The first day of the seventh month — an auspicious date. Today the Prince of Chengqin was to be wed; he was taking as his bride a lady from the Duan’an manor. From dawn the capital’s lanes and alleys swelled with people. Crowds craned their necks for the ten-mile bridal procession; a royal marriage was bound to be a spectacle, and this one united two great houses — enough to set the whole city abuzz.
Zhongli Mingye, Prince Yu, rode with the groom in the escort. The so-called “little bookboy,” Song Jinyu, had come along too, tucked into the crowd with Niaoniao and Micui, trying to see the show without drawing attention.
“They’re coming… they’re coming…”
The street thrummed with voices. Micui kept a nervous hand on Song Jinyu’s sleeve, worried someone would jostle her away. Prince Yu had been explicit that morning — protect the bookboy at all costs.
Song let the tide of people carry her forward. The groom rode high on a warhorse, head proud; behind him on either side rode the princes — Yong and Yu — their bearing confident. Thirty-two crimson sedan chairs followed, a parade of sheer ostentation. Seventy-two handsome maids scattered petals and perfumed water around the chairs as they passed.
“Did you hear? The bride’s dowry alone is worth a fortune.”
“Ha! That’s a proper match of equals.”
“Yet I heard she’s weakly — a sickly thing.”
The whisper floated over to Song. She turned to glance at the woman sheltered inside one of the chairs and felt the thought rise without effort: with the right care, she could live for decades more. A pity that such future belonged to someone who would be forced into this marriage.
As the procession drew nearer, Zhongli Mingye looked over at her. His eyes held amusement and something warmer; Song bowed her head, suddenly self-conscious.
The show passed — not only a demonstration of wealth, but of power; royal unions were arrangements of influence as much as of hearts. When it was over they returned quietly to Prince Yu’s residence.
Zhongli did not come back until late, swaying from drink. Song watched him as servants propped him toward his bed. Qingfeng lingered at the threshold and, with an apologetic bow, said, “Miss Song, please see to our lord—”
“Why me?” Song started, but Qingfeng had already shut the door and left. It wasn’t as though there weren’t maids to do the work; there was simply no arguing with a man who had been instructed personally.
She set about it. The prince slept under the scent of alcohol, heavy-breathed. She pulled off his boots, smoothed the covers, and, when she was about to leave, his hand caught at her sleeve.
“Water,” he muttered.
She brought a steaming cup, helped him sit up. He blinked awake and smiled at her with the soft, easy grin of a man who had spilled too much of himself and liked what he saw. He didn’t take the cup. Instead, his words were slurred into her ear, intimate and ridiculous in equal measure: “When we marry… ours will outshine theirs.”
She felt her cheeks warm at his boast. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow I want the dossier on the prince from the Southern Isles. He Yi’s match — I’ll look it over.” Even if she could not change the bridal arrangements ahead of time, she could at least prepare.
He shoved the cup aside with a petulant hand. “Always meddling in other people’s affairs. When will you ever mind mine?”
Song let it go. She coaxed him into drinking the tea, flashed a needle playfully in front of his eyes. “Want me to sober you up? I promise you’ll remember it.”
He took her hand, held it with half-closed eyes. “Song Jinyu…”
“Mm?”
“Finding you was… good.”
A small warmth settled in her chest. She straightened his blanket and, leaving him to his sleep, went to the study to sleep on the couch.
He woke before dawn. A smile ghosted his lips — the smile of a man with plans that ran thin and long beneath polite faces. He rose quietly and slipped from the bedchamber.
Song awoke later to Niaoniao helping her dress in men’s garments as usual. She took a folded sheet from the desk: the city’s defensive map. She spread it across her knees and looked closely. It was not something any outsider should be seeing.
The prince pushed the door open and leaned in. He grinned. “You can make heads or tails of that?”
Song bristled with a small touch of pride. “If I can’t, who can? I shouldn’t be looking at it — I only peeked while passing by.”
“This map isn’t for common eyes,” he said, picking it up. The smile fell from his face, replaced by gravity. “The capital’s defenses are vital. Outside of me, only the palace keeps a copy.”
She looked at him, thought it over, and then a conspiratorial smile touched her mouth. “That’s trouble, then. I’ve already read it. You’ll want to shuffle the placements.”
He read the mischief in her expression and sighed, amused. “Fine. Today I’ll take you to the hunt.”
She blinked. He was always careful about where she went; to send her out now was a little like testing the rule. He met her confusion with a frank, teasing look. “Yong Prince and the Duke of Zhongzhou will be there.”
The glint in his eyes was clear. He wanted to show certain people she belonged to him — especially the Duke of Zhongzhou, who had been looking at the same women with interest. No one should dare covet his woman — not even a royal uncle.
The royal hunting grounds were hot and thick with summer. Ming Ruyi — the Duke of Zhongzhou — fanned himself slowly, staring plainly at the “bookboy” at Prince Yu’s side. “Your royal uncle, don’t frighten my little bookboy,” he said without hiding his amusement.
“Bookboy?” Ming Ruyi’s eyebrows shot up. He pointed at Song. “She—”
Zhongli Mingye took her hand on purpose and walked past Ming Ruyi, light and careless. “Just as you imagined,” he said softly, letting the words hang in the air.
Song gave Ming Ruyi an apologetic smile and let herself be pulled along. The prince seemed unusually pleased with himself. Ming Ruyi pretended indignation. “Dragging her like that — you don’t want folks thinking you’re too fond of her, do you?”
“Everyone knows who she belongs to,” Zhongli replied dryly. “No one’d dare think otherwise.”
The sun beat down. “Want me to fetch you something while I’m out?” Zhongli fiddled with a bow. He handed Song a woman’s bow, smaller, lighter. “If you can’t draw it, I’ll hunt you a white fox to make up for it.”
Song’s mouth went flat. She took the bow and drew it smoothly to full draw, then loosed an arrow that punctured the target with sure, clean force. Ming Ruyi strode forward, stunned into compliment. “I never expected the daughter of that county magistrate to shoot like this.”
Song set the bow aside with a smile that was all composed amusement. “I won’t pretend to be a match for Your Highness’ skill. It’s just a hot day. You go on with your hunt.”
Zhongli read her expression and knew she wouldn’t join the run. The forest made for a pleasant shade; better to sit and watch. She found a cool spot beneath a stand of pines, cracked seeds between her teeth, and sipped tea while the hunt thundered on without her.
From where she sat the grounds were green and peaceful. For the moment, the city’s machinations, proclamations of alliances, and the bright crimson of wedding sedan chairs felt like a world away. She tucked her feet up and let the afternoon’s lull settle over her — a brief, necessary calm before whatever came next.