Ethan calls her "Mother."
Ethan’s mother died when he was very young.
Aunt Margaret felt sorry for him and took him in to raise.
Aunt Margaret told me I was Ethan’s childhood fiancée, that one day I would be the Crown Princess.
I asked Aunt Margaret, "Is being Crown Princess fun?"
She said, "As Crown Princess, you eat whatever you want, play whatever you want."
I was a little tempted.
Just then Ethan arrived.
That was the first time I saw him.
It was a day when the snow had melted and spring was warm.
He looked like he was walking in wrapped in sunlight.
He was very neat.
His face was pale—whiter than Westford’s finest paper.
His eyes were dark, like ink from Blackwater County.
His lips were glossy.
A single rebellious curl of hair stuck up.
He glanced at me.
There was a little glint in those dark eyes.
How could someone be that beautiful?
I hid my face in Aunt Margaret’s sleeve.
She laughed out loud.
She took my hand and asked him, "Ethan, would you like Claire to be your Crown Princess?"
He said, "As Mother wishes."
For some reason, I thought he didn’t seem very pleased.
But when I peeked, he was smiling politely at Aunt Margaret—he must have been glad.
I was completely smitten. I wanted to be Crown Princess—Ethan’s Crown Princess.
Aunt Margaret reached out teasingly and said with a smile, "Claire, remember—Ethan will be your husband one day."
My face flushed.
I felt shy for only a moment.
I ran over to him and smoothed that little curl of hair.
He looked surprised.
After that, I followed Ethan everywhere.
At first he said little and didn’t pay me much attention.
Slowly, he began to speak to me.
Once he ran a high fever and was delirious.
He kept calling for his mother.
His brows knitted like small hills and rivers.
He cried.
His face was streaked with tears.
My heart ached; I carefully wiped his eyes.
I soothed him like my mother had soothed me.
"Ethan, stop crying."
"Claire will kiss you, make it better."
I secretly kissed him once.
He stopped crying.
He hooked his little pinky around my finger.
Another time he seemed to have done something wrong.
I didn’t know what he had done.
Uncle Harold punished him by making him kneel outside the Westford gate.
The sun was blazing, the green bricks were so hot they seemed to smoke.
I pleaded with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Harold, but they said, "Claire, you don’t understand. Don’t interfere."
All I could do was hold an umbrella over him.
A palace attendant grabbed the umbrella away.
So I knelt with him.
He’d been kneeling a long time.
His back was soaked.
Sweat dampened his thick lashes.
His face looked terrible—greenish, lips pale.
He nearly couldn’t stay upright and almost fell onto the scorching bricks.
I steadied him and burst into tears.
Why were Aunt Margaret and Uncle Harold so cruel?
Why would they bully Ethan?
I felt useless.
He braced himself on the ground and straightened his back.
Then he soothed me, "Claire, don’t cry."
He wiped my tears with his hand.
His hand was hot—like red-hot iron.
My tears wouldn’t stop.
He tried to cheer me, "Claire, Southport sent lychees. They’re already iced. You should go eat them first, okay?"
I refused.
Southport’s iced lychees couldn’t compare to him.
We knelt together until we fainted.
He let me eat all the Southport iced lychees himself.
He didn’t even give any to Bianca Hale.
Bianca is the Grand Tutor’s daughter; she knew Ethan longer than I did.
They were close.
Once, we sneaked out of the palace to play.
We ran into an assassin.
A sword thrust toward me.
Ethan shoved me away and took the blow.
A permanent scar marked his chest.
I owed him my life.
Once he kissed me—on the day I had my first period.
We had gone to Riverside Academy for a lecture.
Suddenly my stomach hurt.
When the master finished, everyone packed up and left.
I touched the bench—my fingers were stained with blood.
I sat frozen in my seat.
Everyone else left.
Only Ethan and I remained.
That day his movements were a bit slower than usual.
He was carrying a book as he left; at the doorway he stopped.
He turned back and looked at me.
