Dragon Rest Palace — Main Hall — The Banquet — Right Now
"...to grant a marriage."
The Emperor's voice landed like a sword.
Everything stopped.
Inner thought: No. Not me. Not now. Not with MěiLíng's cup on my table and Chányán's robe on my back.
Empress Xiàoyì in bright yellow went rigid. Phoenix eyes locked on LìXūn. Then on me. Then on Chányán.
Wēn QīngYuè smiled. Small. Hungry. 'No sons in my belly. But I own the sons in your army.' Counting.
Sū MěiYán — my aunt, Imperial Noble Consort, Moon Alliance, 'Your rites didn't hold the border. My father did' — didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't help. She never does. 'We don't announce power. People move when we enter.' Right now, she's a statue. Watching.
Han ZhìXuān was sweating. 'Yes, Your Majesty' dying in his throat.
Lián'er had her head down. But XiǎoBǎo, 2, clapped at the dragon on my back. 'Pretty!'
'Lady Lin' — MěiLíng — had both hands over her mouth. Tears. Big. Wet. 'Oh... oh Your Majesty is too kind...'
Lie. She knows. Page 17 knows.
What is Page 17?
Péi Ròu's Friendship Books. She writes everything. Every secret. Every lie. Every stolen hairpin. Every 'I thought it was mine.'
Page 17 = Hán MěiLíng.
Entry 1: Age 13. Stole Liú Yīng's hairpin. Cried when caught. Said 'I thought it was mine.' Lie.
Entry 2: Last week. 'Got a ledger. Wēn chop. Delivery: Dragon Rest. Morning tea. Says: 'When JiāYì cries at my wedding, I'll wear her jade.'
That's Page 17. It's not gossip. It's a confession. And MíngYǎn bought it for three poems.
LìXūn stood. Slow. Like he was about to catch something. Me?
Chányán didn't move. One step behind the Emperor. Hand on his sword. Not gripping. Just... there. Waiting.
Inner thought: He knew. 'Don't leave Zhao Manor. Not even the Crown Prince.' He knew something was coming.
"Prime Minister Han," the Emperor said. Kind. Too kind. "Your loyalty. Has been... noted."
Han bowed. Shaking. 'Your Majesty...'
"Your daughter," the Emperor said. And he looked at me. In black and gold. In Chányán's robe from the side hall. The one he gave me when MěiLíng cut my sleeve. "Lady Hán JiāYì. Has shown... virtue. Courage. Fey wisdom."
'Fey.' He said it. Out loud. 'Fey wisdom.' Not mad. Not cursed. Wisdom.
Wēn QīngYuè's smile cracked. 'Fey' means 'the Emperor listens.' Means 'untouchable.'
"So," the Emperor said. And he looked at Chányán. Then at LìXūn. Then at me. "To reward loyalty... to bind the Han and Guō families..."
Wait. Guō?
'...to grant a marriage between Lady Hán MěiLíng...'
The hall blinked. All of it.
Not me.
Her.
'...and the son of Merchant Guō. Guō Péi. Of the East Market. Salt trade. Age twenty-three. Unwed.'
Silence.
Then: sound.
Han ZhìXuān choked. 'Your Majesty—!'
MěiLíng made a noise. Not a sob. A squeak. Like someone stepped on her.
'Page 17 will be complete.' It is. She's married. To a merchant. No court. No prince. No jade.
Inner thought: The Emperor knew. The Wēn ledger. The poison. The 'Lady Lin.' He waited. And buried her. With a wedding.
"Prime Minister Han," the Emperor said. Still kind. Still deadly. "Your adopted daughter will bring two great houses together. Han and Guō. Civil and merchant. A bridge. For peace."
A bridge. A punchline.
MěiLíng stood. Slow. Shaking. Not sad. Rage. "Your... Your Majesty... I... I'm..."
"You're grateful," the Empress Dowager said. From my table. Loud. Like a gong. 'Fey' grandma. Soup grandma. Body count grandma. "Are you not, child? To the Emperor? For his grace?"
