I crossed my legs and sat on the Phoenix Throne, looking down at him. “Ethan Sinclair, do you submit?”
He kept his head bowed, as if he wanted to grind me to dust, and spat out two words: “No.”
We grew up together, inseparable as children. When did everything go so wrong?
Maybe it started the night before I entered the palace, when he staggered into the courtyard drunk and tried to take me away—I slapped him.
Maybe it was when I watched coldly while his beloved was sent off in a diplomatic marriage to Rouran and did nothing.
Whatever the reason, he hated me.
The next day, Ethan brought soldiers and rode straight to the West Palace—and rebelled.
The shouts and clash of steel outside pierced the windows and filled my ears.
I had no father, no husband, and I’d earned the enmity of Ethan Sinclair.
When the mass of soldiers burst through the doors, I stood on tiptoe and shoved my head into the white silk that had been hung for such a moment.
“Claire Bennett, you asked for death!”
Ethan’s face was streaked with blood, a hellish figure clawing out of the abyss. He ripped his sword free, strode across a sea of corpses toward me.
He held grudges. The man who executed his enemies did so blade by blade.
I refused to be cut down a second time, so I kicked over my stool with all my strength.
The rope at my throat tightened; suffocation closed in.
I fell like a moth into blackness.
“Hey, wake up! It’s your turn!”
A gentle shove in the dark.
Thud.
My body hit something.
A faint peony scent mingled with earth filled my nostrils. I hummed, closed my eyes, and rubbed my nose.
At this season the imperial garden’s peonies were in full bloom.
Noise flooded in and sharpened like a curtain being drawn.
Groggy, I opened my eyes.
A huge sun hung high and blinding.
A woman leaned down, shading my face. She was stern. “You fell asleep during the draft? You’re something else.”
I studied the silhouette and then my eyes widened. My voice was hoarse. “Hazel, I’m dead.”
Smack!
She slapped me. “Claire Bennett, in front of the Emperor and the Empress Dowager, don’t act crazy.”
The slap pulled me fully awake. I bolted upright.
When I took in the scene, I froze.
A breeze lifted my hair.
A blossom brushed my ear.
Women in red and green whispered nearby.
The young Emperor plucked a grape from a dish and popped it into his mouth.
The Empress Dowager—long gone in my past life—idled, puffing smoke from the eunuch’s pipe, slowly blowing a ring.
It was dreamlike and yet real.
I blinked and said, stunned, “Me!”
“Damn!”
I’d been reborn.
And, of course, into the worst year.
This year, my powerful Chancellor father was accused of corruption and exiled north.
I barely caught a break at the selection for imperial consorts—I gained the Emperor’s favor and entered the palace as a middle-tier consort.
Ambition followed. I climbed toward the Phoenix Throne, only to be forced by Prince Rowan—Ethan Sinclair—to my death on the West Palace rafters the very next day.
I’d been handed a chance to change fate, and yet the timing made the ending unshakeable.
If I’d been reborn eighteen years earlier, I could have swallowed the insult “ugly” the first time I saw Ethan and avoided his lasting hatred.
I could have reported my father the first time he took a bribe and cut off that poison before it ruined us.
I could have kept my stupid, drunken confession—from years ago—about falling for his father when Ethan tried to take me that night.
But no. I woke up on the damned eighth day of the fourth month—the day of the imperial selection.
I’d flirted with the Emperor until I fainted from hunger.
There wasn’t much to change now.
The one thing I could try was to stop Hazel from being sent to Rouran in half a year—maybe then Ethan wouldn’t fly into such a rage and take his vengeance on me.
As I planned silently, Hazel jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow.
“The Prince noticed you. Don’t be dense.”
Her voice had a hint of excitement, like I was suddenly marriageable property.
I took a long exhale and looked up.
Which prince?
My brain took a second to process, until my eyes locked with a man whose expression chilled me to the bone.
The blood-smeared face from my previous death matched the person before me.
He gave me a cold, small smile. “Claire Bennett, don’t stare at me. Got a problem?”
Ethan—closed eyes, open eyes, it was him.
In the bright sun he wore a pale embroidered robe, handsome and bold; one foot propped on a small table, exuding the insolent air of a spoiled heir.
He liked me?
Impossible—he fancied Hazel.
Then Hazel’s look made sense: she’d gone to plead with Ethan on my behalf.
In my last life I was too proud. My family fell; I chose palace life as a concubine rather than accept Hazel’s pity and be a servant in Rowan Manor.
If both of us were concubines, why not be the Emperor’s concubine instead?
This time, I didn’t want palace life, but I certainly couldn’t be near Ethan.
I prepared to refuse, and Ethan grinned. “Claire, that sachet you gave the other day? I don’t like it. Bring me one with a different pattern.”
The Empress Dowager’s face went green.
Mine did too.
A private gift could be twisted into scandal; even a pure offering could sully a woman.
Anyone who dared compete with Ethan for a woman—there was no one bolder in the world.
The Empress Dowager flung down her pipe in rage. “Get that woman out!”
Something felt wrong. Along the palace path, the real culprit rode ahead on a swift steed.
I grabbed Hazel’s sleeve and followed, my eyes practically burning holes through him.
What had made Ethan speak like that?
“…Cousin, he’s not a savage. Keep your temper. I’ll still be relying on you someday,” Hazel whispered to me, covering her mouth.
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “If you like him so much, tell your father to have him come ask for your hand properly.”
Hazel’s father was Duke Harland, a respected prince by birthright. She was an excellent match.
Hazel flushed, caught off guard. “Don’t say that—”
I was about to push harder when she suddenly stopped. She wanted to visit the Empress.
Maybe Lord Harland had already whispered to the Empress to match Hazel with someone in the palace. That would be better than Rouran.
Relieved but careful not to show it—God forbid Ethan think I’d arranged a different match for his beloved and cut me down—my legs gave out from fatigue and hunger. For a moment the world swam as if the horses had eight legs.
Then I collapsed flat on my back.
Thud.
The attendants cried out. “Your Highness, Miss Bennett has fainted.”
I heard Ethan’s lazy voice. “I am not blind. I see her.”
Bastard.
I cursed silently, but I couldn’t get up. The grudge was already set—what did another quarrel matter?
Who knew Ethan would challenge me like this.
Under the hot sun my face burned scarlet. Ethan leaned his horse in the shade, coolly calling, “Claire Bennett, if you’re not afraid of a sunburn then lie there all you like.”
So I lay, stubborn, across the quiet palace path while he sat cross-legged on his horse beneath a tree, a horse in tow.
Occasional palace servants hurried past, heads down.
We sat in stand-off until the light slanted. When the last ray faded, Ethan flipped his feather fan and sighed, “Time’s up for the old sow to flip sides.”
Then he strolled off.
Thanks to him, I was carried back to Rowan Manor.
The first night wasn’t bad. They dumped me into a room, shut the door, and left.
Exhausted, I fell into bed.
The next morning a loud bang threw me upright. The declaration of war had begun.
Bright sunlight blasted through the open window. A black-feathered rooster was hurled into the room, feathers flying.
I screamed and shrank against the bed.
That bastard Ethan had thrown in his favorite rooster.
The rooster’s name was General Brutus (the rooster). With Ethan backing him, that bird had pecked me mercilessly in my past life.
My last regret before dying had been not having cooked that rooster into soup.
