The empress did not hide her emotions so well. She uttered no words of greeting, her lips mashed into a scarlet bud. The gold headdress on her hair was exquisitely crafted into peonies, studded with pink tourmalines that darkened to the shade of congealed blood as though reflecting her thoughts.

A smile hid my turmoil, the dread entwined with hostility I had always felt around Their Celestial Majesties. They would never be as family to me, yet for Liwei, I did not want us to be enemies. I was glad when another came forward to claim their attention, relieved to leave so cold a reception. I had expected no less, and how I wished the evening had already ended. Would this be my life if I married Liwei—this endless churn of unease, of hollow words and false praise? How would I bear it?

Someone called my name, rousing me from my daze. It was General Jianyun, and for the first time tonight my smile was unfeigned.

I cupped my hands and bent from my waist in greeting. “Have you been well, General Jianyun?”

“Well enough. I trust His Highness has informed you of the recent events? The coils are tightening, though around what I do not know.”

There were lines on his face that had not been there before, etched with new cares. “Perhaps the emperor will see reason,” I said, trying to ease his worries.

“While I have angered His Celestial Majesty on occasion, I have only ever acted in his best interests and those of our kingdom. Which is more than I can say for others.”

General Jianyun was typically discreet; he must be under great strain indeed to make such revelations. As his gaze shifted behind me, his mouth drew taut. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of gray brocade, gold embroidery winking from the hem and sleeves. And those gloves—only one person in the Celestial Court wore them.

“General Wu.” General Jianyun’s head dipped in a curt nod.

This close, his aura swept across my senses—opaque, dense, and oddly reminiscent. Hardly surprising after our encounters at the Celestial Court, my insides knotting at the recollection of the vile things he had said of my mother and me. He was already turning my way, his lips peeling back into a grin, the jade ornaments clinking by his waist. Something else was nestled among them: a bamboo flute dangling from his sash, its tassel a bright green.

My gaze darted to his eyes. How could I have overlooked their sharp glint, even shaded by white brows and masked by a lined face? Anger pulsed at my forehead, a redness descending over my vision as I reached out to grab his glove. He jerked back as I wrenched it free, revealing dark scars streaked across his palm, the same ones on Master Gang as he had hacked away at the laurel.