I cried to him, "Ethan, I’m dying. I’m bleeding so much."
His face went white in an instant.
The book in his hands fell to the floor.
He dashed over to me in a panic.
He even kicked the bench leg, but he never cried out; he never did.
He wiped the bench where I sat; his fingertip had blood on it too.
He asked where it hurt.
I couldn’t focus on the pain—I thought I was going to die and I was so unwilling.
I hadn’t become his Crown Princess yet.
I cried, "Ethan, kiss me, please?"
He hugged me tight, as if trying to melt me into his body.
His lips trembled as he kissed away my tears.
He said, "Claire, I won’t let you die."
His kiss was clumsy but gentle as it met my lips.
Suddenly I didn’t hurt anymore.
His lips were so soft, so fragrant.
There was nothing in the world softer or sweeter than his mouth.
I wanted to be kissed forever.
He carried me to the physician.
When we learned what was happening, we looked at each other.
Ethan’s jade-like face was bright red—redder than the blood on my skirt.
On the day I came of age, Nathan Price confessed to me.
By Red Maple Lake.
He’d arranged thousands of lanterns along the shore.
That trickster—he’d invited me under the pretense of having grilled fish.
He’d also invited Fiona West, Peter Young, and Gavin Cole.
Ethan and I used to play with those four a lot.
Fiona’s family were top merchants in Waverly.
Peter’s father was an old general.
Gavin came from a poor family but was clever.
They were supposed to ask Ethan to come too, but he’d been away from the academy those days.
Still, Nathan pulled that whole show.
The others had vanished.
I was annoyed.
Nathan’s confession was dramatic: his father is the left minister, my father the right—he said we were a perfect match.
I scoffed.
The only one who matched me was Ethan.
I was about to refuse him gently when I heard urgent hoofbeats.
I turned and saw Ethan not far off, riding with Bianca—riding side by side.
I thought he was busy with state affairs.
Turns out he had time to be with Bianca.
Ethan looked at me with a cold gaze.
I looked back.
I glanced at Bianca—she’d clutched Ethan’s sleeve, very close.
So intimate.
I’d always known they were close.
I just hadn’t known it was this close.
Ethan dismounted.
Bianca wasn’t practiced at riding and wobbled, hesitant to get down.
Ethan reached out to help and she lost her balance and fell perfectly into his arms.
I didn’t bother watching anymore.
The grilled fish smelled good.
I left them and went to eat.
Nathan followed me, asking for an answer.
I blew on a hot piece of fish and demurred, "We’ll see. I’m hungry."
Ethan tossed a log into the bonfire, crackling loudly.
Bianca said, "Ethan, I’m hungry, too."
She was talking to Ethan.
I couldn’t help it: "Don’t you have hands? Aren’t there cooked fish on the rack?"
Bianca glared at me, then looked at Ethan with a sulky injustice.
Bianca and I never got along.
No wonder—both of us liked Ethan.
We were always at each other’s throats, subtly, openly.
Ethan gave her some fish.
Suddenly my fish tasted awful.
Tonight’s grilled fish was sour.
I tossed it aside and rode off.
I’d thought Ethan’s gentleness was mine alone.
It wasn’t.
I hated Ethan.
One night Ethan showed up brazenly.
He climbed through my window into my chamber.
I was lying on the bed crying.
Through the blurred tears I saw the full moon on the window and him.
I was irritated.
I turned my back. I didn’t want to see him.
I decided to tell Aunt Margaret I wouldn’t speak to Ethan anymore.
He was so annoying.
He sighed lightly, placed his hand on my back, and patted it a few times.
"Claire, crying on your birthday is unlucky."
I turned and grabbed his hand, then bit down hard on the back of it.
"Mind your own business."
He seemed barely to notice the pain and just let me bite.
I pushed his hand away with force.
"Ethan Clarke, you’re shameless."
He wouldn’t let me push him off; instead, he brought his hand to my mouth again.
"Claire, bite me if you must. Don’t hurt yourself."