Ethan stood at the window with his arms folded. “Claire Bennett, what time is this? Still sleeping? Don’t you know how to attend to your master and dress him?”
“Kuk-kuk-kuk…”
General Brutus puffed his neck and stared at me with two black beads of eyes, matching his master’s arrogance.
For a while it was a bizarre standoff between me and the rooster.
I curled under the covers, clutching my neck, trembling.
In my former life I’d once been chased by a flock of geese while traveling in disguise; I’d been roughly handled and narrowly rescued. Since then, I feared any beaked creature.
My face went deathly pale. Breath failed me; the world darkened.
Before I lost consciousness I heard Ethan mutter, “Goddamn it, why are you afraid of a chicken?”
When I came to, Ethan’s face loomed dark over me.
A maid said cautiously, “My lord…please—lightly, you’re drawing blood.”
I sucked in a breath and slapped his hand away. “It hurts…”
Damn.
I ran to the mirror. Blood flowed from my philtrum.
Ethan snapped, irritated: “Always this or that pain. Say one more word and I’ll sew your mouth shut!”
He spoke coarsely, words unbecoming of his rank, but his reckless good looks made the vulgarity somehow tolerable.
I glared until he left; my mouth still bled.
After that scene I lost any patience for primping. I sat at the dresser with my hair messy, pressing a handkerchief to my mouth, dazed.
An old maxim: you don’t let a debt go uncollected.
“Molly, I heard there’s a new cook in the manor.”
Molly had been sent from the palace to attend me—officially my maid, though everyone knew what that meant: in these times, wherever there was a prince, the Emperor had an eye.
Molly obediently replied, “They say the new cook has an impressive background. The late Emperor once awarded him a gold plate…the Emperor favored the Prince, so he sent him to the manor.”
I chuckled. Everyone already knew what kind of man the cook was.
“Tell the kitchen I want roast chicken.”
In a rare good mood, I pinned a bright red flower into my hair. The color made me look almost more delicate than the blossom.
Molly looked miserable. "Mistress, you asked for it right away—where are we supposed to get a chicken…"
I smiled. "Isn’t there one in the backyard?"
That afternoon when Ethan Sinclair came back from his rounds, General Brutus happened to be on the table.
He folded his hands behind his back, in a good mood. "Oh? Chicken today?"
I ladled a bowl of soup and set it in front of Ethan with a sweet smile. "I simmered asparagus sent from the south for two hours just for you, Your Highness. Try it."
Ethan accepted it gladly, blew on the broth, and drank it down in one go, praising it nonstop. "Not bad."
He was picking pieces of chicken out of the soup—the claws were black, the head black—then suddenly froze and asked, "Where did this chicken come from?"
I put on my most innocent smile.
Ethan leapt up, stormed outside, and a moment later his roar carried through the courtyard: "Who boiled my General Brutus into a stew?!"
The new cook who’d stewed the prince’s fighting rooster was promptly sent back to the palace.
That night in the study, Ethan glowered at me.
I sobbed with mascara tracks, "Your Highness… you see clearly… I only wanted some chicken soup. Who knew the cook would stew the bird… If Your Highness is angry, please don’t hold it in—beat Claire to death if you must…"
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Claire Bennett, you think I don’t know you?"
Know me what?
We’d only met once this lifetime—I’d even called him an ugly beast once—don’t act like we’re old friends.
I avoided his stare and cried harder, my face flushing until I felt faint. "Claire didn’t do it on purpose…"
Ethan’s expression shifted from suspicion to hesitation. He frowned hard and sighed. "Stop crying. I haven’t scolded you once."
I circled the desk, feeling wronged, and stood in front of him. I hooked one finger around his and pouted. "You scared Claire…"
Ethan snorted and pinched my cheek roughly. "You’re as timid as a sparrow. You did something useful—consider it making amends."
His words startled me. So Ethan wasn’t an idiot after all… Gifts from the Emperor are treasures, but those given by the Emperor—especially ones kept in the kitchen—need to be handled with care.
Anything that passes through someone’s mouth is entrusting your life to them.
I’d been his informant, but it was a major contribution.
While we were talking, someone announced outside, "Your Highness, Princess Hazel Grant has arrived."
Ethan shoved me aside and stood. "Where?"
"In the usual place."
He exhaled, smoothed his clothes, and told me, "You go back first."
I knew he was off to see his little lover again. I made a small sound and stepped aside.
Ethan vanished like a gust of wind.
On the way home, the servants glanced at me with pity, as if to say, It’s this woman—riding on Princess Hazel’s favor to get into the household, and in the end she’s the one eating cold rice. So pathetic.
I said nothing, shut the small gate, and slept well that night.
The next day, the Emperor gifted the household with a beautiful woman.
Before that, I was the only concubine. Now another one suddenly appeared, and the manor buzzed.
The servants, unused to lining up for favors, kept asking the servants at Wycliffe Manor how to pick which of two mistresses was most likely to become the official wife.
The neighboring servants shrugged. "No idea. Our Duchess changes every year."
The beauty’s surname was Zhou; her given name, Faye.
Because she knew she was a favored concubine, she held herself a head higher than I and made a point on her first day to put me in my place.
Bad timing for her—Princess Hazel had come to see me that day. She had just finished scolding me when Hazel snorted, "Who do you think you are?"
Hazel, though not officially in the household yet, already behaved like the lady of the house; people were usually too afraid to speak loudly around her.
But Zhou Faye wasn’t meek. She lifted her chin. "Princess Hazel, this is Prince Rowan Manor’s private business. Not even your father can interfere."
Hazel, used to bossing people around, wouldn’t have a lowly concubine ordering her about. She sneered, "Do you think I won’t go to the palace and petition to be married into Prince Rowan’s household as his wife? Then don’t talk about insulting you—I’ll dunk your head in the chamber pot and no one will dare say a word!"
Zhou Faye froze, her face pale, and after a while her maid half-dragged her away.
Hazel picked at her nails and said with a smile, "She has the Emperor’s backing; so do I. So what?"
Molly took this seriously. Worried, she asked, "Mistress, do you think Princess Hazel really means to marry the Prince?"
I said, "If she marries him, fine."
Either way, someone here was going to marry eventually.
That night Ethan came by.
He kicked off his boots, sat cross-legged on the divan, and waved me over. "Come, tell me how she bullied you."
I hadn’t actually been wronged, but I was happy to pile on. "She called Claire a little vixen."
Lately Ethan loved to pinch my cheeks. "Not wrong—she is a little vixen."
I hesitated, then half leaned on his shoulder and teased, "Prince Rowan is such a nuisance…"
Maybe I hugged him too hard; he coughed.
I clung to his arm and kept calling him "Prince Rowan" until I got goosebumps.
Ethan’s mouth stretched into a grin. "I’ll send her away tonight."
I thought: even if he sends her away, it’s not for me. He only cared because Hazel had been treated poorly—if not for that, Ethan wouldn’t have lifted a finger when Zhou Faye shoved me.
I shrugged it off as a joke. Later that night, when they opened the door, Zhou Faye stood beneath a tree, all venom. "You little bitch—how dare you complain?"
I was so sleepy my eyelids were heavy; I just wanted her to come through the gate so things could be resolved. "Sister, the Prince likes people with sweet mouths, not ones who stir trouble in the house."
"Claire Bennett! How dare you mock me!" she shouted.
