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I nod. “Will she be all right?”

“I believe so,” he says slowly. “Her vitals are improving. This is most unexpected; serpentroot is fatal, one of the most potent poisons.”

“She only ate a little.” I’m eager to douse the suspicion in the physician’s keen gaze, even as I recall the sugar scattered over the table, the pieces she’d consumed. But she’s safe; it had worked. I’d cured her.

“We must find out who is behind this despicable act,” Prince Zixin says harshly. “How dare they target those under my protection?”

“The fruit was brought here by an unknown attendant. Was the poison meant for me?” Now that Daiyu is better, my mind shifts to opportunity, a way to stir Prince Zixin’s protectiveness. Yet fear still flickers, that someone wants me dead.

“They will regret it. I won’t let them hurt you,” he assures me.

I slump as though overcome by shock. When Prince Zixin’s arm goes around my shoulder, I make myself lean against him like I crave his support, his strength to keep me safe.

As he strokes my hair, a tremor runs through me. I tell myself I hate this, a despicable farce—necessary, to win back his trust. I can’t simply hope things will fall into place; fate is fickle and fleeting… and not my ally. For many like me, victory is never yielded as a gift—any triumph must be planted, harvested, then seized.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

T onight, I dressed to draw attention. My outfit is different from the high-waisted and flowing styles the Iron Mountains court favors, closer to the more fitted designs of what is worn in the Amber Forest. Tiny seed pearls are sewn on the sea-green silk, a crimson sash knotted around my waist. Jade combs are tucked into the black coils of my hair, my lips reddened with balm. Dian’s amethyst ring with the night-root powder glitters from my hand, her pouch of herbs discreetly fastened by my waist.

Nights feel darker in the Palace of Nine Hills with its black roofs and stark walls, the dimly lit paths away from the main buildings. I follow the strains of music that thread the quiet, leading me better than my eyes toward the dining hall. Tonight, it is lit by hundreds of candles, their golden light spilling through the latticed doors. Closer to the entrance, the rich scent of magnolias wafts from the branches crammed into vases. The marble floor gleams, the carpet rolled away. Unlike in the day, when the mahogany tables are laden with food, tonight’s affair is more formal, with the guests seated along the walls. Attendants weave among them, serving plates of roasted quail, pickled jellyfish, scallops in their shells. The silk hangings that flutter from the wooden pillars are strung with copper bells that tinkle with the breeze.

As I step into the hall, Prince Zixin’s eyes flick toward me. His white brocade robes are fastened with a silver sash, his hair swept into a topknot and tucked into a headpiece of iron and lapis. He straightens slowly, his hands sliding along the armrests of his throne. My feet halt instinctively, but I push myself onward. Tonight, I will leap into the current to see where it bears me—yet I won’t let myself drown.

Ruilin inclines her head at me, her pink gown matching the tourmalines that adorn her brow, arranged in the pattern of a lotus. Princess Chunlei is absent, a relief that she won’t witness me making a fool of myself. Without her presence, General Xilu watches me from the other side of the hall, his eyes pinched. His hand brushes the hilt of his sword like he’s thinking of cutting me with it. Right now, I’d rather be stabbed than go through with what I have planned.

One of the Thorn Valley soldiers calls out Jin’s name. My head swings involuntarily but I stop myself in time. Prince Zixin sees shadows everywhere. While his coldness has thawed, he’s not forgiven me yet.

As I sink into a low bow before the prince, he gestures to the seat beside him. “Sit with me.” It’s not a request, but even if it were, I wouldn’t turn him down tonight. “You are late. I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”

I stitch on a bright smile. “Why would I stay away? I’ve been gone long enough.” Deliberate words, offering an opening for him to speak his mind—to yank any lingering mistrust out into the open.

As I sit down, an attendant fills my plate with food. I eat everything, despite a lack of appetite. A full stomach is vital for tonight. Prince Zixin’s mouth thins as he glances at Jin, then back at me. “Did you enjoy your travels?”

I grimace like he wants me to. “The company was dull, we slept on the ground, our food was tasteless, and there was little chance to bathe or rest.”

Prince Zixin’s eyes are as opaque as ink. I can’t read him tonight, not since I returned. “Then why did you do it? Why did you go?”

I clasp my hands, folding my shoulders inward. “I’d never been outside the Iron Mountains. I’d heard the Amber Forest was a place of wonder, but… it’s nothing like your palace, Your Highness.”

His lips roll tighter; he doesn’t believe me. “There is another reason.” My voice drops like I’m embarrassed. “Your Highness honored me above all others, but many in your court disdained me. When you spoke of our future, I felt overjoyed… but also unworthy, without position or wealth of my own.”

“Who?” His tone ripples with menace. “Tell me who insulted you, give me each name.”

I recall how Anli was whipped for spilling tea on him, the harsh fine imposed on Lord Liuming for his insult. But I need to give the prince reason to believe me, to think I’m not holding back anymore.

“Lord Liuming.” I offer the one he’s already punished. “There are others whose names I don’t know.”

“If anyone dares to disrespect you again, come to me at once.”

I let his gaze penetrate mine. “Your Highness has already given me so much; I didn’t want to be a burden. I wanted to win Your Highness’s respect, to prove to your court I deserved your favor.” Practicing these lies has given them the cadence of truth.

He drums his fingers on the table in a steady rhythm. “I’d already offered you a place by my side.”

“You offered me a place as one of your consorts, Your Highness,” I counter.

Prince Zixin stills. This catches his attention, perhaps answering something in his mind. He is arrogant enough to believe I’d want him all to myself; preferable to imagining I didn’t want him before.

“You want to be queen?” he asks in silken tones. Such ambition, he’d understand.