I trembled with anger.
Tears fell again.
"Ethan, I hate you. I’m going to tell Aunt Margaret I won’t marry you."
Silence.
I stole a look at him.
The color drained from his face.
Those already-dark eyes seemed even blacker—bottomless.
"Claire, don’t make that kind of joke," he said. His voice was ice-cold.
I stubbornly kept talking, "I’m not joking…"
Suddenly he pinned me to the bed, his hands pressing my shoulders hard.
He was so close—his expression frightening.
"Ethan, what are you doing?"
He bit my lower lip with his sharp teeth, over and over.
It hurt. Tears streamed down again.
Then the bite turned into a tender kiss.
He said sadly, "Claire, don’t give up on me."
Something in me softened instantly.
There’s a scar on his chest—I couldn’t bear to give him up.
He had prepared a birthday gift for me.
He carved it himself: a cherrywood hairpin.
Ethan grew busier and busier.
Uncle Harold kept giving him more duties.
His retinue expanded.
Aunt Margaret said, "Ethan’s wings are getting stronger."
When she said it, there was no smile—only silence.
Ethan was about to go to war.
I didn’t want him to go.
I feared he’d be hurt.
I feared he’d die.
But he was the Crown Prince—whether he fought or not seemed inevitable.
Aunt Margaret said he’d be emperor one day.
But Ethan insisted he had to fight this battle.
He said: lose, and at most you’ll be wrapped in your horse hide; win, and you can rightfully be Crown Prince.
Then he could marry me openly.
I watched him, confused.
Wasn’t he already honorable enough?
He kissed my forehead without speaking.
I noticed he and Aunt Margaret never finished saying things. It was maddening.
On the day the army departed, I rode with tears and secretly followed the troops up the mountain for a long time.
I followed until sunset.
They camped by a river as night fell.
Maybe the lit, upright figure by the river was Ethan.
Or maybe the one drinking at the fire was him.
They said Ethan died.
He died at the Havenford border.
But he’d won the battle.
I had even received letters from him.
He wrote: "Claire, we won."
"I’m sitting by Amber River right now, writing to you."
"The water at Amber River is so clear; the clouds are reflected and drifting."
"There are so many big red flowers growing along the riverbank."
"The locals call them midnight cherry blossoms."
"I picked one and brought it back for you."
This was the longest, dumbest letter Ethan Clarke ever wrote to me.
Before that, his notes were all like, "All good, don’t worry."
Sometimes there wasn’t even a sentence—just a handful of dried grass, a pebble, a scoop of sand.
By the time I got that last letter, my wedding dress was finished.
Eleanor and Hazel helped me stitch it.
Eleanor was gentle; Hazel had a bit of a sharp temper.
Their mother was a concubine in the house.
My mother was Lady Bennett.
We weren’t born of the same mother.
But that didn’t stop them from caring for me.
I counted the days on my fingers for Ethan’s return.
I waited to be his bride.
Then they said he was dead.
Absurd.
They hadn’t even found Ethan’s body but announced he was gone.
They said he had jumped into a treacherous rapid to save a girl and been swept away.
They hauled everything of his out of the East Palace and burned it in a great fire.
They wanted to erase every trace that Ethan had ever lived.
I wouldn’t let them burn it all.
I put my hands up to stop the flames.
I couldn’t let Ethan think everyone had given up on him.
I feared that without someone remembering him, he’d lose his way home.
And yet I was useless.
I couldn’t protect the things that belonged to him.
All that remained was a small rosewood box from the East Palace.
Inside were several cherrywood hairpins.
They were crudely made, nothing like the one he’d given me.
Mr. Lee, his steward, said, "The Crown Prince tried carving hairpins himself. He failed many times."
I held the little rosewood box and walked slowly through the deep snow.
At the time, I was still angry with him.
I thought he’d forgotten my birthday.
I thought he didn’t care about me.
My eyes were so dry, they’d begun to ache from rubbing.
