The last light of the setting sun slanted across the vast expanse of earth. The distant mountains were majestic, their outlines touched with a faint golden rim by the fading sun, sea-like clouds rolling dimly along their slopes. Before my eyes lay a sweep of deep, saturated green that seemed to have no end, stretching all the way to where the sky and land met. I had never known that these frontier meadows could be so boundless — many times greater than the imperial hunting grounds. The sky was vast, the mountains and rivers were magnificent, and even an emperor could not gather all of it into his arms.

Xiao Qi had brought me out of the city to see this splendid frontier, these boundless open plains, to see the land he had opened with his own hands. Just ten years ago, the ground beneath our feet had still been Turkic territory, these fertile and beautiful green meadows still occupied by foreign peoples. Not until the Battle of Ningshuo, when Xiao Qi shattered the Turkic forces and pushed the empire’s borders six hundred li further north — all the way to the foot of Mount Hudu — did all of this become what it now was.

For the first time I was moved, truly moved, by the beauty of the land and sky. Beyond the nine-layered palace walls there was another kind of power — one that humbled a person even more than imperial majesty.

Xiao Qi raised his riding crop and pointed into the distance. “That is Mount Hudu — the highest peak in the northern frontier. Snow caps its summit all year, through ten thousand years, and no one has ever managed to climb above the midway point. The pastoral people of the north have passed down through the ages that the summit is the dwelling of the gods, not to be desecrated by mortals.”

“I have never been anywhere so high,” I said with sincere wonder, my heart filled with longing.

“Nor have I — only as far as the midpoint.” He smiled with a kind of quiet acceptance, and said, “The only thing in this world that commands my reverence is the power of heaven and earth.”

Such an unbowed and sweeping declaration was not the first time I had heard it from his lips. When I first heard it, I was startled. Now I accepted it with equanimity. From anyone else, such words would seem arrogant and presumptuous. From his mouth alone, it was said so lightly and so naturally that to hear it felt self-evident.

“Beyond that mountain range lies the great desert — barren yellow sands in every direction, where towering dunes become flat plains in an instant, where chasms of shifting sand plunge to unseen depths, stretching north for hundreds of li before the first oasis appears. And further north still — that is Turkic territory.”

Following the direction of his raised crop, I let my imagination wander over the howling northern desert, and felt a restless yearning stir inside me.

The wind blew strong and steady, lifting the hem of his traveling cloak, and tossing my long hair into dancing disorder.

We rode side by side at an easy pace, no guards following behind, every worldly trouble left behind — just two riders drifting through the quiet, wide-open plains. The sky grew higher, the heart grew wider, and we drew closer and closer to each other.

The last streak of sunset blazed brilliant gold, flooding all things under heaven with dazzling light.

Looking toward where the sun neared the edge of the sky and earth, something suddenly rose in me — a surge of open, boundless confidence. I turned back to Xiao Qi and raised an eyebrow with a smile. “Shall the Prince try his horsemanship against mine?”

Xiao Qi broke into a full, hearty laugh, reined in his horse to a stop, and called out, “I’ll give you a head start of three hundred paces!”

I gave no answer. Instead, I reached back and struck his black horse sharply with my riding crop. Mo Jiao, a horse that had likely never been struck by another’s hand, was provoked by the insult and instantly reared up with an indignant cry. Xiao Qi was caught off guard — but before he could react, I had already pressed my heels hard into my horse’s flanks and leapt forward.

My horse, named Jing Yun, was no ordinary breed either — pure white from head to tail, its long mane like pressed frost, galloping as though it rode the wind and trod the clouds.

Xiao Qi spurred his horse in pursuit. Mo Jiao was indeed extraordinary — it came on like a bolt of lightning.

The black horse and the white drew gradually level, and Xiao Qi turned his head to look at me, his eyes bright with admiration, calling out with a laugh, “How many more surprises are you hiding?”

I smiled without answering, raised my crop and urged my horse on, letting the wind tear at my sleeves and send them billowing, my long hair streaming out behind me — as though flying through the boundless green of the plains on the very breath of the wind. The breeze was laced with the fragrance of earth and grass, and I felt as though my very soul was drunk on it.

I had learned to ride from my uncle, and my horsemanship was unmatched among the women of the capital — even my brother had once conceded defeat to me. Yet seeing Xiao Qi’s riding skill, I could only bow to him sincerely. Mo Jiao’s ability also surpassed Jing Yun’s by a measure. Both Jing Yun and I were beginning to tire, while Xiao Qi remained composed and unhurried, and Mo Jiao only seemed to grow more spirited and proud.

