his chin. “You haven’t answered my question: Why are you here?”
“Half the kingdom is here,” I reply evasively. “Why wouldn’t I attend?”