With that she grabbed a wooden block and struck me square on the temple.
Molly screamed and covered my wound. "Help! Mistress is bleeding!"
The outer gate flung open, and a huge hand pressed down over my wound in place of Molly’s. A cold voice said, "Where’s the corpse? Bring the body back to the palace."
Before the beauty could keep yelling, someone pinned her to the ground.
Ethan gently lifted the cloth off my brow; blood trickled down the contours of my face.
His eyes were dark and dangerous. "Don’t bother with theatrics—peel off her skin! Cut her hands off!"
I knew he could do those things. In another life Ethan had been ruthless, killing without blinking. The last time he’d shown that level of cruelty was when someone openly humiliated his mother.
Zhou Faye turned ashen. "Your… Highness, I only entered the household at will. You don’t have to—"
Ethan sneered. "You didn’t have to come at her. I gave you face and you spat on it. Fine—I’ll strip you clean."
She trembled, terrified. "I won’t accept it! She just arrived—why me? Why—"
Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and drew me close. "I’ve said more to her than you can imagine. You dare compete with her?"
Amid her screams, he carried me back inside and fetched medicine for my wound.
The world blurred with blood; I sat on the small couch and stared at Ethan.
I said suddenly, "I won’t tell Hazel. There’s no need to worry."
Ethan’s head bowed. "Why bring her up at all?"
I shut up, thinking that the next time Hazel came, I’d better rein in her temper. If she vented at Ethan, I’d be the one to suffer.
Candlelight fell on his profile, casting shadows along his long lashes. If he kept quiet, he could be a proper handsome man.
But unfortunately, he could talk.
"Claire Bennett, aren’t you cunning? Can’t you avoid things?"
My cunning had always been used to shield his Hazel. A little reward in gold or jewelry wouldn’t have hurt.
I gave a small whimper and nestled into Ethan’s arms. "Thank you for saving me."
He watched me for a while then asked, "What’s on your mind?"
Spoiled by Love, Ready for Revenge
What's on my mind? Marry Hazel off to you and then quietly step away.
When I wouldn't say it, he turned my head to face him. "Claire, I know you've got schemes, but hide them. Don't let me see them."
I decided to be blunt. "Marry Hazel."
Ethan froze. "Who do you want me to marry?"
"Hazel."
He sprang up. "Don't even think about it!"
"Isn't it romantic? Lovers and lovers' vows!"
"Get out of here with that lovers-and-vows nonsense!"
Ethan kicked over a stool. "Claire Bennett, you eat your thoughts with your food!"
And with that he slammed the door and left.
I stared after him, not understanding his mood. The night grew late and I prepared to sleep early.
Just after midnight, servants frantically knocked. "Mistress, go see—His Highness is outside drunk and got in a fight."
I smacked my head on the bedframe and shot upright, cursing under my breath. I wrapped my cloak tight and went out into the rain.
The street was empty; soon I found myself outside a tavern.
A small lamp burned at the door. The innkeeper squatted there and rushed out when he saw me. "Madam, the Prince is asking for you. Come in—it's cold out there!"
I rubbed my frozen nose and took the bowl of soup he handed me, following him into a private room.
I expected a chaotic scene—flying plates and chopsticks—but Ethan reclined lazily by the low table, eyes half-closed. Nearby sat Lord Yates.
Lord Yates had drunk himself into a rant. "Royal blood or not, without the rites of the Four Books and Five Classics, one is little better than an uncivilized barbarian—unfit for the halls of refinement."
Even a fool could tell he was insulting Ethan.
Normally Ethan would have crushed Lord Yates right there with his bare hands; tonight he sat silent.
The innkeeper, sensible, shut the door.
I glanced around, grabbed a vase, and listened to Lord Yates keep spouting nonsense: "Ignorant of culture, extravagant and debauched, low-born and despicable—hic—I'll stand for the way—"
Whack.
I smashed the vase on Lord Yates's head and hissed, "To hell with your high-minded stance."
If not for people like him, Ethan wouldn't have turned so dark.
Lord Yates's forehead bulged as he shouted, "Because his father is the Emperor! I don't accept—"
Wham!
Another noise.
I was out of breath, struggling to lift the vase. "If you won't admit defeat, then keep it in."
Lord Yates squinted an eye. "Damn him— ugh… ugh…"
I shoved the rag into his mouth and brushed away the hair in his face. The morning grumpiness in his belly finally cleared enough to be tolerable.
I turned and saw Ethan Sinclair gazing at me with cold, steady eyes.
My hand trembled. Clang!
The vase hit the floor, porcelain shards flying. Lord Yates rolled in pain; half the rag fell out and he started to retch.
In that strange commotion I tried to pull my composed, ladylike expression back into place. "Prince… I mean—Your Grace, I… I finally found you!"
Ethan let me fall against him. He smelled faintly of alcohol.
Dew had soaked through his clothes; he'd evidently been at the window a long while.
If he was pretending to be drunk, maybe it was a test. If they used the beating of a court official as a charge, how would I answer for it?
Suddenly Ethan's hand shot up and gripped my back hard.
Everything went quiet. His voice was hoarse. "My lady, why is your forehead red?"
My lady—he didn't say Claire.
A chill shot to my skull.
A thousand thoughts tangled in my head. I lay against him, frozen.
An impossible idea from my other life unfurled clearly: if I could be reborn, why couldn't Ethan?
I half-remembered: in my past life he'd often gotten wasted at taverns and I'd storm in with a broom, seizing his collar and dragging him home.
Back then more people looked down on Ethan. I couldn't fight them, so I'd silently haul him back and lock him up.
He pressed into me like he wanted to become part of my bones, his voice threaded with complaint. "My lady, why did you only come now…"
I patted his head, my voice raw. "Uh… well… I…"
Ethan never said things like that when sober. Suddenly soft, I didn't know how to respond.
He lifted his head; his eyes were clouded with drink and mixed with struggle, hatred, and a little regret and unwillingness.
"Why won't you listen…"
He hugged me and sighed. "I don't want you to die."
My mouth fell open. Then his cold mouth met mine—brisk, with a hint of spirits—forceful and domineering.
His hand slipped into my clothing, fumbling at the seams on my back. With a tug, the front of me was exposed.
I screamed; he clamped his hand over my mouth and dragged us behind the screen.
Panicked, I pressed against him and panted, "Ethan, you're drunk! There's people next door!"
Ethan's eyes were rimmed red as he pinned my wrist. "Yes, drunk. If I'm not drunk, how would you be in my dreams? Claire, Uncle Emperor's porridge doesn't taste good—why don't you try mine?"
At that he pushed past my guard, his hand moving lower.
I gasped and let out a shocked cry; my cheeks burned. "Ethan! You're insane!"
His eyes were bloodshot, like a crazed wolf pup. "Has the emperor ever touched you? Claire, how old are you? You go after old men! I'm not old—go after me!"
Tears sprang to my eyes. I mustered all my strength and slapped him hard. "Ethan, wake up!"
Although I entered the palace young, I'd never truly served the emperor. Maybe he thought me too small; the habit of calling the emperor "uncle" had stuck a lifetime.
I hadn't known Ethan held such thoughts.
Silence fell; Ethan froze.
His pupils widened, his gaze cleared, and his grip loosened. He stood there, stunned.