“I yield — you win!” I drew a deep breath, unable to bring myself to push my horse further, and tossed my riding crop to Xiao Qi with a laugh.

“The Princess Consort concedes too generously.” Xiao Qi smiled and bent forward slightly in acknowledgment, reining in to a gentler pace, his gaze soft and warm as it settled on me. “Are you tired?”

I shook my head with a smile and smoothed my hair at my temples. It was only then that I realized how far we had gone — in every direction, boundless wilderness stretched on without end, and the sky had already darkened. Dusk was closing in. Wildflowers bloomed in bright, abundant clusters across the green meadow, and in the distance stood several felt yurts and wooden dwellings, where pastoral families had already lit their campfires and begun their evening cook fires. Herds of cattle and sheep were being driven home by shepherd children, and the happy, melodious sounds of a pastoral song drifted over from among the flocks.

“Where are we? We have ridden so far!” I exclaimed in surprise and laughed.

Xiao Qi put on a very serious expression. “It seems we will not be able to return to the city tonight. We will have to sleep out in the open.”

I stuck out my tongue and feigned alarm, “What shall we do — will there be wolves?”

“No wolves,” said Xiao Qi, with a half-smile playing on his lips as he glanced at me. “But there is one man.”

The tips of my ears suddenly burned. I pretended not to understand and turned my head away — but I could not help laughing.

Night had fallen, and we made our way to the few households of those pastoral families, arriving just as the herdsmen were returning from the fields. The women had already cooked a fragrant, rich meat soup, and were ladling out steaming bowls of warm sheep’s milk.

Our arrival as unexpected guests brought these warm-hearted and simple herders great delight. No one asked after our origins or identities — they only brought out the best food and drink to treat us, receiving us as honored guests. Several young men clustered around Mo Jiao and Jing Yun, clicking their tongues in admiration. The women, without a trace of shyness or reserve, gathered curiously around us, laughing and chattering about us with open good will. They marveled at my appearance and at my skin, as white as fresh cow’s milk, and at my hair, as smooth as silk — these were the most artless and endearing words of praise I had ever received.

When the wine had flowed long enough, the people began to sing and dance around the bonfire. They played instruments I had never seen before and sang songs in a language I could not understand.

Xiao Qi leaned close and murmured in my ear, “That is the Turkic language.”

I had already begun to sense it. I said quietly, “Not all of them are people from the Central Plains, are they.”

Xiao Qi smiled and nodded. “The north has always been home to many peoples living side by side, intermarrying freely. Most of the herders are of Hu descent, with customs and ways quite unlike those of the Central Plains.”

I nodded gently, a wave of feeling moving through me. We had been at war with the Turkic people for many years, and the enmity between the two kingdoms ran deep — yet ordinary people lived together in harmony. Over more than a hundred years of intermarriage, of shared lives built on this same land, we had become so intertwined that each carried the other within. The borders of a territory might be drawn by swords and spears, but the ties of blood and custom cannot be easily severed.

An elder with a white beard invited Xiao Qi to drink with him in turn. Xiao Qi had just returned to his seat when a rosy-cheeked young woman walked up, a bowl of wine held out boldly toward Xiao Qi. The men and women around them erupted in laughter, all eyes fixed openly on us.

I did not know their customs, but I watched as Xiao Qi shook his head with a smile. “I already have a wife.”

The young woman showed not the slightest embarrassment — instead, she stamped her foot with stubborn spirit, turned her head, and fixed her gaze on me. “Are you his woman?”

That blunt, direct question caught me off guard for a moment. I turned and saw Xiao Qi watching me with a deep, quiet smile, and something inexplicably warm moved through my heart.

“Yes,” I said with a faint smile, raising my chin to meet the young woman’s challenging gaze.

Her bright eyes held mine. “I want to invite him to dance with me. Will you allow it?”

So it was only a dance, and nothing more. I laughed to myself, and glanced over at Xiao Qi — I was genuinely a little curious what he would look like dancing. Just picturing it was already enough to make me want to laugh. But the moment my gaze met Xiao Qi’s, I swallowed the amusement back down and said in all seriousness, “I am sorry. I cannot allow it.”

“Why?” The young woman’s eyes were clear and frank, her manner straightforward and open.

I met her gaze steadily, and spoke in a slow, even smile, “A nation’s territory cannot yield even a single inch to an invader. My husband is not to be touched by another’s hand — not even a finger.”

