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He released me then, his face somber. “One day, you will want to stay.”
Those words pierced me, but I hardened myself. “I’ll trade your sword back to you for the shield that belongs to Tianxia,” I offered coldly. “One weapon for the other.”
He tilted his head back. “Is that all?”
“I wasn’t finished. I want your queen’s assurance of my safety and the mandate to rule. While you are here, you must do or say nothing to indicate there is a rift between Tianxia and the Golden Desert.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Are you having trouble at court? There is no rift except between you and me, you and Her Majesty.”
I ignored his taunt. “Do you agree to these terms?”
“No. But I look forward to a long negotiation.”
Before I could reply, someone knocked on the door. Yifei entered, halting at the sight of the God of War. Her hands shook, jolting the tray she held, a few lychees falling from the bowl and rolling toward him.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered as though afraid.
He bent down to gather the fruit, then placed them back on her tray. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”
He spoke as gently to her as he did to his own attendants, and I hated that I knew this about him.
As Yifei smiled at him, wide-eyed, I cleared my throat meaningfully. At once, she spun to me. “My lady, the First Advisor is waiting for you to join him for the afternoon meal.”
Chengyin was being thoughtful, sending her to remind me. “Tell Chengyin—tell the First Advisor, I will join him shortly.”
As she bowed and left, the God of War faced me, a dangerous glitter in his eyes. “Why does the First Advisor presume himself entitled to your company?”
“Why shouldn’t he? He is more entitled to it than you.” My answer was intended to infuriate, though it might have worked too well, the heat of his anger surging through the air.
As I turned to leave, he moved to block my path. “We must speak.”
“Later.” I resisted the urge to snap. “I must go. They are waiting for me.”
His lips pressed into an uncompromising line. “Then I will accompany you.”
“I don’t recall asking you to,” I said.
“I claim the privilege of a guest.”
“Guests have to be invited.”
He smiled widely, devastatingly. “You invited me, did you forget? Twice, as a matter of fact. The first time when you disparaged my home, and the second . . . only a few days ago.”
I would welcome you to Tianxia.
I cursed myself—aloud. He was right; I could not refuse. Moreover, he’d hosted me once, although his motives had been self-serving. As Zhangwei looked around my room, his eyes slid over my dressing table strewn with discarded ornaments, the clothes I’d worn last night slung over a stand, then lingering on my bed, the sheets still rumpled.
His gaze darkened—an answering heat rushing into my face. He shouldn’t be here. These were my private rooms where I slept, bathed, and dressed, where only Yifei and those closest to me were allowed in. A thought unsettled me—could he sense the sword? While it was hidden in my study, I dared not take the chance. He strode to a corner of the room, picking up the comb I’d tossed aside—his gift. As he brushed the dust away, magic flickered from his fingers, repairing the scratched lacquer.
He handed it to me, but I shook my head. “Not everything can be fixed that easily.”
His expression was unreadable as he tucked the comb into his belt. I suppressed the twinge in my chest. “You may stay as my guest,” I told him grudgingly. “Explore the grounds as you wish, with one exception. This room.” I was starting to enjoy setting rules for him, though no one could bind him to them.
He strode to the door and held it open for me, a mocking lilt in his tone as he said, “I thank the Lady of Tianxia for her gracious hospitality.”
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As we walked toward the dining hall, those we passed turned to stare, more at the God of War than me. Even without his armor, he cut a striking and forbidding figure, moving with predatory grace. He didn’t speak but studied everything we passed. Did my home appear dull to him, used to the perfection of his realm, the effortless opulence? I loved my home, yet could not deny the wear in the buildings, the faded paintings, the chipped tiles that hadn’t been replaced. Was he judging us, finding us wanting? Grandfather preferred to channel our limited funds into strengthening the kingdom rather than gilding our domain—but what would an immortal know of that with their mountains of jade? Moreover, the God of War’s attack had left far too many things in need of urgent repair.
