by CK Dawn
At my side, Crown Princess Xiulan glided across the chirping floorboards. If only I could move with the nonchalant grace of my sister-in-law, or even the six handmaidens trailing us. I dug my nails into my clammy palms. Through this choreographed farce, appearances had to be maintained, lest I embarrass Father, the Emperor.
Chin up, back straight. A racing heart threatened to ruin my already meager semblance of imperial grace. Eyes forward. Servants knelt on either side of the looming double doors, ready to slide them open. I forced a smile, with my best approximation of feminine charm. If only I’d lived before Dragon Songs had faded into legend, I could’ve sent the realm’s victorious hero fleeing with the song he supposedly wanted to hear.
An aging palace official stepped into my line of sight.
Singular focus on the doors broken, I blinked. My fluttering pulse lurched to a stop as I blew out a breath.
His blue robes ruffled as he tottered forward with averted eyes and a bobbing head. He creaked down into a bow. “Emergency, Your Highness,” he said. “The Emperor commands you to greet a foreign delegation in the Hall of Bountiful Harvests.”
My heart remembered to beat again, and I looked first toward the doors and then down at the man, whose insignias marked him as a secretary for the Ministry of Appointments. Outlandish excuses had mercifully cut short each of the previous meetings with eligible young lords: six times in all.
But a foreign delegation? Before even meeting the suitor? That was a first. My expression slipped as much as it could beneath the layers of pearl powder caked to my face. “There must be a mistake. Surely the honor would fall to the Crown Prince.”
He bowed his head again. “No, Your Highness. With your linguistic talents, the Emperor thought you better suited to meet with them.”
Apparently, small talk with some foreign lord’s wife constituted an emergency these days. Still, the unspoken message needed little interpretation: the foreigners were beneath a prince.
At least it meant delaying the matchmaking. I cast a glance at Xiulan. “Then shall the Crown Prince take my place and sing to General Lu?”
My supposed chaperone covered a giggle with slender fingers.
The man’s eyes darted back and forth, his lips quivering. “I...I…”
Xiulan stepped forward and brushed her hand across my arm. “Go on, meet with the foreigners. I will explain things to the general.”
I bowed my head. “As you command, Eldest Sister.” I turned to the official, gesturing with an open hand for him to take the lead.
As my legs wobbled after him, two of the handmaidens fell in behind. They were more beautiful than me, even after my hours of preening to smother meddlesome acne and subdue unruly hair.
Which now meant I’d look ridiculous receiving dignitaries. Like an opera singer, maybe. “Who are our guests?”
The official coughed. “Prince Hardeep Vaswani of Ankira.”
A man? My stomach leapt into my throat. With limited court training, I might be able to entertain a lady. But a prince... Without any experience in diplomacy, this was an international incident waiting to happen. Given the choice between greeting foreign royalty and the prospect of marriage, that trip into Avarax’s jaws sounded tempting. “What does he want?” I asked.
“He has been in the capital for a week now, incessantly requesting an audience.”
And now they were sending me, an awkward sixteen-year-old, undoubtedly as a message. Prince Hardeep wouldn’t see the Emperor until my complexion cleared or the orc gods returned on their flaming chariots, whichever came first. A betting princess would put her money on the orc gods.
I sighed. After preparing to play the role of demure and dainty maiden before a potential husband, this new situation required a confident demeanor…and neither felt right.
There was no time to tone down the make-up or change the extravagant gown. Unpinning the outer robe’s constraining fold, I squared my shoulders and lengthened my gait.
No, this wasn’t bad. It was a reprieve from meeting a dour general. I could do this. How hard could it be? With each step, I concentrated on composing a dignified expression. By the time we arrived at the moat separating the castle from the rest of the sprawling palace grounds, I’d mentally transformed myself from prospective bride into imperial representative.
Right. I still looked like the former, and felt like neither.
At the head of the bridge waited eight imperial guards dressed in blue court robes. The magic etched into their breastplates’ five-clawed dragon evoked awe, though I’d grown used to it over the years.