I wrenched free and retreated, hugging my knees in a corner, clothes disarrayed, tears spilling; I sobbed softly, "You bastard…"
Smack.
Another slap.
Ethan slapped himself—harder than I'd hit him.
His face went pale. He closed his eyes and stayed quiet a long time.
Outside the screen I heard Lady Yates cursing as she pushed the door open and, all ruckus and fuss, hauled Lord Yates away.
The little door shut; the room fell back to stillness.
"Claire… I'm sorry."
His voice was so low it sounded like he was afraid a louder word would frighten me.
This was the first time in either life Ethan said sorry to me.
My cheeks were hot and wet. I wiped my face and, voice trembling, said, "Does 'sorry' fix anything? Tonight—you think 'sorry' erases what you did?"
It wasn't that big a thing—just touching, kissing, holding—but Ethan seemed genuinely ashamed.
He slowly reached out, careful as if afraid to scare me. Finding I didn't resist, he took my hand, pressed it to his face, and said in a hoarse whisper, "Claire, slap me here. Take it out on me when you need to."
I shoved him hard. He didn't budge. "My hand hurts!"
Ethan gripped my hand like he was afraid I'd run. "Then I'll do it myself. Count, okay?"
I knew he might actually do it. In the past he was stubborn enough to take blows without a sound—now he was ready to punish himself.
"I'm tired. I don't want to look at you." I turned my face away.
He stiffened, then said ruefully, "I'll walk you home."
"Your robe's torn—how do I go out like this?"
He looked even more guilty. "I… I thought it was a dream… I thought it wasn't real…"
"Not real gives you license to do whatever you want?"
I sniffed and gave his arm a light kick. "I'm your lady—show some respect."
"Don't say that word." He cut coldly, like he wanted to be angry but didn't dare.
Finally he spun away in frustrated indignation. "Claire, if you don't like me, fine—don't go and stab me in the heart."
It wasn't surprising he denied me.
If you set aside grudges and greed, we had been childhood companions. He'd been playful; I'd taken a broom to chase and beat him every day.
The emperor had once laughed with my father: "At such a young age you already know how to tame a husband. Claire, you'll have to keep an eye on him."
Now everything had been turned into my fault.
He'd held everything in so long that I'd nearly hanged myself—of course I wouldn't let him off easy.
I hooked his arm lightly with my toe and waited for his ears to redden, then whispered, "I'm not wearing anything and I'm cold."
Ethan's neck flushed, but he sat motionless, not even looking at me.
Angry, I stood. "Fine. I'll go back myself. Let them watch—there's nothing to see anyway."
"Ethan Sinclair, you dare—"
He ground his teeth. I turned to look and he'd already come over.
He shrugged off his robe and draped it over me, covering my head. "Come home."
After that day Ethan didn't show himself for three whole days.
During those days Princess Hazel Grant visited often, hinting and fishing for news about Rouran.
My heart tightened. "Did you hear anything?"
Hazel sounded uninterested. "Uncle Emperor said he might arrange a diplomatic marriage."
A sourness hit me. I squeezed Hazel's hand. "Hazel, just marry someone. Please."
When Hazel left, her eyes were red like a little rabbit's. "Even if it's marrying into the royal family—are you okay with that?"
I guessed she liked Ethan. I clenched my hand. "It's okay."
Hazel dropped her gaze. "Claire, I understand."
A few days later it was Ethan's birthday.
Ethan's late mother had been the most admired consort, the emperor's favor fierce—until jealousy and sabotage on her delivery day left her dead. If not for my father's corruption case dragging out confessions, the mystery of her death might never have been touched.
So on his birthday I dared not stir him.
But Ethan seemed to vanish for days. Finally today I found him and cooked a bowl of noodles myself, carrying it to his room.
I knocked; the house was silent.
I kept knocking. "Ethan, open up."
No answer.
Frustrated, I shoved the door—and by bad luck or fate, the door swung wide from inside.
I stumbled forward; the bowl of longevity noodles nearly tipped onto Ethan.
He wrapped a long arm around my waist and steadied the tray with his other hand.
The night was deep. I tilted my head up, moonlight lending his eyes a heavy darkness like spilled ink.
Remembering our last awkward encounter, I rubbed my nose. "What were you hiding in your room for… I called and called and you didn't open…"
The hand at my waist tightened and pinched; I cried out and tensed.
In the dark my neck warmed red.
"Why did you come?"
"To celebrate your birthday…"
Ethan fell silent and I thought he was angry. He turned on a lamp, back to me, and coolly said, "What's to see? Go to sleep."
I heard it—his mood was sour—but the tone had lost some of its threat. There was a different thread now.
I swallowed and looked at the congealed noodles, uneasy.
Before I could say anything, Ethan had stuck his chopsticks into the bowl and stirred. He frowned hard. It looked unlucky to break them like that.
To my surprise, he dragged the bowl closer and put a glob into his mouth, head bowed.
I watched in discomfort as he chewed slowly, wanting to ask if it tasted good but unable to. Never mind—looks like it couldn't be pleasant.
The candle flame jumped; shadows slid. Ethan ate quietly, focused, for the length of a tea, without speaking.
When the watchman's call rang out, the bowl was empty.
I snapped back and saw a thin sweat at Ethan's nostrils. His eyes—dark and glossy—reminded me of Laifu, the old hound at the manor.
My heart clenched and words slipped out. "Ethan, many happy returns. In four years, I'll celebrate with you again."
His birthday came every four years; in my past life it had never been properly marked. I only said it to him this once.
Ethan scoffed, looked down, and lightly rubbed his fingertip at his eye. He blinked and opened his eyes. "Who says mine comes every four years? From now on I’ll celebrate every year. If I can't, I'll sell myself."
Fine. You're the birthday boy—your call.
I smoothed my skirt to stand and—suddenly Ethan grabbed my wrist and seated me squarely on his knee.
"Where are you going?"
I blurted, alarmed, "Back… back to sleep…"
The moment I touched him, my whole body flared as if on fire; my blood felt scalding hot.
Ethan Sinclair’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes darkening.
“Ethan Sinclair, you shameless—!
How could you do this to me—”
“Do what to you?”
Ethan’s black eyes locked onto mine. His hand pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me lower. “What’s wrong with me, huh?”
I completely lost my footing. Flustered, cheeks burning, I blurted, “At least I used to be your—”
“Ha—”
Ethan scoffed and pressed harder. “You were only my stepmother for a few days, never even climbed onto the marriage bed, and you’re already trying to boss me around? Claire Bennett, in your dreams!”
His words sent my thoughts into chaos. I muttered, “Fine then, Ethan, you finally stopped pretending—”
After we’d gotten drunk that last time, we’d ended up in a messy, half-dressed situation; Ethan hadn’t offered any explanation.
He pinched my lips shut and said nothing for a long time. I felt light-headed. His eyes were wet and bright in a way that startled me.
The rain that night was cold. Soon a downpour drenched the paper on the windows.
Ethan still smelled faintly of bath soap. He took my hand. “You’re not going back tonight.”
I gulped. “I… why do I feel like you like me?”
He snorted. “You’re smart.”
“But you like Hazel, right?”
“Like my ass!”
I scrambled back a step. “Oh no, I just promised you to Hazel.”
Thud!
A door slammed shut in front of me.
Ethan stood inside, shouting, “Claire Bennett, sleep wherever you want. If I like you again, then I’m a dog!”
