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But when the prince turns back to me, the beginnings of a smile on his lips, a lightness envelops my heart, a flutter beginning low in my stomach—of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A breath from morning, the stars linger across the skies. I stifle a yawn as I follow Chief Attendant Mai from the Grand Hall, heading east. He stalks ahead in silence, his steps impatient. Rather than hurrying to catch up, I fall into stride with the attendant behind me, a freckled young man in a gray robe, holding a lantern to light the way.

“What is your name?” I ask him.

He bows to me without slowing his pace, casting a furtive look at the chief attendant. “I’m Shan, Lady Yining.”

“I’m not a lady,” I correct him with a laugh.

His eyes widen. “But you were sitting with His Highness. Your dress… you have pearls on your shoes.”

“A gift,” I explain. “And I only met His Highness because I was accused of theft.”

“These nobles think we’re thieves anytime something goes missing,” he mutters. “I’ll tell you, there are as many rich thieves as there are poor ones.”

I think of the merchants who price their goods too high, of the taxes levied on those who can least afford them. “You’re right, Shan. Maybe more.”

He smiles, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “I hear His Highness invited you to stay. It’s rare for His Highness to show attention to anyone. His father was a stern parent, imposing harsh punishments for any infraction, urging his children to focus on their studies and the affairs of the kingdom.”

That might explain why the prince appeared aloof at times, and the distant way he spoke of his father. “He didn’t invite me; I invited myself.”

“Since His Highness agreed, he must like you,” Shan declares. “Just imagine—with a little luck and a lot of help, you could be our queen.”

“And pigs will fly,” I scoff, grinning at the thought.

“Anything can happen,” Shan replies, undaunted. “Did you think you’d be sleeping in the Palace of Nine Hills tonight?”

Maybe in one of the prison cells. “No, I did not,” I admit. “Do you know His Highness well? Does he have many friends?”

“In his childhood he did,” Shan says. “But now, His Highness keeps to himself, though he is close to his sister and those loyal to him: Chief Attendant Mai and General Xilu.”

“Where are his companions from before? Are they still in the palace?” I ask, wanting to learn more.

The chief attendant swings around. “Enough with the gossip,” he says sharply, glaring at Shan. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about; you were only a child yourself back then.”

Shan ducks his head, mumbling an apology. The chief attendant’s temper seems as mercurial as Mistress Henglan’s. Though he stalks ahead of us once more, I refrain from speaking to Shan to avoid getting him in more trouble.

As we walk I examine our surroundings, assessing potential escape routes out of habit. They are scarce, if any—unease prickling me. The sprawling grounds of the palace are closely guarded, the troops of soldiers we pass alert and well-trained. Beyond the Grand Hall, the other buildings appear stark without the glow of lanterns to soften their exterior. As we round a corner, the chief attendant stops before a circular wooden door, painted black to match the roof tiles, a stone wall enclosing the courtyard. Twin pillars lacquered in deep green flank the entrance, the name of the place inscribed on a plaque that hangs above it.

As the chief attendant fumbles at the rusted lock, Shan whispers, “We haven’t used the Pear Blossom Courtyard in a while. While it’s small, this one is close to His Highness’s quarters.”

The chief attendant flings the doors open, entering ahead of us. It is dark inside, the lanterns unlit on wooden pedestals. Trees tower above like shadowy giants, their leaves appearing like whorls of ink. A marble table and four stools are tucked within a pavilion, just in front of a low building with latticed windows.

“Who prepared this place?” the chief attendant barks out. “Unlit lanterns. No guards by the doors. They should be relieved of their positions—”

“I can light the lanterns myself,” I interject. “And there’s no need for guards either.” I utter the last with more feeling than I should.

“Things might be very different where you come from, Miss Yining,” the chief attendant says in a cool tone, “but in the Palace of Nine Hills, standards must be met.”

He stalks to the end of the garden, staring up at a tall tree, its branches clustered with tiny white blossoms. “The pear trees are in bloom,” he remarks with surprise.

“There don’t seem to be many flowers planted here.” I look around the garden. “Just the chrysanthemums by the Grand Hall.”

Shan nods. “King Baoyu didn’t like flowers—”

“Quiet, boy,” the chief attendant snaps at him. “His Majesty was far too busy with the affairs of our kingdom to indulge in such frivolities.”