Wenzhi’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as he grasped his father’s shoulders, leaning closer to him. Their relationship was neither tender nor loving, but the bond of parent and child was eternal—even when buried beneath mistrust and resentment. The king’s eyes were wet as his gaze flicked toward Prince Wenshuang’s body, and I sensed it was with grief rather than rage.

What whispered words Wenzhi and his father exchanged, I did not hear—still, I ached for him. A father and brother lost in a day. No matter how they had treated him in life, sorrow was inevitable. There would be no chance to repair that which had been broken, of speaking the words that might have healed the hurt. Death was the final parting.

As a shadow fell over me, I looked up to find Liwei. His hand pressed my shoulder in silent comfort, a welcome relief. As agonized shrieks erupted from the king’s consorts, Wenzhi lifted his head, meeting my gaze across the pavilion, a storm swirling in his expression. Grief warring with gratitude, shock entwined with knowing.

He knew this had been no accident, that my aim had been true. Prince Wenshuang’s death was on my conscience. This I had done for myself, and for Wenzhi. Prince Wenshuang was a true demon; he would never have stopped until one of them lay dead. He would have threatened me, too, for his hate went deep. And so I had taken from Wenzhi the burden of slaying his own kin.

He had not lied to me that day, so many years ago, in Xiangliu’s cavern. Killing did get easier.

Chapter 33

I stood by the malachite pavilion, surrounded by violet clouds. How different it appeared, devoid of the crowds—the petals swept away, the bloodstains scrubbed from the stone floor. My hair swung across my back in a loose tail when just a few days ago it had been coiled into a headdress of coral and gold. I had knelt before the altar to be married, and since then, the Cloud Wall had buried a king and crowned a new one. Wenzhi had moved with ruthless swiftness, elevating those loyal to him and removing those he mistrusted. His mother, the Noble Consort, was raised to the rank of Dowager Queen—an unassailable position of authority, second only to his. While Captain Mengqi, whom I had escaped from in the past, was now the general who led the army. I had not attended either funeral or coronation. My existence was best forgotten, for I was an ill omen; a bride drenched in blood.

How they must have sighed with relief that I was not their queen. Our farce of a marriage had been officially annulled before the court. No questions had been asked, for the deference accorded to a king was different from that to an heir. A prince could be questioned, plotted against, supplanted—while a king was to be obeyed.