“Ethan, I’m cold.”
I tilted my chin and stared at the shadow in the room.
Silence stretched on.
I sighed and was about to leave when the door suddenly flew open and an arm swept me inside.
Though he seemed slim and tall, Ethan’s forearm was surprisingly solid and warm—he practically pinned me. Heat wrapped around me.
“Ow, be gentle—” I breathed.
He was like a stone, rough and heavy-handed; I felt a bruise blooming across my lower back.
Ethan eased his grip and tucked his head into the hollow of my neck. “You really gonna go…?”
My heart softened. “I’m not.”
I felt something damp and reached up to touch his head. “Why are you so… reckless?” I meant his rebirth, the whole impossible thing he'd gone through.
“It’s not that complicated.” Ethan sounded sullen.
I teased, “You’re not…doing this for me, are you? Dying for me?”
He took a long moment, then scowled, “Don’t flatter yourself. Me dying for you? I was blind—dying for you…ha.” The tone had no menace in it.
That night Ethan cradled me carefully. He was warm; we slept sounder than I’d slept in ages, and he still wouldn’t wake when dawn came.
By the time I was fully awake, the room was empty. Dinner still warm on the table. Molly came in and eyed me cautiously, a flicker of delight in her gaze.
“Where’s the prince?” I asked, sitting at the vanity, dazed.
“He left for court early this morning,” Molly answered obediently.
A hairpin clinked onto the dressing table. I stood there, empty-handed. “Who went to court?”
“The prince…” Her eyes rolled; it was as if the sun had risen in the west. Ethan Sinclair—this decadent second-generation wastrel who’d been spoiled for years—suddenly had a change of heart overnight and was going to court? Did he even have a seat there?
Molly’s pupils twitched. “Miss, they say it’s about you.”
I looked into the mirror, pleased with the ethereal beauty looking back, pinching a tight floral hairpiece between my fingers. “What could I possibly have to do with any of it?”
A chill passed through me. Ethan wouldn’t actually be so crazy as to try to make me a duchess, would he? A disgraced family, a tainted title—he’d be asking for trouble.
Molly blinked her small head. “They say a messenger from Rouran came to ask for the princess’s hand.”
If I remembered right, the northern lesser kingdom, Rouran, had caused a stir not long ago—seized a few border towns. It hadn’t escalated, but now their envoys had shown up, bold as brass.
In my previous life I’d been busy being installed as empress. The emperor sent Princess Hazel to wed, and Ethan had been ordered to escort her. As soon as the edict was out, Ethan had led a rebellion.
I clutched the hairpin, heart pounding. “Do you know who they planned to send?”
Molly waved her hands, lowering her voice. “It was supposed to be Princess Hazel, but last night… it changed. They swapped—now it’s you.”
A strangled feeling flickered through me.
By noon, the day warmed. I wrapped myself in a cloak and sat in the courtyard, hands tucked into my sleeves, waiting for Ethan to return.
That year the rain had been relentless.
Soon the sound of hooves clipped outside; a horse neighed. The familiar rhythm of Ethan’s swift steed hit the ground.
He came in like a storm—no sign of having been defeated. Far off, he saw me and tugged the corner of his mouth. “You’re freezing—why don’t you go inside?”
Why was his tone suddenly oddly intimate? As if I were his waiting bride and he the hardworking husband.
I brushed snow off my skirts and stood. “I heard the Northern court wants to send me away in marriage.”
Ethan idly unbuttoned his cloak and said, out of nowhere, “Hazel can’t go anymore.”
I blinked at him, waiting.
“Last night she was made empress, moved into the inner palace,” he explained when he saw my expectant look.
Everything from the past two lives crumpled in an instant. This decision had been made so hastily that my unease deepened; something about it felt off.
Ethan washed his hands. “Hazel’s been sleeping in the emperor’s bed for a while. Last night the imperial physician checked and she’s two months pregnant. Duke Harland stormed the palace demanding answers and the royal household can’t deny it.”
I hadn’t expected Hazel to use the emperor as anything other than an uncle. Two months—my memories of spending myself on Hazel’s behalf suddenly left a bitter aftertaste.
It seemed the emperor had planned to make Hazel empress all along. Then my being named empress in the last life made more sense in a disturbingly specific way.
Ethan fumbled with a cloak button and said, “You undo it. I can’t.”
I helped him absentmindedly. He mumbled, “Don’t worry, I haven’t agreed to anything. Who would dare send you away?”
I stared at him in bewilderment. He laughed, “Look at you—so useless. I have to look after you.”
Curious, I asked, “Then… who’s going? Who will go instead?”
“I will.”
Silence fell. The candle popped and hissed.
I thought I’d misheard, or else Ethan had lost his mind.
He saw my horrified expression and tore his bulky cloak open. He scooped me up onto the warm couch, straddling the edge of the bed with his thigh blocking my path.
“Claire Bennett, I’ll personally cut that old Rouran king’s head off and kick it like a ball for you.”
What on earth had I said about kicking heads like balls?!
Seeing Ethan’s fierce look made the pieces click into place—if the emperor was sending Ethan north, this might not be a simple marriage escort. It could be the cover for something much larger.
I swallowed. “I want to stay in the capital—”
“Stay where?” Ethan cut me off without mercy. “You want to pretend for show? Or do you expect me to put on a veil and fight your battles for you?”
Fine. I shut up.
In the afternoon, Hazel came.
I sat beneath the colonnade, waiting a little while. Her makeup was heavier than usual and her usual arrogance was gone; she looked subdued.
“Claire, I got you a talisman for safe travel. Take it on the road,” she said.
The words “on the road” sounded like a knife. I remained seated, unmoving.
Hazel’s composure cracked. She crouched and looked up at me. “Claire, I had no choice. I never meant for this to be you.”
“Did you really not mean it?” I asked.
She swore up to heaven. “Claire, I only wanted to be empress—for my family’s honor, for my parents. I could never go to Rouran.”
“You wanted to be empress from the start?” I lowered my eyes and asked softly.
“Yes.”
I laughed suddenly and gently pried her hand away. “If I were twenty years younger, I might have believed you.”
Hazel blinked, confused.
I stood and closed my eyes. Before I was installed in the ceremony, I lived in the West Palace and the only person I’d seen often was Hazel. She told me I would be empress and she would go on the marriage journey.
If it had all been a lie from the start—if I was meant to go instead—then Hazel had woven the dream deliberately so I would take her place. That kind of betrayal was terrifying.
Hazel was still crouched, batting her thick lashes and watching me with quiet intent.
“I would have agreed,” I said with a small smile, “if you’d told me the truth back then.”
Spring arrived. The willow buds in the capital burst green. I was granted the title of Princess of Peace. With a princess title came the duty to leave the palace in marriage.
A swarm of old maids fussed over me, reluctant to see someone so young bear the weight of a political union. They painted my face vivid and lovely—after all, whoever the Rouran thief was, he should at least appreciate beauty.
Outside the city the wind was brutal, whipping the carriage curtains. Willow fluff blew in and I lifted my veil to cough until I nearly blacked out. No one knew how unbearable that year had felt.
Ethan, as escort commander, had been waiting outside the city for the convoy.
The carriage had barely stopped when a tall figure strode up, threw the curtain open, and growled, “Claire Bennett—get off the carriage and ride!”
