I fought the urge to wind my arms around him, to ease his hurt and mine. To let us find some joy in the little time we had. The dream of happiness was at once a strength and a terrible weakness, and I dared not succumb while the future was so bleak. I would make no promises I could not keep.

As I drew away from him, his eyes shadowed with pain. Hurt wrenched me within, twisting and sharp—yet I forced myself to walk away, even as I sensed his gaze upon my back. I did not turn, no matter how much I yearned to.

The wind howled mercilessly against my face as I closed my eyes, letting the tears slide down my cheeks. I did not need to conceal them anymore, for no one could see them. Despite the heat of the Golden Desert, a shiver coursed through my flesh. For a life without love was a night without stars, and only the darkness awaited me now.

Chapter 31

Three days slipped by like three hours, consumed by elaborate plans and preparations. I played little part in them—nodding when I was asked about the embroidery on my gown, the jewels on my headdress, or the food that would be served at the banquet. A most agreeable bride, a most indifferent one. All the while my mind churned incessantly with thoughts of what lay ahead, of the devastation that awaited us should we fail.

The day of the wedding dawned pale and gray. There was no joy in me, just a sinking foreboding like the moment before the dark clouds break, when you stumble and know you will fall. I stared at my reflection in the golden surface of the mirror. The heavy brocade gown was a vivid red, the color of joy and luck—and blood, my vigilant mind whispered. Magnificent phoenixes in gold and turquoise, and peonies with jade-green leaves were embroidered upon the cloth. An exquisite headdress crafted with coral flowers was fitted onto my hair, strands of pearls falling to my shoulders. Crescent-shaped brows arched over my eyes, plucked by a diligent attendant who cared little for my grimaces, while my lips and nails were painted a glossy scarlet. A part of me wanted to laugh at the futility of these efforts, but I merely clenched my jaws with frustration. None of this would help us stop Wugang. What use was soaking in a rose-petal bath or combing my hair with camellia oil until it gleamed like a river of ink? This was my wedding, but I was no bride.