“Your Highness, do you require my assistance? If not, I’ll retire for the night.”
“Will you listen to me?” The light in his eyes was extinguished, drowned in an abyss.
I stood up, my legs like planks of wood. He reached for my arm but I recoiled, not wanting to be touched—least of all by him.
“Very well.” His voice was taut. “You may assist me tonight.”
I followed him in silence to his room. I lit the lamps, heated the coals in the brazier, warmed a jug of wine, and brought him a fresh set of clothes. On the table, I placed his books and materials for tomorrow. I had performed these tasks for him countless times before, yet never with such cold precision nor such an unwilling heart.
He stood there, watching me with those dark, unfathomable eyes. When he raised his arms, I slipped off his dark blue coat and then his white and silver robe, hanging them up on a wooden stand. I drew out the gold hairpin and plucked the crown from his head. His hair fell over his shoulders and I combed through it, careful not to let a single strand touch me.
When I finished, I bowed and turned to leave.
“I have not dismissed you,” he said quietly.
“I have performed all my duties. What else do you need me to help you with?” My voice was flat, my heart leaden. I could not stomach this pretense for much longer.
“Sit. Listen.” He added, “Please.”
Though my pride raged at me to leave, I lowered myself onto a chair. Staring at the flickering candle on the table, I decided that I would stay until it was extinguished. No more would he have of me.
Liwei sat beside me, running his hands through his hair. I noted with detachment that my efforts with the comb had been for naught.
“My mother always wanted to strengthen our ties with the Phoenix Kingdom. They are a powerful domain, a desirable alliance, and her kin—although Queen Fengjin is a distant relation. When the sunbirds were slain, shot down under our watch, the bond between our kingdoms was strained.”
He drew a ragged breath. “It was then that she pushed harder for a betrothal between Princess Fengmei and me. I never agreed, even though it was my duty, what was expected of me. I had no wish to marry someone I did not love. Years passed and I believed she had abandoned the idea. When I left you yesterday, I went to my parents, intending to tell them of us. They informed me then that a betrothal had been settled that very day between Princess Fengmei and me. Of course, I refused! But they explained the urgency of the union. Beyond prestige, it was to ensure our survival. The Phoenix Queen is restless. According to our spies, our enemies have made overtures to her to join against us. We can’t afford to lose the friendship of the Phoenix Kingdom now, much less have them as our enemy. Not when we’ve been weakened after the war with the Demon Realm. Not when we’re threatened by them still. The truce between us hangs by the most tenuous of threads, likely to snap should they gain the advantage—and we are certain they are scheming against us, even now.”
He continued in that dull, flat tone. “I must protect my kingdom and family, however I can. I cannot willfully do anything which might endanger them. I cannot be selfish, no matter how much I want to be.”
Silence stretched between us, as wide as a gaping chasm.
His words were meant to be a comfort, but I was wretched inside. Perhaps I could have borne it better if he were forced. But to know he had accepted this betrothal of his own will hurt more than a fist plowed into my gut.
Yet logic was merciless and reason relentless, unsparing of my wounded heart. Would I have chosen any differently from what he had? Would I not have made any sacrifice to save my family and home?
It was not enough. Not enough to ease this ache in my chest, this lump in my throat, this queasiness churning in the pit of my stomach. He had said he loved me, and then promised himself to another. I was sick with these writhing, twisting emotions which swelled and burned and scorched from within. But he would not know my despair; I would not tell him. Not to spare his feelings but my own. To weep before him, to beg or plead—that I could not bear. Whatever happened, I would hold my head up high. My pride was what I had clung to during my most trying times, it was what I had left now.
But it was not easy. I fixed my gaze upon the wavering candlelight, fighting for calm. Why was it that the times which called for greatest strength were when we were at our weakest? I looked away from him, not from spite, but to hide my tears.
Remembering the folded note in my pouch, I pulled it out with trembling fingers. How cruelly prophetic my jest; there were indeed no prizes in this game of hearts. My grip tightened around the paper, crushing it into a ball. How foolish I had been to think everything would work out, just like in the books I had read: the lost child found by his mother, the monster defeated by a valiant warrior, the princess saved by the prince. But I was no princess and fairy tales did not exist for the likes of me, not even in heaven.