A burst of cheering and applause rose from those all around, and cups were raised toward us. A tall young man stood up and began to sing toward the young woman in words I could not understand — the melody fervent and tender, full of longing — until her cheeks flushed red. As for my own face, I suspected it was in no better a state. Xiao Qi’s gaze was fixed directly on me, and something in his eyes made it difficult to breathe. I had not drunk much wine at all, yet I felt as though I were spinning.

The night had grown late. We took our leave of the warm-hearted herders and turned back in the direction of the city.

The night sky stretched high and deep, stars blazing across every inch of it. In the quiet of the open plains, there was only the steady rhythm of hoofbeats, and the tender embrace of the night held all the world in stillness.

I tilted my head back and let the night wind carry away the heat still lingering in my cheeks, my heart still not entirely calm.

“Come here.” Xiao Qi reached out an arm and drew me to him, lifting me up onto his horse without preamble, and wrapped his traveling cloak around me.

I looked up at him, and he looked down at me in turn, his gaze deep and gentle. “Do you like it here?”

“Very much.” I held his gaze with a warm smile. “I have never seen anywhere so beautiful, and it has been a very long time since I have been this happy.”

The warmth in Xiao Qi’s smile deepened. He bent close to my ear and said softly, “Once the war is over, I will take you to wander all the corners of the world — to see the vastness of the Eastern Sea, the treacherous beauty of the Shu mountains, the splendor of the southern Yunnan lands… The world is great, and the beauty of the rivers and mountains surpasses anything your imagination can reach.”

The war. In the end, there was no escaping those words. I leaned against his chest in silence and let out a breath. All evening, neither of us had mentioned it. Even knowing that war was near, we had tried with all our might to set aside that noise and turmoil — and if we could only steal half a day of freedom from worry, that would have been enough.

I closed my eyes and smiled. “Then when the time comes, we will roam across the four seas and find a place where the scenery is like a painting. We will build a small courtyard there, wake at sunrise and rest at sunset…”

Xiao Qi drew me closer and murmured near my ear, “I will build you the most beautiful courtyard in all the world, and in that place, there will be only the two of us, and no one will ever be allowed to disturb us.”

I gazed up at the boundless sky above and felt, in this moment, that the night was beautiful and my life at peace — and without quite realizing when it had happened, my eyes had grown wet.

The arm he held around my waist suddenly tightened. His lips just barely grazed my ear, his warm breath brushing along my neck, stirring a strange and tender weakness — as though I had drunk deep of warm wine. I trembled ever so slightly, without a thread of strength left to pull away. Without thought, my head tilted back, and I let his lips settle against my neck.

“Hold on to me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Whatever happens afterward — do not let go.”

My eyes flew open. In an instant I felt a chill run through my whole body. The surroundings were still quiet, yet an icy, razor-edged force was radiating from Xiao Qi’s body — killing intent. Killing intent as familiar to me as the sound of swords drawn from their sheaths. The killing intent that lived in Xiao Qi like a blade bared and ready.

Mo Jiao seemed to sense it too. He slowed his steps and pricked his ears in alert. Behind him, Jing Yun gave a low, uneasy whinny.

Xiao Qi held still with focused attention, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword, drawing me imperceptibly closer.

Mo Jiao moved forward one careful step at a time, each hoof-fall landing on my heart.

Thick clouds had gathered over the sky without my noticing. The wind had begun to carry moisture. In the fifth month, the night sky suddenly held the threat of rain.

We had ridden close to the edge of the meadows. Low rolling hills rose and fell near and far, and the faint glow of lights from the outlying villages was already visible. Haystacks of varying heights lined the roadside, their shapes passing like shadows in the night. My heart drew tight with a quiet dread, and a sense of foreboding grew. Out in the open, with nothing to obstruct the view in any direction, even a single bird in flight could not have escaped Xiao Qi’s eyes. But here at the border of the meadows, the terrain had shifted — low hills and haystacks blocked the sightlines on all sides, crouching in the darkness like vast, sleeping beasts, ready to close their jaws.

A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The wind sharpened. Rain was coming.

I looped both arms around Xiao Qi’s waist. My fingertips found the beast-head carvings on the golden clasp of his leather belt — the cold hardness of metal and iron pressed into my heart, and steadied me. Mo Jiao suddenly stopped, lowering his head and letting out a short, sharp, cautious breath. I held very still, and felt Xiao Qi draw me tighter, urging the horse forward as though nothing were amiss.

