Voices leaked through the crack of the door in a slow, ragged cadence—soft whimpers, breathy laughter, the intimate sounds of two bodies tangled together on the brocaded bed inside the main hall of Weiyang Palace.
“Don’t… don’t—” The woman’s protest sounded small and helpless, but her hands tightened around the man’s neck, her body pressed hard to his chest.
The contradiction made the man laugh. He brushed a thumb over her pert nose. “Little tigress,” he teased.
“Stop it,” she crooned instead, eyes fluttering with mischief.
He felt his blood warm. His hands worked with more purpose. “Which is it—hate or want?”
She sniffed and answered in a voice dripping with sweetness, “Of course I want it.”
The air in the room stank with desire.
Outside, hidden among the peony bushes, An Xingzhi stood perfectly still. A smile of satisfaction curved her lips; the success of her scheme sat cold and delicious in her chest. If she had not been in the middle of the palace she might have laughed outright.
Her pupils darkened as she replayed the scene in her mind.
After being shamed by Consort An in Chenggan Palace, she had stormed away, furious. In a fit of temper she had picked at a peony in the imperial garden, tearing its petals to pieces—until a low, cautious voice stopped her. She had looked up and seen Wang Fuhai huddled with two small eunuchs, whispering like conspirators, glancing about as if the wind might snitch on them. Luckily her slight frame and the peonies concealed her, and she slid between the blooms to listen with Lan’er.
“Did you two hear that clearly?” Wang Fuhai tapped each boy’s forehead with an admonishing finger. “If this goes well, I’ll reward you handsomely. If it fails—make sure you study how your posteriors blossom.”
The smaller eunuch instinctively hugged his backside. “Yes, Daddy—”
One had a scarred face and a crafty light in his eye. “Daddy, I heard the Deshi’s fiancée is drop-dead gorgeous… aren’t you tempted—”
Deshi’s fiancée? Ning Yuwan.
An Xingzhi’s brows twitched. The conversation circled Ning Yuwan. She kept still, listening.
The boy backed off, not saying directly what was in his head, but Wang Fuhai caught the implication and smiled, low and pleased. “You’d have the nerve to steal from your master? Are you asking Daddy to die so you can sit in my chair?”
The boy quickly massaged Wang Fuhai’s shoulder and bowed, oily as a reed. “Lord Wang, I would never be ungrateful. I only worry you might miss your chance.”
Wang Fuhai studied him. The boy’s eyes were sharp even if his face was guileless. “Who wouldn’t want a chance at a beauty?” He admitted it plainly in ten words.
The boy’s grin broadened. “It’s simple. You get the noblewoman to bring the Deshi’s bride to Weiyang. If her gown is somehow stained, she’ll be forced to change in a side chamber.”
Wang Fuhai’s laughter was quick and cruel. He patted the boy’s head. “You’re a clever one.”
It was laugh that held calculation. An Xingzhi felt the chill of it. The plan was to compromise the young woman—get her isolated while she changed and then make whatever move the men wished. Eunuchs crave what they cannot have; when desire takes root in men whose lives are otherwise barren, the ways they seek satisfaction are often ugly and violent.
Her fingers crushed the peony in her hand until the petals were a pulpy mess, then flung the smashed bloom to the earth.
“Miss, I didn’t expect that eunuch to have such filthy thoughts,” Lan’er whispered in her ear. “If they set their sights on the Deshi’s fiancée today, she’s in serious trouble.”
An Xingzhi and Ning Yuwan had been raised together; the two families had long-standing ties. An had been a companion to a princess and understood palace undercurrents. Eunuchs were supposed to be loyal servants, but some—deprived of their manhood—were all the more dangerous when they desired a woman. They schemed and used every trick to get what they wanted. A woman targeted by them would be ruined.
Today, Ning Yuwan would suffer. The thought sent a fierce thrill through An Xingzhi. She wanted Ning Yuwan not merely disgraced—she wanted her utterly broken.
The only question left was who Wang Fuhai meant by “master.” He’d mentioned fighting with his master over her; someone else in the palace also wanted Ning Yuwan. Wang Fuhai was one of the leading eunuchs—he took orders from Emperor Chu and Empress Chu. Even Consort An had to be careful with him.
An Xingzhi’s mind flew through possibilities. Could it be the emperor himself? No—an emperor had a thousand concubines at his feet. He would command any woman and not need to scheme behind her back. Besides, today was the Empress’s birthday, a day when the emperor and empress presented a united front; he would not sully the occasion.
So the thought fell to the Empress. Why would Empress Chu want Ning Yuwan compromised? An Xingzhi did not know the answer—she could not have guessed that the one she had consigned to a separate corner of her heart as “the emperor” was closer to the true culprit than she suspected.
Lan’er returned moments later, breathless. “Miss, Wang Fuhai just went into Kunning Palace.”
“And?” An asked.
Lan’er bit her lip. “The Second Prince went into Kunning Palace too.”
Chu Heyao.
An Xingzhi’s lips curled. How had she forgotten him? If it was the Second Prince, the whole thing made sense. The Second Prince had been infatuated with Ning Yuwan at the flower-viewing banquet, and the Empress had every motive to help her son’s wishes along. She must have had Wang Fuhai orchestrate it to be sure of success.
A slow, cruel pleasure unfurled inside her. Ning Yuwan in trouble—An’s heart lightened. But she didn’t only want Ning Yuwan humiliated; she wanted ruin without rescue.
“Miss An, what are we going to do?” Lan’er’s whisper was urgent.
An Xingzhi looked into the garden where the peonies rocked in a gentle wind. “Follow them,” she said simply. “And make sure someone tells no one else.”
They moved like shadows.
“Miss An? Miss An?” Startled, a voice behind them made both women spin. Song Yiran was standing there in the shade, eyes wide. “What are you two whispering about?”
An’s smile sharpened and then smoothed out. She feigned a look of innocence and drew Song Yiran closer, voice honeyed. “Yiran, I have the most marvelous news for you.”
Song Yiran blinked. “What news?”
An leaned forward and murmured the whole story, the pieces arranged to sound irresistible. When she finished, Song Yiran’s face went pale as she realized what An had just offered.
“You want me to be the Second Prince’s wife?” she asked, disbelief mingling with longing. Of course she wanted to be. Who wouldn’t? But Song Yiran was not as crafty as An. She lacked Ning Yuwan’s beauty and could not rival Pei Yunlu’s family connections. A prince would not naturally come looking for her.
An’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush. “If you do exactly as I say, I can promise I’ll make you his wife.”
Yiran hesitated, lip between teeth. “He’s a prince—beyond my reach.”
“Not if I pull the strings.” An stroked the idea like a cat pawing a mouse. “You do this, and I will see you installed at his side.”
Song Yiran’s eyes gleamed at the possibility. Behind her, the palace roofs glittered under the sun, and unseen within Kunning Palace, plots and passions were already moving into place. An Xingzhi watched her friend, satisfaction tightening her chest like a glove. Today would set many fates spinning—and she would be the hand that turned the wheel.