They were going to appoint a new Crown Prince.
Uncle Harold had four sons—one gone, three left.
They chose Elliot.
Elliot was pathetic.
He was timid, meek as a mouse.
He did poorly in his studies, his riding and archery were awful, and he spent his days fraternizing with palace maids.
He’d knocked up so many of them that some were beaten to death.
And yet Aunt Margaret pushed for him, saying he was gentle and broad-minded and would be a benevolent ruler.
What a load of benevolence.
She’d clearly once said Ethan would make a great ruler.
Her memory was slipping; she had forgotten.
She even asked, "Claire, will you be Elliot’s empress?"
Be empress—anything I wanted, I could have it.
But what use was that?
I wasn’t the gullible child I used to be.
Nobody could soothe me like before.
The only person who could was gone.
I was so miserable.
So miserable I stood on the high city tower.
Cold snowflakes fell across my cheeks.
I lifted one foot and let it hang over the edge.
If I jumped—
Would I meet my Ethan?
Maybe he’d not gone far down the river of souls.
Maybe he hadn’t drunk Meng Po’s soup yet.
The snow was falling thickly.
Where were his bones freezing? Buried under which mountain, in which river?
I didn’t jump.
I hadn’t seen the midnight cherry blossoms by Amber River yet.
I would go find Ethan.
I would bring him back to Waverly.
Everyone had abandoned him.
I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t let his lonely spirit wander in some foreign place.
Up until then I hadn’t cried.
Ethan would never know how strong his Claire could be.
He didn’t know I only ever shed tears for him.
I wanted him to coax me, to comfort me.
While they busied themselves arranging my marriage to Elliot, I left home on a snowy night.
At the gate, lantern light flickered.
Eleanor held a red lantern, brow furrowed as she watched me.
Hazel had her arms crossed and was scowling, leaning against the doorway.
Eleanor would have lectured me for ages.
Hazel would have poked my forehead with a finger.
But I was wrong.
They handed me a bundle.
Inside was the secret money they’d been saving for a long time.
Eleanor said Ethan was a good kid.
Hazel called him a lovable fool.
Both sisters loved him—had always loved him like a brother.
My aunt, my father, my eldest brother once cared for him too.
But once Ethan grew busy with his duties, they liked him less and less.
When he died, they’d entirely forgotten him.
I met Peter Young.
Sadness showed on his face.
He had gone to war with Ethan.
He knew the truth.
He said, "Ethan jumped because Gavin Cole said that the girl he pulled from the water looked an awful lot like Claire."
Someone must have promised Gavin their future success.
So brilliant Gavin betrayed Ethan.
And Ethan dove in.
He was a complete, utter fool.
I asked Peter, "Why did you come back alone?"
He said his father had knocked him unconscious.
Peter joined me on the road to look for Ethan.
We ran into Fiona West, who’d run away from home because her stepmother bullied her.
Fiona liked Peter, so she came along.
The Havenford rebellion had been quelled.
Though we met refugees and bandits on the road, it wasn’t insurmountable.
Fiona had money. Peter was skilled in combat.
I stole my father’s token and we set off smoothly.
We reached Amber River.
Cliffs rose on both sides, tigers roared, monkeys howled.
From Ethan’s letters I’d imagined Amber River as a gentle stream.
It wasn’t.
I saw the midnight cherry blossoms.
Red as the late-sky blaze at dusk.
Absolutely beautiful.
I sat on a huge boulder and watched the Amber River roar past.
Peter said Ethan had been sitting on this very boulder writing letters.
He said Ethan smiled as he wrote.
I listened to his memories and tilted my face up to the sky.
No tears.
We followed the riverbank for days searching.
Through small towns and villages, asking everyone we met.
I carried Ethan’s likeness and asked people if they’d seen him.
But folks said, "Miss, if someone drowns, their face puffs and rots in the water. How could you recognize them?"
No matter how he looked, he was the most handsome man to me.
We pasted up wanted notices all along the banks.