His voice stuck in his throat.
I covered my mouth, tears wet on my face. For a heartbeat his expression was stunned by how blindingly beautiful I looked.
Clink.
The water skin in Ethan’s hand dropped to the floor.
He slammed the curtain closed.
He stood outside, motionless.
I coughed hard. “Prince—Claire needs water…”
“You can’t reach it? On the floor?” Ethan’s voice was stiff.
I stumbled up to grab the water skin, but then the curtain ripped open again.
Ethan darted in like a monkey, picked me up, and used his back to shield me from prying eyes outside.
My face flamed. A thin sheen of sweat cooled my forehead as I leaned weakly against him.
Ethan muttered and shoved the cork out, forcing the water into my mouth as he cursed, “Why paint yourself so pretty? To steal people’s hearts?”
Whether I’d stolen anyone else’s heart, I didn’t know. But his soul—Ethan’s soul—was certainly being stolen by me.
While he drank, his eyes went glassy three times, he licked his lips three times, his Adam’s apple bobbed three times, and the hand pressed to my waist felt like burning coals.
“You can’t even drink properly.”
He muttered, lifted the water skin and gulped it down, then grabbed my jaw, forcing my lips to part. He shoved his mouth against mine so the water in my mouth pressed into his.
I opened my eyes wide and felt his scorching breath. Where our lips met felt like it was on fire; my breathing hiccupped, and a secret pleasure circled low in my chest, a jolt of electricity racing up my spine.
I whimpered, eyes misting with tears, and shot him an annoyed look. “You oaf…”
Ethan’s mouth split, showing a row of white teeth. “You dare complain about me?”
I nuzzled his neck and squealed like a spoiled child. “How could I—”
Ethan’s dark eyes studied my face carefully. Then, suddenly, he pressed his thumb to my lips and rubbed hard. “Why paint them so red? Don’t you dare wear lipstick! Don’t you wear your wedding dress either!”
What was he raging about now?
My lips were already swollen from where he’d bitten them; after that rough treatment, of course they were red.
I couldn’t stop him. In a panic, I closed my teeth around his forefinger and gave it a little lick. Ethan’s whole body shuddered, like he’d been struck by lightning—he froze, rigid.
Outside the curtain, one of Ethan’s men called out kindly, “Prince, it’s time to go. Don’t miss the auspicious hour.”
Ethan put me down on the cushioned bench, shot me a warning glare, and swung out of the carriage.
As we traveled from south to north, the weather turned colder.
I added layer after layer of clothing until I finally put on my coat.
We’d reached Eastbridge. Fifty more miles north lay the border between Northlake and Rouran—where Ethan and I would part ways.
Within Rouran stood a mountain called Crow’s Peak, easy to defend, hard to take. But if taken, the plain thirty miles north would leave Northlake’s army with an unimpeded path to the capital.
As the princess going to marry into Rouran, my route took the west flank of Crow’s Peak. Going around the mountain instead of through it meant it would take half a month longer to reach the capital.
Half a month: that was Ethan’s deadline to take Crow’s Peak.
Of course, if he didn’t care whether I lived or died, he could stall for six months and I’d be done for.
If forty thousand lions set camp below Crow’s Peak, Northlake’s vast realm would stand united behind them. Rouran’s flies would never buzz through that line.
Achoo!
Bundled in three layers, I still sneezed inside the carriage.
Dusk came and we stopped at a relay station outside Eastbridge.
There’d been freezing rain recently; the ground was slick. Ethan dismounted and came right to the carriage to pick me up.
I struggled at first, then let him lift me inside.
The station had never hosted someone of our status before. When they heard our wedding convoy came from the capital, they fussed and hurried trays of food out, then backed away trembling.
Ethan and I had adjoining private rooms. He didn’t stay in his; instead he came into mine, didn’t speak, lit a lamp, and hunched over a map by the dim light.
I peered at the map and saw all the messy marks and annotations. I swallowed some hot tea and stayed quiet.
I did worry. People say everyone looks out for themselves—whether I could survive my time in Rouran really rested on Ethan.
He hadn’t said a word on the matter. The only heartfelt thing he’d said was that he’d cut off the old king of Rouran’s head and kick it like a ball for me.
Late that night, when he still showed no sign of resting, I took off my coat and crawled into his arms. I tried a singsong tone. “Prince, Claire’s sleepy.”
My fingers slipped into the collar of his coat.
Ethan kept his gaze on the map and pinned my mischief-making hand. “You’re sleepy—so stop trying to trouble me. Go lie down.”
I bit my lip and lowered my voice. “I can’t… I can’t sleep without you…”
Ethan’s hand trembled. His black eyes fixed on me as if trying to burn me, and in a hoarse voice he said, “Say that again.”
I hooked my fingers in his belt and tugged. His coat opened, warmth flooded out, and I snuggled closer. “Prince, come sleep with Claire.”
Smack.
He threw the map onto the table. His focus shifted entirely from troop movements to me.
He made me sit in his lap, his right hand finding my neck, and without asking he kissed me.
I jumped, instinctively shoved him. It wasn’t much strength—more like half-push, half-pleasure.
Before I could steady myself against such a sudden onslaught, Ethan lifted me and we toppled onto the soft bed together. “Claire Bennett, even if the King of Heaven himself came down, you started it!”
He said it with fierce words but a trace of injured pride.
I murmured back and couldn’t help but laugh.
After all this time, I’d finally learned one thing: Ethan’s fiercely protective. Once you belong to him, it’s all benefits, no downsides.
His touch wasn’t crude, but it wasn’t gentle, either.
It was as if he held something precious but didn’t know how to show it; his initial moves were clumsy. I couldn’t help but tease him once.
That seemed to hit a nerve. He tightened his hold and didn’t let go all night, barking threats between kisses: “Try laughing again!”
What started as teasing softened into me smiling, then through force of his heat, I couldn’t manage a grin anymore. Tears filled my eyes. My hands clawed weakly at his arms as I begged for mercy.
Ethan went berserk, relentless in his passion. The difference in strength left me no real chance of resistance; when he got rough, I put on a show of crying.
His face flushed; he pressed his forehead to mine and ground his teeth. “If I’d known you’d be so exasperating, I never should’ve met you. Claire Bennett, why did you have to be so tonguey and talk back to me back then?”
He even dredged up that old grudge.
I bit my lip and whispered through wet lashes, “Claire’s sorry.”
“Am I an ugly monster?”
“No…”
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes…”
“Apologize to me properly!”
“I’m sorry…”
In the whirl of his desire, clutching me tight, he muttered nonsensical things: “Claire Bennett—don’t you dare die…”
There was a dampness at my neck. Only then did I realize Ethan had been crying.
By the time I staggered back into the carriage, it was already midday. The wedding convoy hurried on toward Rouran.
Ethan couldn’t keep himself away. He kept sneaking into the carriage to smother me with kisses, his hands not staying innocent. “Does it hurt? Let me see.”
I swatted his hand away in a mix of annoyance and embarrassment; my cheeks flamed.
I wanted to insist I was a proper gentlewoman; daytime indecency was unthinkable.
Below Crow’s Peak, the army split into two routes.
Ethan kept fiddling with my fingers, his handsome face suddenly stilled. “I’ll have Crow’s Peak taken in three days,” he said.
I knew he was posturing. I leaned up and kissed him. “Prince—April third is Claire’s birthday. Try to be quick, okay?”