Cool drops of rain fell, touching my face. The rain, in the end, had come.

To the right and ahead, several faint, blue-green sparks of fireflies drifted — then suddenly scattered in every direction.

“Duck down!” Xiao Qi’s voice came in a sharp, sudden command, and his hand pressed me flat against the saddle. I could not see anything — only heard a piercing shriek of air, and then the rush of wind as something flew past my face. Cold sweat broke across my entire body. I knew that in that instant, I had just grazed the edge of death.

In the same moment, Mo Jiao exploded forward with full force, swift as a bolt of lightning, charging toward the haystack where the sparks had come from.

Wind roared past. Everything in front of my eyes blurred and streaked like lightning. At my ear was the sound of Xiao Qi’s steady, unshaken breathing, his arm holding me firmly as his other hand moved to his sword — and the sword came free with a sound like a dragon’s cry, a sweep of cold light flashing up like white silk ripped across the night.

Xiao Qi drew his sword. The blade lit the darkness for several feet around, and in that single heartbeat, I saw dark silhouettes closing in like ghosts out of the night.

The world went dark as Xiao Qi swept his traveling cloak wide, shielding me completely within the fold of his arm. In that last glimpse, I saw only the black-clad figure nearly upon us — cold eyes above the face covering, and a blade hurtling down from the air, trailing a streak of ghastly pale light aimed straight at my head. Then the sword blazed up with sudden, violent brightness, swallowing that blade-light whole, and swept outward with the force of a gale overturning the world, scything through a thousand.

Total darkness fell over me. I could not see a thing — only catch the faint iron warmth of blood on the air, for something in that lightning-fast instant had spattered against my cheek. Thunder cracked overhead, rain began to pour, Mo Jiao reared with a frantic cry, the blade-wind screamed, and all around me rose sounds urgent and strange as a sudden downpour — the clash of steel on steel, and more than that, the rushing spray of hot blood, the muffled snap of bone and flesh. After the battle at Helan, these sounds of slaughter were no longer foreign to me. The heavy smell of blood spread through the dark night, pressing against my face. I pressed my cheek against Xiao Qi’s chest and did not move, letting the cloak wrap me close on every side. Through the fabric of his clothes, I heard his heartbeat clearly — powerful and steady.

Mo Jiao drove forward with everything he had, as though galloping through the air itself. I did not know where he was taking us, but the darkness before my eyes brought me no fear — I had never known such steadiness and calm as I felt in this moment. With the solid warmth of his chest at my back, with the knowledge that we were together, even if what lay ahead were the killing fields of a blood-soaked hell, I would face it without hesitation.

The sounds of iron and steel receded. The smell of blood had not yet cleared, but the wind and rain grew sharper. The rain had soaked through the cloak, seeping slowly into my clothes, bringing the wet chill — yet even through cold, damp fabric, a warmth continued to radiate from him, unbroken. Leaning against his chest, I remained warm. I lifted my head but could not open my eyes — the rain drove in on the wind, slapping against my face with each gust, and in a moment my brows, lashes, and hair were all drenched.

“Don’t make a sound.” The arm Xiao Qi had around my waist suddenly tightened, and the next instant my body was lifted clear of the saddle — he had pulled me off the horse and rolled with me to the ground.

We landed by the roadside, the ground beneath us a soft, yielding haystack. Xiao Qi was on his feet at once, and with me in his arms he moved quickly, tucking both of us out of sight behind the haystack. Mo Jiao and Jing Yun made no effort to wait — they galloped straight on ahead, charging forward at full speed. My heart went cold. The sound of hooves in chaos churned through the splashing water from behind, and the pursuit went straight after the two horses.

Xiao Qi did not move. His left arm did not leave my waist for even a moment, holding me steady and secure. Rain streamed down the haystack, drenching us through. I paid no attention to the cold, only held my breath and gripped Xiao Qi’s hand. He turned his hand and locked his fingers through mine, passing a wordless, steadying reassurance.

When the sound of pursuing hoofbeats had faded into the distance, he said in a low voice, “Come with me.”

He took my hand and pulled me into the wind and rain at a sprint, running through the pitch-black night. Sky and earth were swallowed in one vast flood of water, mud splashing underfoot. Ahead, I made out the dim shape of a structure — a building, half-hidden behind a wide stretch of haystacks and wooden stakes.

Xiao Qi kicked the door open. A gust of wind and rain burst straight into the room. It was completely dark inside, only the clean fragrance of dry grass rushing out to meet us.