“Your Highness,” the guards shouted in unison. They each dropped to one knee, fist to the ground. The most talented swordsmen in the realm submitted to me, a pimply girl, for nothing more than the circumstances of my birth.
If only I could live up to the accompanying expectations. I acknowledged them with a nod. Bowing, the handmaidens shuffled back. The imperial guards deployed behind me. I crossed the stone bridge, leaving behind the relative comfort of private life to enter the formal world of the imperial court.
We wound through stone-paved alleys. White buildings with blue-tiled eaves rose up beyond spotless courtyard walls with circular windows. At the Hall of Bountiful Harvests, I walked up the veranda and stepped over the ghost-tripping threshold.
Inside, three chattering men gestured at the green ceiling panels and gold latticework. Their burgundy kurta shirts hung to their knees, collars riding high on their necks. On their left breasts sparkled an embroidered nine-pointed lotus, the crest of the embattled nation of Ankira.
The visitors’ discussion came to an abrupt halt as they turned to greet me, heads bowed and palms pressed together. Dark bronze skin and rounded features marked them as ethnic Ayuri. Meticulously coifed black hair fell to their shoulders. The centermost man, taller and more handsome than his companions, met my gaze.
With blue irises, luminous like the blue moon Guanyin’s Eye. They captured my image in their liquid depths and reflected it back, more beautiful than make-up could accomplish. Maybe even as beautiful as Xiulan.
He tilted his head and flashed a smoldering smile.
I cast my eyes down, only to peek up through my lashes. My lips twitched, struggling against all discipline in their urge to return the smile. Ridiculous! Where had the carefully crafted mask of an imperial diplomat fled to? I tightened my mouth, squared my chin, and looked up.
When he spoke, his voice flowed out of his mouth like honeysuckle vines, entangling me. “I am Prince Hardeep. You must be the Princess of Cathay. The stories of your beauty do you no justice.”
What? Nobody could say my plain looks warranted praise, at least not sincerely. Yet his earnest words sounded nothing like the hollow compliments of court sycophants and suitors.
Heat rose to my cheeks, threatening to melt away the make-up, and my nominally dignified expression with it. His language tumbled off my tongue, accent lilting in my ears. “Welcome to Sun-Moon Palace, Prince Hardeep. I act as the ears of my father, the Emperor.”
Cringe-worthy. I could speak Ayuri better than that. Almost perfectly, but—
“And your voice! Saraswati, Goddess of the Arts, would be jealous. Perhaps you would sing for me?”
My head swam. My mouth opened to beg off the unexpected request, but no words came out.
He waved a hand, and his manner stiffened. “I forget myself. Your song would certainly invigorate me, and I confess I hoped to catch a glimpse of you during my visit. However, my country’s needs are more pressing. I have a request of your Emperor.”
Whatever spell his previous tone had woven through my mind loosened enough to free my voice. “I am afraid you misinterpret his intentions. By sending me, he has already denied you.” No. Had I just said that? I covered my mouth. If only Avarax would swoop in and devour me now.
The Ankiran prince’s lips melted into a frown and his attention shifted to my slippers. “Please hear our entreaty. The Kingdom of Madura occupies almost al
l of Ankira, in part because of their twice-renewed trade agreement with Cathay. For almost thirty years, you have sold them firepowder. Now, our soldiers are weary and our coffers depleted. The agreement expires soon. We ask—no, beg—that you not renew it.”
Released from his gaze, my brain began to clear. “How were you able to make it through the Maduran lines?”
Prince Hardeep raised his head. I avoided those mesmerizing eyes, and instead focused on his chin as he spoke. “One of your lords, Peng Kai-Long, has long supported us. I came with him on a Cathayi trade ship.”
It made sense. Cousin Kai-Long served as a trade negotiator in Ayuri lands and knew many influential people in Tivaralan’s South. He’d recently returned to the capital to attend the upcoming wedding of Second Brother.
“He is my father’s favorite nephew,” I said. “I am sure he could present a more convincing argument to the Son of Heaven than I.”
