The air shifted with the presence of another immortal, though the wards remained undisturbed. I reached instinctively for the bow slung across my back. After this peaceful year at home, my lifeforce had recovered much quicker than anticipated. I no longer strained to draw the Jade Dragon Bow; I no longer feared an intruder’s trespass. But almost at once, I lowered the weapon. This aura was one I knew as well as my own—shining, summer bright.

“A warm greeting, Xingyin.” Liwei’s voice rang out, tinged with laughter. “Or are you keen for another challenge with the bow?”

I turned to find him leaning against a tree, arms folded across his chest. My pulse quickened though I kept my tone steady. “You might recall, I won our last challenge. And since then, I’ve had a lot more practice compared to Your Highness, spending all your time at court.”

An intended gibe for he had not visited in weeks. Yet I had no right to expect more. While we had grown closer of late, no promises had been exchanged—we were at once more than friends and less than what we had been. The seeds of doubt once sprouted were much harder to uproot.

The corners of his lips curved into a smile. “Our tally remains even. I might win.”

“You are welcome to try,” I said, lifting my chin.

He laughed, shaking his head. “I prefer to keep my pride intact.”

He strode toward me, stopping when the hem of his lapis-blue robe brushed mine in a soft rustle. A gray length of silk encircled his waist, from which hung an oblong jade tablet and a crystal sphere, agleam with the silver of my energy. The Sky Drop Tassel, its twin swinging from my sash.

I fought the urge to step back, as much as I did the pull forward. “I did not sense your arrival. Did you adjust the wards?” A simple matter for Liwei to circumvent the enchantments that guarded my home, for he had helped me to craft them. While they were not as powerful as those of the Celestial Kingdom, a warning thrummed through me whenever the boundaries were crossed. I was not concerned about those familiar to us; it was the strangers I was wary of.

He nodded. “If they are disturbed, I will sense it, too. An inadvertent outcome is they now recognize my presence.”

“Does it matter when you are so rarely here?” The words fell out before I could stop them.

His smile widened. “Did you miss me?”

“No.” Yes, but I would not give him the satisfaction. And I would never admit it—not even if someone pressed a knife to my neck—that since his absence, a hollow ache had gaped within me, that only now began to subside.

“Should I leave?” he offered.