Page 11 of The Nightblood Prince

As I lay dying, I waited for darkness to consume me.

Instead, I saw only bright memories.

Of him.

Once, when I was younger and smaller, Siwang asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I said great golden wings to fly over the palace walls. So he gave me a robe with real golden feathers sewn into the sleeves and snuck me out into the city to light lanterns and watch New Year’s fireworks.

The air was cold that night, but his hand was warm, holding mine.

“What use is combat to an empress who will be protected by the emperor of all emperors?” Siwang’s martial arts teacher had said when Siwang asked if I could join his lessons. “She is beautiful to look at. There is nothing else you need from a wife.”

When he said this, I bit my tongue so he would not see me cry, until I tasted copper.

When I asked Siwang to teach me in secret, my request was met with his hesitant frown. Yet when I pursed my lips and gazed up at him with teary eyes, Siwang melted like ice under the summer sun.

水滴石穿 . With time, water can wear down rocks.

And Siwang wasn’t a rock. He was clay in my hand, so easily molded into whatever I wanted him to be.

Just as Siwang eventually molded me into a semi-satisfactory student—with the help of the phoenix’s mark, of course.

If I ever covered the mark, my visions would fail to manifest, and I became as terrible of a shot as the sordid noble sons who preferred mischief over knowledge, leisure over practice.

Over time, constant practice eventually gave me a semblance of skill.

Each time my arrow found its target without aid from the phoenix’s mark felt like a victory.

Each time I looked over my shoulder, he was there, cheering and flashing that proud, boyish grin.

I used to feel so warm, bathed in his light.

The palace walls were tall, so my winter days were darker than most.

When it snowed and the other kids failed to show up for class, I always cried.

Because I knew they were on the other side of these walls playing, laughing, probably building snowmen and sledding down hills.

Having fun without me. Doing all the things I wished I could do but would never be allowed to, given the endless palace rules.

Each time, Siwang took my hand and let me chase him around the imperial gardens and hit him with fistfuls of snow until his fur coats were white with ice.

He let me boss him around for hours, rolling giant snowballs so that I would have the biggest snowman of all our classmates.

He’d help me build it right outside our classroom and look for the shiniest pebbles for its eyes and drape his favorite coats around it.

I always proudly wrote my name under my creations. Every day, as the snow scattered in the wind and my name disappeared, Siwang wrote it again and again until it all melted under the early-spring sun.

So that everyone knew that the snowman who wore the crown prince’s favorite winter coat was mine.

Never has a prince doted on a single girl so much, the court said.

When I got sick, Siwang would spend hours in the kitchen with the imperial cooks and learn how to make ginger and beef-bone broths for me.

When I cried, Siwang would hold my hand. He would tell me stories and bad jokes until I giggled.

Whatever I wanted, if Siwang had it, he would give it to me without question. If he didn’t have it, he would move mountains to get it for me.

If I wanted to see a play, he would either sneak me out of the palace or have the entire performance set up in the palace for me to watch.

If I liked a song, he would learn to sing it for me whenever I wanted.

If I liked a book, he would recite every word to match me in verse.

Rong Siwang.

My only friend inside the palace.

The only thing that had made these seventeen years worth living.

My safe harbor.

The one person who would do anything for me.

The only good thing that had come out of this prophecy.

He loved me. I knew he loved me. I would be stupid not to see it.

But did he love Lifeng Fei the girl, or Lifeng Fei the empress of all empresses? And could this love withstand the test of time?

“How can you leave him, Fei? Do you not love him?” my sister asked, weeks ago.

Some days, I wondered if Father was right, that it would be futile trying to fight what was written in the stars.

But while I could love Rong Siwang the boy, I refused to love Rong Siwang the prince who wanted to rule the world.

The man whose greed might one day bring calamity to Yong’An and cause the deaths of everyone we had ever met.