Prince Hardeep shook his head. “Search inside yourself and speak with your heart. A father cannot deny the compassionate voice of his beloved daughter. Please. Our riches have been plundered, our people enslaved.” His voice beckoned my head up. “Widows must sell their bodies, while orphans starve in the streets.”
His dejected gaze twisted into me. My heart, suddenly hot, sank into my belly. Father must not have known the consequences of Cathay’s trade agreement, since he ruled with the moral authority of Heaven. Here was a chance to show my understanding of statecraft, to prove I was worthy of my noble birth, while helping a downtrodden people.
“I will convey your message. Please make yourself comfortable until my return.” I paused for a moment to search his expression. All signs of his earlier frivolity were gone. He’d just been toying with me to get what he wanted.
It didn’t matter. It was the right thing to do. All the heroes from my favorite songs would’ve done the same. With an inward sigh, I turned and swept out of the hall, guards marching behind me.
Outside, I took a deep breath of cool spring air to calm my thoughts and ease the hot constriction in my chest. Never before had a man made my pulse race like that. Then again, I had nothing but six fawning suitors with which to compare him.
No, this had nothing to do with Prince Hardeep’s charm. An entire nation suffered, with Cathay’s complicity. Father had always preached morality, demanded me to always do the right thing. I turned to the official. “Where is the Emperor now?”
The old man gawked. “I don’t think—”
I cast a silencing glare.
He bowed his head. “In the Hall of Supreme Harmony.”
As the palace’s central audience chamber, the Hall of Supreme Harmony was just a few minutes away, up one hundred sixty-eight arduous steps. Father rode an ornate golden palanquin to the top, but I, like anyone else who wasn’t the Emperor, had to climb.
Each step planted a seed of doubt in my head. A princess had no business in politics, besides solidifying loyalties through marriage. Remonstrating Father in front of all the lords and ministers would embarrass him, so much that he would have no choice but to punish me.
Two
Intents and Purposes
The shuffling of court robes and the cloying scent of incense greeted me as I stepped over the high threshold and into the cavernous hall. Dozens of golden columns vaulted toward the ceiling, where a tiled mosaic depicted a dragon and phoenix circling each other. I mused over their symbolic significance. The male dragon and female phoenix represented balance, even though men and women’s roles were far from equal.
All the more reason not to be here, presenting a case Father had no intention of hearing. I ventured down an aisle formed by dozens of kneeling ministers and hereditary lords. Save for Eldest Brother Kai-Guo, all pressed their heads to the marble floor as I made my way toward the white marble dais. Carved into its sides were dozens of bat and lotus symbols, which I counted to calm my nerves.
Father slouched on the Jade Throne, which was chiseled in the form of a coiled dragon. Yellow robes embroidered with auspicious symbols on the chest and elbows hung over his gaunt frame. Gone was the robust optimism I remembered from my childhood. Mother’s recent passing had left the gold phoenix throne at his side as empty as his heart. As always, General Zheng, bearing the Broken Sword, stood a step behind him.
A lump formed in my throat. I sank to both knees. Stretching my arms out to straighten my sleeves, I placed my hands in front of me as I pressed my forehead to the floor.
Father’s voice wobbled. “Rise, my daughter.”
I straightened and met his piercing regard, one that warned not to mention the foreign prince. My clenching chest squeezed out all my resolve.
No. Father would never condone the suffering of Prince Hardeep and his people for mere profit. The assembled lords must be hiding the truth. Someone had to tell him, lest Heaven punish the realm for its immorality. I lifted my chin. “Please hear the request of Prince Hardeep Vaswani of Ankira.”
Behind me, the lords and ministers stifled gasps.
Yet Father’s expression softened. “What does Prince Hardeep ask of Cathay?”
“Your Exaltedness,” I said. “He asks that we cease sales of firepowder to the Madurans.”
The ministers broke into a low murmur until Chief Minister Tan rose to one knee, head bowed. “Your Exaltedness, I negotiated our original agreement with Madura. It has been mutually beneficial.”
