Silk and bamboo music threaded the air in the Taiji Hall, while palace maids slipped between clusters of nobles like drifting petals. The Emperor had only just returned from the Qingliang Terrace with a new favorite at his side — pale as porcelain, skin like chilled marble, eyes bright as autumn water. What made her stand out most in the court, however, was not her face but her figure; unlike the usual, waifish young women of Daxia, she was lush and full in all the places that drew every gaze.
Zhongli Mingye stared until his eyes ached, but like everyone else he knew the outcome was decided already — she belonged to the Emperor.
The newcomer’s eyes never left the sovereign; she melted against him as if she had no bones at all. Where she smiled, other women’s tempers flared. Only the Empress and a few high-ranking consorts could smooth their faces; the lower-ranking ladies ground their teeth so hard their handkerchiefs were twisted into knots.
Song Jinyu saw her for the first time that night as well. The girl on the drum threw coquettish glances around the hall, several ripe batting of eyelashes aimed at no one and everyone. The Emperor seemed pleased by the display and coaxed her to sit closer — closer even than the Empress. The expression that creased the Empress’ features was ugly but she could say nothing.
Her eyes flicked to Prince Yu and his wife. When they met Song Jinyu’s face, they darkened further. Song had already spoiled the Empress’ schemes more than once.
Consort He’s small, almond-shaped eyes flashed with a lethal light. It was because of that woman, she thought, that House He had fallen. With a face like that and behavior so shameless, how could anyone not blame her? Consort He never asked after the real reasons for her family’s ruin; she only needed a scapegoat. Still, Prince Yu’s mother outranked her at court and spoke for his household in the Emperor’s presence. For now, Consort He dared not make a move on Song Jinyu.
Consort Ying laughed softly to Consort Qing, “Look at Prince Yu’s wife — so fresh and lovely. The prince can hardly take his eyes off her.”
“Indeed.” Consort Qing lifted her cup of sour plum juice with a pleased smile. “The Emperor told me this match was Prince Yu’s doing. He begged for it himself.”
“And not once,” Consort Lian chimed in airily. “Three times in all.”
“The Emperor indulged him,” Consort Qing continued, eyes soft as she glanced at Song Jinyu. “He waited until Miss Song came of age. No wonder that quiet prince pursued her so hard — she’s a rare kind of beauty.” How many young women in the capital dreamed of such a lover; fortune had smiled only on Song Jinyu.
The Emperor’s gaze chilled and swept toward the Crown Prince. Rumors of late had reached him; what people whispered had climbed into his ears like smoke. He had trusted the boy once, hoped taking him from the center and having him govern would teach him restraint. Instead the Crown Prince’s ambition had shown itself. The Emperor narrowed his eyes at the court below.
He had publicly chastised Duke Cheng, Prince Yu, and Prince Yong to make it clear that the Crown Prince’s position was not to be disturbed. Yet the son had proved unfit.
Beside him, Zhongli Mingye watched Song Jinyu with a gloom he could not hide. Seeing her troubled, he poured a chilled cup of plum juice and offered it. “This is cold-pressed and well chilled. It should open your appetite. Try a sip.”
Song took the cup but did not drink. She answered softly, “I have no appetite tonight…”
“If you’ve eaten, then let me take you home.” He tucked the loose hair behind her ear with a tenderness everyone could see, then fussed over the dishes in front of her as if he were the host. Several princes at the table stared, unable to hide their curiosity.
Ming Ruyi swallowed the wine in his mouth with a bitter look. If Song Jinyu had been his beside him, perhaps he, too, would have been shown such indulgence. But he was too late from the start.
The Emperor laughed. “Ye, you—” He would have chided Mingye, but Consort Shu stepped forward with a cup. “Your servant congratulates His Majesty on his new beauty,” she said, bowing and presenting the wine.
“Master Mingye has only recently married; the newlyweds are still in that honeyed stage.” The hall erupted with easy jests. Zhongli Mingye’s face remained unchanged; Song Jinyu wished the floor would open and swallow her.
He Yi, watching fondly, said, “Sister Yu, how lucky you are!”
Mingye, seeing she wouldn’t eat, had set a few cold dishes before her — sweet and sour bites meant to wake a flagging stomach. She refused them all. Plates were cleared, and people swilled water to freshen their mouths. The new favorite at the Emperor’s side rose and leaned close to his ear, whispering. The Emperor’s face brightened.
“Good! Shishi, dance for us.” He clapped, and the woman named Shishi climbed onto the drum already set in the center of Taiji Hall.
Even though Song Jinyu felt unwell, she could not help being drawn to the dancer. But a sharp pain in her abdomen made her color pale. The dancer’s style was different — she was from Jiangnan, they said, presented by the Tingran Pavilion as an exotic talent. Her mother was a Hu singer, and since birth she had been raised in the pavilion’s care. Song Jinyu had no time to wonder why Xiao Xueyi had sent such a girl.
When the dancer stepped down, the Emperor was delighted to the point of rashness. At once he bestowed rank upon her: “Consort Xue.” A hush and then a murmur like a rising tide swept the hall. Consort Qing and the others bit back their envy; they had climbed from dancer to concubine slowly. This girl had skipped steps and arrived as a consort in an instant. To be called “Xue” by the Emperor himself was an even greater show of favor.
Zhongli Mingye lowered his eyes and watched the wine shimmer in his crystal cup. A sliver of calculation crossed his brow — sure enough, Xiao Xueyi had found someone exceptional.
Consort He ate without appetite for an entirely different reason. It was not only Song Jinyu who irked her; it was the newly ennobled Consort Xue as well. She saw the hall’s attention fixed on the newcomer and raised her cup in a languid toast. “Your servant congratulates His Majesty on taking Consort Xue.”
Then, with the ease of a woman shifting a chess piece, she turned the conversation. “They say the Crown Prince has been unwell lately.” Her words sent the Empress and the Crown Prince’s faces tightening like a drawn cord. “I only mean well — if His Highness is indisposed, it would be prudent to seek the imperial physicians early. After all, it concerns the realm.”
The Emperor’s expression darkened. He had already planned to have the palace doctors examine his son after the banquet. But for Consort He to bring it up now was... ill-timed.
Her gaze slid toward Prince Yu. “I hear Prince Yu’s wife is skilled in medicine. She cured Princess Heyi’s fright and even treated Princess Duanya’s... delicate problem.”
Prince Yu’s face turned ashen; his look toward Consort He was like one confronting a corpse. Song Jinyu, doubled over with pain, had neither the strength nor the will to reply.
“It would be...,” Consort He added, her voice honey-sweet, “perhaps wise to have Prince Yu’s consort look after the Crown Prince. What do you say?”