Checkmate.
MěiLíng looked at me. The mask was gone. All of it.
Green. Sick. Rotten. 'She has it. I want it. If I can't, she doesn't.'
Then she looked at the cup. My cup. The one MěiZhū poured. Still full. Still there.
Inner thought: Oh no.
MěiLíng moved. Fast. Cornered animal fast.
She grabbed the cup. "LìXūn!" she screamed. Not 'Crown Prince.' LìXūn. Too familiar. Too wrong. "You said! You said you'd—!"
She threw it.
Not at me.
At him.
At LìXūn.
Time slowed.
The cup. Dark liquid. Aphrodisiac. Strong. 'Makes you warm. Makes you want. Makes you stupid.'
If it hits him. Crown Prince. Drugged. In front of the court. Scandal. 'Unfit.' 'Replace him.'
Page 17. New version. She can't have him. So no one can.
Inner thought: No.
I moved. Didn't think. Chányán's robe was heavy. Too big. I tripped.
Didn't matter.
I was between them.
It hit me.
Chest. Center. The dragon. Chányán's dragon. Dead center.
Wet. Cold. Then...
Hot.
Inner thought: Oh. Oh that's... that's not wine.
The hall exploded.
Guards. Screams. Chairs.
"JiāYì!"
LìXūn. First. He was there. Hands out. To catch me. To touch the wet.
"Don't touch it!"
Chányán. Not loud. Not yelling. Worse. Quiet. Like the moment before a beheading.
He was there. Ten steps away a second ago. Now he was here.
He grabbed my wrist. Not hard. Not soft. Just... now. Stopping LìXūn's hand one inch from the silk.
"YìChén," Chányán said. To his brother. Who was already there. How? "Take the Crown Prince. Back."
LìXūn didn't move. "She's—"
"She's poisoned," Chányán said. Flat. Fact. Not 'she's mine.' He wouldn't. He doesn't flirt. He doesn't claim. He acts. "And you touching it helps who?"
LìXūn froze. Sun dimmed. He understood. 'Kind gets people killed.'
YìChén pulled him back. "Cousin. Now."
The Emperor stood. "Guards. Seize her."
Not me. MěiLíng.
She was screaming. 'No! It was for her! For her! Page 17! Page 17!'
Guards dragged her. MěiZhū was gone. 'I hold the rope.' She cut it.
Inner thought: Hot. It's hot. Spreading. Like honey. Like fire. Like...
Like 'want.'
I looked down. The silk. Black and gold. Soaked. Against my skin. Through my underrobe. Through...
Oh.
Oh no.
I looked up. At Chányán. He was still holding my wrist. His thumb... not pressing. Just... there. Anchoring.
His face? Blank. Wall. Winter. But his eyes...
They weren't on the wet. They were on my face. Checking. Counting. Pupils. Breathing. Damage.
"Can you walk," he said. *Not 'are you okay.' Not 'JiāYì.' Can. You. Walk. Triage.
Inner thought: Yes. No. The heat. It's in my throat. My chest. Lower. Lower. Lower.
"I..." My voice. It was... wrong. Thready. Like I'd been running.
He didn't wait.
He let go of my wrist. Put one arm around my back. One under my knees.
And picked me up.
Just... picked me up. Like I was a fallen scroll. Like I was nothing. Like I was...
The whole hall saw. Empress. Consorts. Han. My aunt. The Emperor.
No one spoke. Because 'Regent Prince' was carrying 'poisoned girl' and his face said 'try to stop me and count your family.'
He walked. Out. Not fast. Not slow. Steady. Like he was carrying live explosives.
Which he was.
Past LìXūn. Who didn't move. Who couldn't. Because 'kind' means 'you follow the rules.'
Past the Emperor. Who nodded. Once. 'Go.'
The doors shut.
Dragon Rest Palace — Empty Side Room — Two Minutes Later
He put me down. On a couch. Not gentle. Not rough. Efficient.