I quickly turned back and pulled the door shut. Thin as the wooden panel was, at least it could keep the wind, the rain, and the threat of murder at bay for a little while.

This was an abandoned military fodder depot. Xiao Qi had once come to inspect the fodder storage here and had a vague memory of this simple shelter — it had once served as a watchman’s overnight post. The assassins outnumbered us greatly; we were too few. Xiao Qi had made a swift and bold decision: abandon the horses, let Mo Jiao and Jing Yun draw the assassins away, and use the cover of darkness to slip in here and hide. The rain would wash away any footprints, and the assassins, unfamiliar with the terrain, would have no hope of finding this concealed place.

Xiao Qi lit a fire-starter and checked that all the doors and windows were shut tight — no firelight would be visible from outside. Only then did he kindle the remnants of charcoal in the hearthpit. The north was cold, and ordinary households all used hearth fires for warmth. The room held nothing else but a simple wooden table, with dry grass scattered in loose heaps all around.

I leaned against the table, my body trembling slightly — whether from the cold or from the lingering shock of what had just happened. The assassins had been temporarily led away. A moment ago Xiao Qi had repelled several attackers single-handedly and broken through from a carefully laid ambush. If he had not had me — this encumbrance at his side — perhaps he might have cut his way clear even more swiftly. I lifted my gaze to look at him, and then I went very still. His cloak was soaked through and still dripping, and those water droplets wound their way down to the floor — trailing a dark red that struck the eye with terrible force.

“You are injured!” I rushed to him, threw back his cloak, and grabbed his arms in a panic, searching desperately over his body for where he was hurt.

He pressed my hands still and somehow still found it in him to tease me: “Watch yourself — men and women do not touch each other indiscriminately.”

I looked up, and my eyes flooded with tears. Forgetting everything else, I blurted out in distress, “What happened — are you hurt — are you all right…”

Xiao Qi said nothing. He only looked at me steadily. I saw that his cloak was soaked through, and the outer robe beneath it was half-drenched too, stained all over with dark, spattered blood. I could not tell where the wound was. In a moment my hands and feet had gone soft, and I could only hold on to him and refuse to let go.

“I am not injured.” He opened his mouth at last, and his voice was quiet and gentle.

I drew one long, shaking breath. Tears spilled down, one after another. There were too many things caught in my throat for even one to come out.

“All blood from the assassins — I killed eight or nine of them, and there are still more than twenty left…” He seemed to think I did not believe him, and hastily began to remove his cloak.

I stared at him in a daze, unable to say a single word, not yet fully returned from the terror of moments ago — caught somewhere between weeping and laughing.

“All the color has drained out of your face.” He sighed, his eyes full of warmth. “You foolish girl — were you so afraid I would die?”

That word die, falling from his lips, clenched something in my chest. I looked at his face in a stupor. In that moment, it felt as though the sky had collapsed and the earth had given way beneath my feet. Life and death, all of it — and there was no way, under any circumstances, that I could lose him. Even the mere thought of it — the pain it gouged out of me was not something I could bear. I threw my arms around him without thinking and held on tight. “If you must die, you have to die after me. That way I will not have to grieve for you, and I will be spared the agony of being left behind.”

Xiao Qi went still. For a long moment he said nothing, only pulled me into his arms, his hold tight enough that I could barely breathe.

“All right — when the time comes in a hundred years, I will let you go first by one step.” He said softly, a smile in his voice, his lips at my ear. “But until then, you have to stay with me until we are old — until we are both white-haired and wrinkled, teeth falling out and backs bent, and still not find the other repulsive.”

We sat leaning against each other at the hearthside. Xiao Qi had taken off his blood-stained outer robe and wore only his underclothing, and the firm, solid muscle of his chest was faintly visible beneath. I dropped my gaze, not daring to look at him. He leaned forward to tend the charcoal in the hearthpit, his thoughts collected inward, without noticing how flustered I had become.

I gave a quiet cough and sighed, “What do we do now — are we to simply wait until daybreak?”

Xiao Qi smiled. “Before daybreak, reinforcements will come.”

I looked at him in surprise. Seeing the certainty in his expression, he gave me a slight smile and explained, “If we do not return all night, Huai’en will grow alarmed and come out of the city with men to find us. I released Mo Jiao and sent him home — he knows the way, and he knows my scent. He will lead Huai’en here. We are already close to the outskirts of the city. Before dawn, they will be here.”

