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“Of course. But don’t take too long.” Jin’s voice drops almost out of hearing. “I can be a valuable friend.”

Or a ruthless enemy.

As his mouth curves, I smile back at him. Whatever I decide, I can’t trust him. I’m one of the many rafts he’s sending out to sea; he won’t care if I sink. And if he’s going to use me, I’ll use him right back.

We move from the secluded corner, returning to the main area of the hall. As Jin heads toward the table with Lord Chao, all around the guests are turning toward the entrance, sinking into low bows. I follow their gaze to find Prince Zixin standing there—staring back at me, his eyes hooded with suspicion.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

H ow long has Prince Zixin been watching me? Did he see Jin? He looks away as he strides toward the dais, his sister just behind him. My heart dips, guilt latching on to me though I’ve done nothing wrong.

At least not yet.

I stand there, unsure of myself—wanting to greet the prince but not knowing if I’ll be welcome. At last, I set my plate down and make my way forward. A crowd of ministers cuts ahead of me, and I slow my stride to fall behind, a little afraid of the prince’s stern expression.

Minister Luk approaches the dais first, holding up a scroll in his hands. “Your Highness, we have received another petition.”

Prince Zixin’s face darkens further. “Where is it from this time?”

“White River Town. They beseech Your Highness for a reduction in taxes after their crops were destroyed by a bad storm.” The minister clears his throat, then continues. “Perhaps we might offer them some relief ? There are fears the farmers will protest.”

“If they do, they will be punished.” The prince’s tone is glacial. “I’ve had enough of these petitions. The people will learn to respect me, to trust my judgment. These funds are needed to secure our kingdom’s safety. If I reduce the taxes for them, all the other towns and villages will demand the same. What will become of our kingdom then?”

Behind him, the chief attendant and the other ministers nod. Minister Luk’s shoulders droop but he bows, backing away from the dais.

Power is meaningless when it destroys those it is meant to protect.

Prince Zixin’s words ring through my mind. The harsh way he speaks of his people, his callousness toward their concerns… he doesn’t sound like the ruler who claimed to want to protect us; he sounds like the one the assassins were trying to kill.

The prince’s gaze locks on to mine abruptly. At once, I straighten, letting my hand brush my dagger—an intentional reminder of his gift, of what we’ve been through. He hesitates, then gestures for me to approach. As I make my way toward him, lowering myself in a bow, he dismisses the ministers around him.

My eyes go right to his shoulder as I rise, his injury concealed beneath the white brocade. “How is your wound, Your Highness?”

“Better, after the chief physician’s treatment.” As I sit beside him, his gaze slides to the jeweled dagger by my waist. “Did you like my gift?”

“It’s beautiful. Your Highness is most thoughtful.”

“Such metal is rare, stronger than ordinary iron.” A pause, his voice deepening as he adds, “But I hope you will never need to use it.”

“If I do, I’ll be able to free Your Highness more quickly next time.” A subtle reminder of how I helped him, to quell any lingering suspicions. Yet the recollection of the assassins sits uneasily with me—the life I took—even though they would have killed me too.

“There will not be a next time.” His face hardens as though carved from stone. “The assassins’ origins are being investigated. We will learn who is at the root of these despicable plots and rip them out, one by one. None will escape, not even their kin.”

I recoil from the brutality of his threat. “Why their families? What if they’re innocent?”

“If you pluck a flower but leave its root, another will bloom. Its seeds will scatter, borne by the wind, hidden away… until a garden blossoms.” His tone is emotionless like he’s reciting an old lesson.

Dread writhes within as I clasp my hands, the bangles on my wrists starting to feel like shackles. “Your Highness, you have been so kind,” I begin carefully, to edge into my request. “The dagger is a generous gift.”

“You deserve far more for risking your life for mine.” His voice warms. “What else do you desire? There is nothing I cannot give you.”

My imagination soars with thoughts of gold, of jade, pearls, and shining iron. Yet the mark on my finger sears—a reminder of what I need most. What use is gold if I’m dead?

“My ring, Your Highness.” I brace myself as a frown puckers his brow. “It was given to me by—”

“Not yet.” He speaks coldly, just as when I asked for it by the lake. “It will be returned when I choose.”

He doesn’t want to return it. Does he like this hold over me? All the talk of the investigation, was it an excuse to brush me off ? The thought is a thorn wedged in my chest.