Stepped back. Two steps. Always two steps. Even now.
"Water," he said. To the air. To a shadow.
A guard appeared. Water. Bowl. Cloths. Disappeared.
Chányán didn't look at me. He looked at the bowl. At the cloths. At the door. Anywhere but me.
Because I was hot. Because the robe was wet. Because it was sticking. Because...
Inner thought: It's working. The drug. It's working. I'm burning.
"Chányán," I said. No title. He didn't correct me. He didn't have time.
"Don't talk," he said. Still not looking. "Save your breath."
I laughed. It came out... wrong. Breathless. Not Su laugh. Not strong. ...Needy.
His shoulders went tight. Just for a second.
Inner thought: He heard it. He knows what this is. He knows what it does.
"I need..." I started. Stopped. What do I need? Water? Air? Him?
The heat was bad. It was in my skin. Under my skin. Between my legs. Like a fever. Like a demand.
I moved. Sat up. The wet silk pulled. Cold then hot. Awful.
"Don't," Chányán said. *Sharp. Finally looking at me. And regretting it.
Because I was trying to... to get it off. The robe. His robe. The wet one. The one that was too much.
My fingers were on the sash. Clumsy. Shaking. Not mine.
"JiāYì." His voice. It wasn't flat. It wasn't winter. It was... strained.
He said my name. Not 'Lady Hán.' JiāYì.
"No," he said. Taking one step forward. Then stopping. Like the floor was lava. "Don't. You don't want this."
Inner thought: I don't? I do. My body does. It's screaming. It wants...
It wants cold. And he's cold. He's winter. He's...
I looked up. At him. Really at him. The drug was in my eyes now. Making everything... brighter. Sharper. His mouth. His jaw. His throat when he swallowed.
"Cold," I said. Or maybe I thought it. Maybe I said it. "You're cold. I need..."
I reached. For him. For the cold.
He caught my wrist. Again. Not hard. But this time... shaking. His hand was shaking.
"Stop," he said. Through his teeth. Like it hurt. Like 'kind gets people killed' and he was dying.
His eyes. They weren't blank. They weren't wall. They were...
War.
With himself.
"I can't," I said. Tears. Real now. Not MěiLíng tears. Hot. Angry. Scared. "It hurts. Chányán, it hurts."
His name. Again. Begging. Not flirting. Breaking.
Something in his face... broke. Just a little. A crack in the ice.
He let go of my wrist. With one hand. Used the other to grab the bowl. Water.
And dumped it. On me.
All of it. Cold. Shocking. Over my head. Over the robe. Over the wet.
I gasped. The heat... recoiled. For one second. One breath.
Chányán was breathing hard. Like he'd run a mile. Like he'd fought a war.
He didn't look at me. He looked at the floor. At the water. At anything else.
"Better," he said. Not a question. An order. To my body. To himself.
Inner thought: Better? No. Worse. Now I'm cold AND I want. And he's right there. And he's...
And he's not going to.
"YìChén," Chányán said. Loud. To the door. To the world. "Get the Imperial Physician. Now. And the Empress Dowager. Tell her..."
He paused. Swallowed.
"...tell her the rat bit back."
The door opened. YìChén. Face white. Saw me. Soaked. Saw Chányán. Shaking. Understood.
"On it," YìChén said. And ran.
Chányán didn't move. Two steps away. Soaked floor between us. He wouldn't cross it.
"Close your eyes," he said. To me. Quiet. Broken. 'Kind gets people killed' and he was killing himself to be fair. "It'll pass. The water. The physician. It'll pass."
Inner thought: Will it? Will the way you said my name pass? Will the way you looked at me pass?
I closed my eyes. Because if I didn't, I'd reach for him again. And he'd...
He'd say no. Again. And I'd break. For real.
The last thing I heard before the physician came was him.
Not talking to me. To himself. So quiet I almost missed it.
"Dammit."