I let out a long breath, and felt some of the tension leave me. Then I noticed Xiao Qi’s expression darken.

He said quietly, “The assassins knew our movements. I suspect there is already a spy inside the residence.”

A chill shot through me. A cold feeling crept up my spine. The only people who had known that Xiao Qi and I were going out of the city in disguise that day were the few attendants closest to us in the household. If a spy had even managed to get in among those around us, who was left to be trusted?

“Could it be Helan again…” I turned it over for a moment and then frowned. “No. The Turkic people and Helan Zhen can barely look after themselves right now — they would have no means to move against you.”

Xiao Qi’s lips curved upward, but it carried not a trace of warmth, the light in his eyes shifting — deep, unreadable. “Then who do you think, at this moment, would most want my life? And who would be capable of smuggling dozens of assassins into Ningshuo?”

I was leaning forward to tend the charcoal, and at those words my hand faltered. The iron tongs nearly slipped from my fingers.

I could not tell whether it was because the rain-soaked clothes pressed cold against my skin or something else entirely, but I found myself trembling slightly. Even pressed close to the hearth, I felt cold all the way through.

“Are you still cold?” Xiao Qi reached around me from behind, caught my soaked sleeve in his fingers, and said decisively, “This won’t do. Take it off.”

A flicker of alarm ran through me, but I could not break free of his arms. The memory of two previous mortifying occasions when he had removed my outer garments still weighed on me, and now seeing him reach again for the fastening of my collar, I flushed with embarrassment and said quickly, “It’s fine — I’m not cold…”

His arms tightened around me, and he bent close to my ear, his voice low: “Why are you always afraid of me?”

The words stopped me. Suddenly my mouth felt dry, and as though every inch of my skin had grown hot, I stumbled over the words: “No — I’m not, I’m not…”

He said nothing more, and simply held me in silence. The warmth of his breath settled at the curve of my ear.

Occasionally a small spark snapped in the hearthpit. I had felt cold just a moment ago — yet now it seemed as though every vein in my body had turned to flowing heat.

“A’Wu.” He called my name in a voice that was low, almost hushed, and gentle. “I have already missed three years of you.”

His lips fell against my earlobe, pressing lightly there, and then moved along my neck, following its line downward with slow, unhurried care.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not daring to move, not daring even to breathe. My heart pounded violently, as though it would break free of my chest entirely.

Before our wedding, the attendant matrons from the palace had already instructed me in the matters of the bedchamber. And even long before that — there had been that moment I had stumbled, without meaning to, upon the Crown Prince’s secret tryst with one of my aunt’s waiting women. The affairs between men and women were not entirely unknown to me, though they still brought me shyness and a certain wondering curiosity.

His lips, lean and burning, pressed against the bare skin of my neck and sent wave after wave of tingling warmth moving through me. I was enclosed in his arms, every bit of strength gone from my body, as though I had sunk into a boundless warm tide that rose and fell in gentle swells, carrying me along.

His breathing grew gradually more urgent. The arm around my waist shifted upward, parted the lapel of my garment, and through the thin layer of silk beneath, his palm came to rest against me — warm and extraordinarily light, extraordinarily careful, as though he held something irreplaceably precious.

I could not hold back a trembling breath, and called his name in a faint and unsteady voice, my fingers twining tightly with his.

He went still. He turned me to face him, tipping my chin up until I met his gaze directly. I looked at him as though dazed — his hair, his brows, his lips — everything I had come to know as something dear to me. I raised one hand and reached for his neck, my fingertips tracing lightly down along the faint rise at his throat, coming to rest against the clean, narrow line of his lips. His arm swept around me all at once, drawing me back into the curve of his hold. A hairpin came loose from my hair, and the long strands fell free — flowing like silk, spreading out to fill his arms. He laid me down against the soft dry grass and lowered himself over me, looking at me with a deep and lingering gaze.

My clothes were undone, layer by layer, until nothing remained.

The charcoal in the hearthpit let out a faint, occasional pop. The firelight was warm and soft, shutting out the cold and the dark and the rain beyond these walls.

Three years late for a wedding night — the embroidered chambers of the Prince’s residence exchanged for the hearthside of a frontier wooden shack, attendants and well-wishers replaced by the ambush of assassins. Only he could find me, and I could find him, and from this, something like this was born. Perhaps we were never destined to be an ordinary husband and wife — destined instead to make our way through crashing waves and storms together. Perhaps this was our fated bond. Perhaps this was our life.