I didn’t know why I told him my birthday. Maybe I feared he’d say something worse, so I added, “Can we not have the old Rouran king’s head…?”
Ethan cracked a smile, like spring sunlight breaking through clouds. “This time, I’ll send you something special.”
He smiled so beautifully I got lost staring at him. He parted his lips and said, “I’ll take Rouran down and give it to you.”
Right. I shouldn’t ask for anything else.
When Ethan rode off, I climbed onto the carriage step and felt my eyes sting.
It really hit me then—the man I cared for was going off to war.
Ethan’s tall figure mounted his horse, drew the reins of his swift steed tight. The wind blew cold; the horse’s cry rang out clear and fierce.
Young men were supposed to be like this—sunrise bright, horizons full of promise.
He stood there, flames of morning around him. “Listen up! The carriage holds my little sun. If any of you let anything happen to her, I’ll make sure you never see tomorrow’s sunrise!”
Ethan left with only a small retinue; the main army marched into Rouran toward the capital.
Night deepened and the chill was bone-deep. The fox-lined cloak Ethan had commissioned kept me warm—two layers of fur wrapped around me—but his name kept intruding into my mind like a stubborn echo: that arrogant face, that tenderness, him calling me Claire Bennett.
I grew quieter and quieter. Even Molly noticed the change. “Mistress, the northern wind is harsh and the frost bites. We’ll be on the road for a long while—please take care of your health.”
I coughed twice and lay on the soft cushion, suddenly thinking Ethan’s plan to cut off the old Rouran king’s head and kick it like a toy wasn’t so bad. An old man making trouble for Northlake’s girls deserved no respect.
A thunderhead rolled in, pressing down with menace.
The wind picked up, and the convoy struggled forward step by step.
I clutched my head and sat up, dizzy, when the carriage jolted.
A soldier shouted sharply from the ranks: “Assassins! Protect the princess!”
Of course nothing would go smoothly!
The battle we’d planned never arrived. Instead, a man’s voice rang wild and rough: “Hand over the princess and I’ll spare you!”
His Han was rough, but his excitement was plain.
Molly paled. “Mistress—who would be out here in these wilds?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who goes there?”
Outside, we waited tense moments. A nearby officer bent low and said, “Princess, it’s Rouran’s second prince, Yun Cao.”
I’d heard of him. My father, a scheming minister who loved to pry into neighboring genealogies, had mentioned the name. Yun Cao was the bastard son born after the old Rouran king drunkenly favored a servant; he’d never been loved. With palace infighting, he’d likely gotten desperate—thinking if he seized me, he could win support from Northlake.
Little did he know: once Crow’s Peak fell, both he and his father would be in deep trouble.
I tapped my knee lightly with my fingers and said calmly, “The second prince comes himself to welcome me—Princess most grateful. We’ll entrust the rest of the journey to Prince Yun.”
Molly stared at me in horror. “He’s not coming to welcome you—he’s kidnapping you!”
I kept my head bowed and smiled. “If he can take me from Ethan Sinclair, he’s got real skill.”
The unlucky fool still riding the high of his own plans, thinking he could steal the princess with no trouble, was about to take Claire Bennett straight into his nest.
The convoy changed course, turned east, and entered Yun Cao’s territory.
Yun Cao was blond-haired and green-eyed, a broad face with a wide nose and a big, sturdy build.
At our first sight of each other, he threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve long heard of the princess’s beauty. Today I see the rumor was true.”
“Where did you hear that?” I asked.
“My father-in-law,” he said.
I blinked. “?”
I didn’t see my father again until I ran into him in Rowan Manor. He looked more energetic than when he left the capital—almost radiant. He’d put on a whole circle of flesh; a double chin showed.
When he saw me his lips trembled. “Annie… Daddy missed you so much—”
My father used to be hailed as the North Wei’s greatest talent: dashing, elegant, charismatic. I never imagined he could become this.
So I ignored him for days.
In my previous life I had clawed my way to the empress’s throne longing for him, only to be driven to hang myself when rebels closed in. Seems my father had been living it up in Rouran all that time.
“Annie, I heard you married the third prince. Does he treat you well?”
“Annie, look at Yunzo. He’s been waiting for you day after day. Think about it?”
I pressed my flat belly with my hand and counted days. Ethan Sinclair had been without me five days now—wasn’t he supposed to have taken Qugu Mountain in three?
“Annie—”
“My father,” the third prince said, “today I acquired a whole tree of coral beads, round and perfect—made for a princess.”
Yunzo wore a lake-blue deerskin robe, his pale eyes fixed on me with a sugared smile.
I frowned and lowered my voice coolly. “Don’t pair him with me. Give him to my father.”
My father snorted and felt his neck, whispering, “I haven’t put on that much weight…”
Yunzo went on, “The weather’s beautiful today. I’ll take the princess out to see Rouran’s sights.”
He wasn’t asking. He even stepped forward to take my hand.
My father cleared his throat and, without flinching, planted himself between us with a light smile. “Your Highness, I haven’t seen them either—why don’t we all go together?”
Yunzo’s expression clearly said he didn’t want my company.
But my father, thick-skinned from years in office and skilled at pleasing everyone, stubbornly stayed between us, looking innocent.
Suddenly he seemed more likable to me.
“The princess, look—this is our river. In winter it’s frozen; carts can cross.”
Oh.
“If Ethan dares come, I’ll make sure he never returns.”
Big idiot.
“When I rule the Central Plains,” Yunzo continued in a dreamlike way, “I’ll make you empress, and you’ll share the glory with me.”
Cute fantasy.
Yunzo looked arrogant, his gaze sickeningly affectionate. “What does the princess say?”
I forced a gentle smile. “Whatever your Highness says.”
Rouran’s air was cold—my hands and feet were numb. I had no mood for this. The sun wore a thin veil, and a heavy snow sealed the mountains. Could Ethan really take Qugu Mountain?
Soon news came from Qugu Mountain.
Yunzo’s face went black. He burst into my chamber in the night, grabbed my wrist, and hauled me outside.
My father stood in the yard and roared, “Let her go!”
Yunzo’s eyes were bloodshot. “Strategist, this is none of your business! She is Ethan Sinclair’s woman—I don’t believe Ethan won’t care!”
“She’s my daughter!”
My father bellowed, voice booming. “If you want to win this battle, be smarter!”
In my mind, my father had always been the clever one. In a year he’d sweet-talked Yunzo into trusting him. As soon as the words came out, Yunzo faltered.
“I won’t harm her in battle,” Yunzo said, “but she must be taken as a hostage!”
I knew Ethan had taken Qugu Mountain.
That night I rode pillion on Yunzo’s horse. A bitter wind cut my face as we galloped to the foot of Qugu Mountain.
The once white, silent mountain burned with signal fires. The hilltops echoed with battle cries and smoke.
The flames stained the dusk crimson.
Yunzo swore and stopped two miles out, waiting quietly.
In the heavy twilight a tall figure rode down from the mountain’s base.
He held a spear and wore iron armor; his face was hard to make out. Behind him, forty thousand soldiers stood grim and ready. North Wei had taken Qugu Mountain—Rouran was within reach.
“Don’t touch her,” Ethan’s voice was hoarse and fierce, but beneath the cold was tenderness I could hear.