Beneficial. Riches for Cathay, conquest for Madura. Misery for my Prince Hardeep’s Ankira. Breaking all decorum, I spun and scowled at Chief Minister Tan. Fine lines of age framed his triangular face, giving him a foxlike appearance. When I released him from my glare, he averted his eyes as protocol demanded.
I turned back to Father. “Your Exaltedness, do the Five Classics not say that a ruler must act morally? Our actions have led to an unenviable situation in Ankira that we should seek to rectify.”
Cousin Peng Kai-Long rose up to one knee. “Your Exaltedness, I agree with the princess. Not only that, but once the Madurans pacify Ankira, and the trade agreement does expire, they will turn their ambitions toward us.”
Chief Minister Tan shook his head. “We are their source of firepowder. They will make war with someone else.”
And spread despair, with Cathay’s complicity. I formulated a dignified response in my head. What kind of country put profit over people? Not only should they not renew the trade agreement… “A moral nation would terminate the treaty now.”
More murmurs, undoubtedly from greedy lords who cared more about gold than morality.
“Unfortunately, that is not an option,” the Chief Minister said. “In the original negotiations, I bore an imperial plaque. To go against our word, sealed with a plaque, is tantamount to the Emperor forsaking the Mandate of Heaven. It would invite another Hellstorm.”
I sucked in my breath at the implication. Three centuries before, the last emperor of the Yu Dynasty had reneged on his plaque-bound obligations. The gods rained divine fire from the sky as punishment, blasting open a new sea in the fertile plains of the Ayuri South and plunging the world into the Long Winter.
It was unusual for an imperial plaque to be used in simple trade negotiations, since it represented the honor of the Emperor. However, as a girl—even as a princess—I couldn’t challenge the Chief Minister’s word directly. I raised an eyebrow at him. “How much longer does the agreement last?”
Tan’s brows furrowed as he looked to the ceiling. “A year, maybe? I do not recall.”
Prince Hardeep didn’t have a year. I turned back to Father. “Should we delay a decision until we find the original contract in the Trade Ministry’s archives?”
The Emperor straightened on the throne. He waved toward the lords and officials. “Everyone but Crown Prince Kai-Guo, Young Lord Peng, and Princess Kaiya will withdraw for tea.”
All present bowed their foreheads to the floor before rising. Whether they drank tea or not, the Emperor’s suggestion left no doubt, they would drink something, so
mewhere else. They filed out in precise order.
Pulse skittering, I folded my hands into my lap. Father’s stare might as well have been a dwarven anvil on my shoulders.
Once the room cleared, servants closed the doors. The hall seemed more cavernous with only Eldest Brother, Cousin Kai-Long, and a dozen imperial guards remaining, and was made even more so by the Emperor’s echoing voice.
“Kai-Long,” he said. “It seems the foreign prince ignored our unspoken denial and deigned to pressure the princess into acting as his mouthpiece.”
Cousin Kai-Long pressed his head to the floor. “Your Exaltedness, forgive me for suggesting it.”
I found him in the corner of my eye. My stomach felt hollow. I’d failed all their expectations, even when doing the right thing by helping Ankira.
“I warned you, Cousin.” Eldest Brother Kai-Guo’s lips drew into a tight line. “Kaiya isn’t trained. She should have just occupied him with idle banter. She is more musician than diplomat.”
Heat pulsated in my cheeks. Apparently, they’d forgotten I was kneeling right there beside them. Then Eldest Brother’s attention fell on my hand, which was subconsciously twirling a lock of my hair, proving his point. I jerked the hand back to my lap.
Kai-Guo looked to the throne. “Father, may I speak freely?”
“I would not have sequestered the family if not to allow you the latitude.”
Kai-Guo bowed his head. “Then if I may, you dote on Kaiya to the detriment of the realm. She wastes her time on music when she should be learning how to be a proper princess. You could have ordered her to marry any six of the previous young lords she met. Instead, you not only allowed her to choose, you pulled her out of matchmaking meetings.”