After that day, teasing me about Imperial Uncle became his favourite pastime. Sometimes he'd drop a piece of food onto my plate with his chopsticks, then ask, "Does your Imperial Uncle serve you like this too?"
Or he'd lean over my shoulder while I was practising calligraphy and guide my brush through a few Fanjiang characters. "Does your Imperial Uncle teach you to write like this too?"
And now—I was perched on a saddle, the horse absurdly tall beneath me, my knees locked with nerves.
He held the reins and looked up at me, those green eyes catching the sunlight like shards of jade. "Does your Imperial Uncle take you riding like this too?"
I hated it. I hated how he said it—that mocking, teasing lilt—as though everything I felt for Imperial Uncle was just a joke to him.
But right now I was higher up than he was. I looked down at that smirking face, and something reckless surged through me. I swung my foot straight at his head.
I'd overestimated myself. I was no long-legged Fanjiang beauty. My leg went up, my body put everything into it—and instead of connecting with his face, I pitched sideways off the horse. In the split second before I fell, I caught a flash of genuine panic on that devil-may-care face. He lunged to grab me, but the horse was in the way.
I broke my arm. Landed right on top of it.
The physician wrapped my forearm in layer after layer of bandages. Xian Yi sat beside me gnawing on a piece of fruit, watching with infuriating amusement. "Your hand looks like a pig's trotter now," he said. Then: "You must've been too heavy. That's the only explanation for the bone snapping."
My arm throbbed. The kick hadn't even landed. I'd made a fool of myself in front of everyone. If Imperial Uncle were here, he would have held me and told me everything was all right. The tears came before I could stop them.
I didn't want to cry. The person who loved me most wasn't here, and no amount of tears would change that. But I couldn't help it. My ribs felt too tight, the breath catching somewhere behind my breastbone and refusing to come loose, and somewhere beneath the pain in my arm was a deeper ache—the kind that no physician could wrap in bandages. If he appeared right now, I'd die happy the very next second. The more I thought, the harder I sobbed.
Xian Yi shifted beside me, visibly awkward. He wiped my face with clumsy, rough strokes. "All right, all right, stop crying. I'll let you kick me. How's that?"
"That's not enough!" I hiccupped between sobs. "My arm is broken. You're offering me one kick. How is that fair?"
He went quiet for a beat, visibly stunned. "How do you say something like that with a straight face? You're the one who got what was coming to you, and you think you got the raw deal?"
I kept crying.
"Fine, fine, fine. I'll stop mentioning your uncle. I'll let you kick me. Next time I take you riding, I won't let you fall. Happy?"
That sounded reasonable. I stopped wailing, though the sniffling wouldn't quit—a little gasp every few seconds, like an aftershock. "You'd better mean it."
He nodded. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes." I wasn't exaggerating. It hurt so badly I didn't dare move even a finger. I'd never been injured like this in my life.
"Once you've healed, I'll take you to the Fanjiang night market. You've been here all this time and haven't been outside the residence once."
I'd been dying to explore—but I didn't know any of the servants well enough to ask, and I'd never been the type to demand an escort. I nodded quickly. Something soft flickered behind his eyes.
* * *
It took nearly two months for my arm to heal. Xian Yi said he'd take me out tomorrow. I was so excited I couldn't sleep—the lamp in my chamber stayed lit well past midnight.
"I hear the night market here is wonderful," Song Feng said as she combed through my hair, catching my mood and smiling along with me. We were still chatting when the door swung open and Xian Yi strolled in.
"Still awake at this hour?"
"I'm about to sleep." My smile didn't fade. I found him considerably less annoying than usual tonight.
He nodded, dropped himself into the chair beside my table, and poured himself a cup of water without being asked. Song Feng finished braiding my hair and he still hadn't left.
"Aren't you going back to your quarters?"
"You're my wife, aren't you? Where else would I go?"
I waved him off, climbed into bed, and ignored him. By now I knew well enough I wasn't his type. He just loved winding me up. He'd sit for a while and leave on his own.
Except I was drifting off when I heard the rustle of fabric. The mattress dipped beside me. Half-asleep, I murmured the name that came before any other: "Imperial Uncle..."
The word left my mouth and reality crashed down. Imperial Uncle would never be here. The warmth drained out of me like water through sand. I didn't even have the energy to shove Xian Yi off the bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" My voice came out flat and stiff.
"Sleeping," he said. Then, after a disgruntled pause: "My old flame is getting married tomorrow."
"What?" In my family's tradition, an unmarried woman barely left her chambers—so the casual way he mentioned an ex-lover's wedding threw me off balance.
"I'm worried." His voice dropped low, tinged with exaggerated sorrow. I propped myself up on one elbow, studying him in the dark. "Worried about what?"
"Worried she might call out my name when she's in bed with her husband on the wedding night. How awkward would that be?"
I thought about the Imperial Uncle that had just slipped out of my own mouth. My face burned. I sat up, took a long look at that insufferable face lying there in the dark, then grabbed the pillow and pummelled it into him with everything I had. He didn't fight back—just lay there with his arms spread, palms up, like a man accepting his punishment. I hit him and hit him, and somewhere along the way I started laughing. After a dozen or so blows I dropped my arms, panting. He raised an eyebrow.
"Why'd you stop?"
"I'm tired. Your skin's too thick—nothing hurts you anyway." I flung the pillow back into place and flopped down. We lay side by side, a clear border between us, both staring straight up at the ceiling. The Fanjiang palace ceilings were impossibly high. During the day, the walls blazed with painted patterns in colours I'd never seen—vivid, elaborate, almost alive. In the dark, they faded to shapes I could only guess at, but I could still picture how beautiful they were.
"Your buildings are hideous," I said. "Gaudy."
"Well, you'll be looking at them for the rest of your life. All those pretty things back in the Guangji Empire are gone now."
His voice was soft. "Some things only stop hurting once you let them go."
"Some things can't be let go."
"Then maybe think about how he managed to let you go?"
"I chose to come. He did it for his people. He never gave up on me."
Xian Yi laughed quietly, the cool sound vibrating against my eardrums in the dark. "You really are a fool. If it were me, ten thousand lives couldn't buy the one person I loved."
My heart gave a small, involuntary tremor. "Then who's the one you love?"
He turned his head. Our eyes met. In the darkness, those green irises glowed like a cat's—faint, predatory light. His lips parted. "Oh, there are so many. The top courtesan at the Yangling House, the scullery maid in the back kitchen..."
I should have known he couldn't stay serious for two minutes. I kicked him in the leg. "Get out."
I rolled over, hogging the blanket, and shut my eyes. He let out two muffled laughs and didn't say another word.
I listened to him. After a while, his breathing evened out—long, slow, steady. I thought about it for a moment, then pulled a corner of the blanket free and draped it over him.