The Cloud Wall immortals seemed to favor vivid colors, clad in jewel tones of amethyst and emerald, ruby and aquamarine. I must have appeared a drab flower among them, though the palace attendants had offered me a dazzling array of garments. In no mood for gaiety, I had chosen the most somber outfit I could find—a green silk so pale, it bordered on gray. Yellow chrysanthemums were embroidered on the skirt, nodding their heads as though tossed by the wind that swirled through in silver curls of thread. My neck and wrists were unadorned, my hair pulled through a plain band of silk, the long ends brushing my back.

“We are a matched pair,” Wenzhi remarked from beside me, a small smile on his lips.

“We are not.” I was in no mood to be agreeable. My insides knotted from being here, a place I never imagined I would return to. The incense fragrance clogged my nostrils, the dark walls seeming to close in tighter—unsettling memories surfacing that I clung to, reminding myself to never lower my guard.

“I meant our clothes are matched,” Wenzhi said, his smile widening.

He had changed, too, into a high-collared moss-green robe, a pattern of leaves embroidered along the hem in gold thread. The color highlighted the angular planes of his face, the darker hue of his skin. As my heart quickened, I crushed the treacherous impulse.

I was not here upon a whim. We needed King Wenming’s aid, and I hoped to sway him from his outrageous condition. I had not come to play the role of a docile daughter-in-law. I would be a thorn, a viper, the falcon Wenzhi had likened me to once.

King Wenming sat on an ebony throne upon the dais, his back straight, his gaze alert and assessing. An ornate gold crown rested on his head, fringed with amethyst beads that fell over his brow. His robes were a muted ash, in startling contrast to the brilliant garments of the three women who stood behind him, their exquisite robes of vermilion, coral, and lapis studded with pearls.

Wenzhi led me to a low table in the front. As we sat upon the flat brocade cushions, my eyes darted around the room yet always returned to the dais. According to rumor, King Wenming had no queen but numerous wives, and I assumed the three present were the most favored.

“My mother is the Noble Consort of the third rank, the one dressed in coral. While the Virtuous Consort of the first rank is Wenshuang’s mother,” Wenzhi explained as he lifted the porcelain jug and filled our cups with wine. “Having multiple consorts is as common here as in the Celestial Kingdom.”