He was telling me not to be afraid.
Yunzo’s breath hitched. When he spoke his voice quivered with excitement. “Ethan Sinclair, I didn’t expect you to come. Have all your men come too?”
This was the moment the North Wei soldiers were most vulnerable—officers and men loose after battle. My stomach dropped and my face changed. “Ethan, withdraw!”
A trap. No wonder Qugu Mountain fell so easily.
It was my father’s plan.
I ground my teeth and screamed at him, “I slept with him—what did you do to him?!”
My father stared, stunned for a moment. “I… I didn’t do anything…”
Silence fell, and Ethan laughed softly, disdainful. “Scum. Thirty thousand soldiers and you think you can lock me in a jar? Didn’t your mother give you a brain?”
Yunzo was not to be outdone. “You have forty thousand, I have thirty thousand. I don’t believe you’ve lost a single man—now we’re even. I surround you and you can’t fly away.”
Ethan slammed his spear into the ground, spread his arms, and shouted, “Get bows!”
“You don’t know when you’re dead!”
Yunzo tightened the reins and pressed a dagger to my side. “If you don’t want this woman, I’ll take care of her myself—”
A line of light rose unexpectedly from the east.
Dawn.
The forty thousand hidden troops in the ravines revealed their real shape.
Closer inspection in the pale morning showed row upon row of straw men stuck into the foothills—decoys. The thin light exposed the ruse.
In the bitter wind Ethan stood alone on his horse, drew his bow like a full moon, and three arrows aimed straight at Yunzo.
Everywhere, Rouran’s troops were beaten back. Rivers ran red with blood; those forty thousand North Wei lions had slammed their banners into crimson earth. The mantis was trying to catch the cicada with the oriole behind—Rouran was defeated.
Yunzo screamed, “Impossible—”
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh—
Arrows tore through the air and struck Yunzo in the skull.
Hot blood sprayed my nape, searing. I shuddered, lost balance, and fell toward the ground.
“Annie… Daddy’s coming to get you…”
At the crucial moment my father lunged forward and slid under my bottom.
He yelped, complaining loudly, “Annie, why did you get so fat!”
Before I could react I landed in a warm embrace.
Ethan pinned me hard to his chest, breathing raggedly. “Claire Bennett—I'm here to get you.”
Tears came at once. I hadn’t felt it before, but the metallic smell of blood on him made me realize how hard Ethan had fought.
His armor was hacked to pieces; his back gaped with a wound that bled where he’d overexerted himself drawing his bow. One hand was sliced deep, bone visible.
He was a mess, like a beaten dog.
I cried until I could hardly breathe.
Ethan wiped my face roughly. “Claire, don’t cry. Let me blow on it. Where are you hurt?”
Sudden fragments of memories not my own pressed into my head.
The scene blurred.
On the day I died I wore a scarlet wedding dress. A white sash hung from the beam above. Outside the house the sound of killing was everywhere. Ethan knelt by me, dazed.
Behind him the emperor’s face was furious. “Traitor! You would rebel because of her! You dare rebel for her!”
Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice distant yet real. “Marry whoever you want—just not her! Send Hazel instead! Didn’t we agree Hazel would go?”
By the end his voice carried sorrow.
“Hazel ran away!” Emperor Charles said, hands behind his back, disappointed and enraged. “I worked so hard to trick her into the bridal gown and marry her off to Rouran. She was a pawn, don’t you understand?!”
Ethan’s eyes streamed bloodlike tears as he wiped my face. “She wants to be empress. You can’t let her be empress?”
“She’s the daughter of a traitor! Are you dreaming?” The emperor’s expression was black. “Ethan Sinclair, you can’t blame others. If Rouran killed her, you better bring Rouran down for me!”
The scene snapped back to Qugu Mountain. The forty thousand were real this time. Ethan nocked his arrows for real.
My father—wild-eyed—shouted, “Ethan Sinclair, I told you to take her vengeance!”
The ambushed Rouran troops poured in from all directions. Swords clashed and death cried out. Blood blinded men.
Ethan’s figure shrank in the sea of red, so small.
I watched his quiver go empty, and he picked up his spear and kept fighting.
Like a crazed man with no fatigue, he used his spear to sever heads; bodies piled at his feet until the dead formed mountains.
But ahead were wave upon wave of men. His single spear could not cut through them all.
His armor split, his breast riddled with holes. One by one his soldiers fell behind him. Ethan leaned on his spear, head bowed, knives and arrows piercing him.
Blood flowed from him like a stream.
This time, he didn’t win.
But he refused to fall.
When the sun rose Ethan’s lips moved with only a little strength, and I heard him say, “Claire—wait for me…”
The birds of spring woke me from that dream. Outside two girls whispered, “She’s slept a month now and still no waking. Maybe—”
“Shh, stop. If the prince hears you he’ll skin you.”
I wiped my face. It was wet with tears.
I lay alone for a long time.
Someone finally pushed the door open and I slowly lifted my eyes to meet a pair of bloodshot eyes.
Crash.
A bowl fell and shattered.
Ethan wheeled and dashed from the room. “Doctor! Hurry, find a doctor!”
Fifteen minutes later the doctor arrived, sighing. “My lord, you’re holding her too tight. I can’t take a pulse.”
Reluctantly Ethan loosened his arms a little and the doctor peered in.
The old man rubbed his beard and squinted. “Hmm?”
“What is it?” Ethan asked, anxious.
The doctor pressed and checked and murmured, “It seems she’s pregnant… but also maybe not…”
Ethan panicked. “Are you any good? If not, I’ll get someone else!”
In the end Ethan summoned every doctor in the city. They examined her one by one. She was indeed with child.
Ethan grinned foolishly like a silly dog and paced with me in his arms. “Claire, look—there’s really a child. He’s so small I don’t even mind holding him.”
There was never a dumber thing to say.
With time on my hands I watched him in a daze.
“Tell me—what do you like about me?” I asked.
Ethan nuzzled me. “Everything.”
As he said it he measured patterns on a dress. “How would a boy look in green?”
I picked at my nails and cut him off. “Pick a day. Marry me.”
Ethan Sinclair held me and said, "We'll have to wait until your father returns to the capital to take up his post. I think we should stay in the northern lands for a while. Wait until it cools down and then head back to the capital. By then the baby will be born—you won't have to worry about the travel."
My father had been rewarded for his undercover work in Rouran. He had left the north some time ago and gone back to the capital to assume his office.
We knew the scheming from my past life all too well. Ethan had once asked me if I wanted to be empress, if I wanted revenge. He swore that the heads of Hazel and the Emperor's father would be laid at my feet the moment I nodded.
I refused without a second thought.
Ethan had suffered enough in his last life. He was flesh and blood—he deserved to live happily.
Our return to the capital kept getting postponed.
In October my father reclaimed his position as the all-powerful chancellor. A decree arrived in the capital: Ethan Sinclair was titled Duke of the Northern Marches, and I became the Duchess.
On New Year's Day the following year, I gave birth to twins.
We named them Nathan and Nora Sinclair.
Ethan said, "Maybe we should just stay. I took this land for us—I ought to stay and guard it."
I knew why. He was afraid of me going near that place.
More afraid of waking up one morning and having everything start over.
Thankfully, more than ten years passed.
We grew old together, our hair streaked with silver, the house full of children and grandchildren.
Everything was peaceful.