If anyone dragged up an unclaimed body, there’d be a reward.
A needle in a haystack, but it was the only way.
Every day someone called and told us about a body.
Each time my limbs went ice-cold with fear—what if it was him?
Fiona’s money dwindled.
My father sent people to bring me back.
During a commotion I fell from a mountainside and got separated from Fiona and Peter.
I woke to a hillside filled with red dragonflies.
I had fallen into a thicket.
A few wild thorns had pricked me.
My face stung numb.
I touched my wet cheek; my hands were sticky with blood.
I checked my arms and knees—scraped and bleeding.
Thorns had pierced the flesh and tiny drops of blood showed.
If I didn’t look, the pain wasn’t so bad.
I pushed myself up and suddenly heard voices outside the bushes.
"Ethan, go inside and catch a red dragonfly for me, okay?"
A few red dragonflies perched on the twigs.
Someone pushed aside the brush that hid me.
I looked up at who had come in.
A long, dark scar cut across his face like a blade—from the tail of his left eyebrow down to the corner of his left lip.
A fierce, horrible scar.
And yet he was undeniably the most beautiful Ethan Clarke in the world.
No matter how he looked, I recognized him.
He saw me.
His black eyes stared at me with confusion.
A stubborn curl of hair still stuck up defiantly.
He didn’t know me.
He only glanced at me and went on to catch dragonflies.
He plucked one from a branch, turned, and shouted to the girl outside, "Mia, I got one."
Then he walked away.
I called out, stunned, "Ethan—"
My voice was hoarse.
It sounded awful.
He froze, turned back.
He stared at me, bewildered.
The girl outside called him a few times; he didn’t answer.
She came in and, seeing me, was startled.
She and I looked a little like each other.
She grabbed Ethan’s hand and dragged him away, saying, "Ethan, don’t talk to strangers."
Ethan obeyed her.
They left.
I wanted so badly to chase after him.
But when I tried to stand I found I’d twisted my ankle.
I staggered a few steps and fell again.
Pain hit me like a wave.
Suddenly the sky darkened.
The red dragonflies flew low—rain was coming.
I clumsily picked up a stick to use as a cane and limped on.
But I moved too slowly. The downpour came.
I gave up, threw down the stick, and sat, sobbing wildly.
I couldn’t tell the rain from my tears.
I thought the rain would finish me off.
It didn’t.
A pair of hands shaded me with an umbrella.
Ethan was back.
He lifted me up and carried me out of the storm-soaked wilderness.
His shoulders were warm and solid.
I laid my face against his shoulder and stopped crying.
I even reached out secretly and smoothed that stubborn curl of hair.
For a moment I thought Ethan remembered me.
He didn’t.
He was merely kind to a stranger.
But it was enough.
I was with him again.
He took me to the small cabin he now lived in—built beside a stream.
It was tidy and clean.
He gave me a set of clean clothes to change into.
They were his.
His clothes had a quiet, gentle scent.
Putting them on felt like being held.
The ache in my body and in my heart eased instantly.
When I came out in his oversized shirt, clutching the collar because it hung so loose, his gaze deepened suddenly.
Then he quickly looked away.
He handed me medicine and needles.
Boundaries were strict between men and women—he told me to pull out my own thorns and apply my own medicine.
He didn’t remember me. That was okay.
He was alive; nothing else felt impossible.
We could fall in love again.
I plucked out a thorn and then—on purpose—let the tears spill.
It didn’t hurt at all, but I rubbed my eyes and let them fall, playing the aggrieved, wounded girl.
He couldn’t bear to watch.
He snatched the needle from my hand, sat on the edge of the bed, and carefully began picking out the thorns for me.
When he concentrated, his lips pressed tight.
His brows drew together.
Those black eyes of his shone like water.
I stared at him, almost greedily.
I reached up and touched the scar on his left cheek.
It had healed into a seam.
It must have hurt so much when it was fresh.
I could nearly imagine the flesh torn open, the blood and pain—so real it made my chest ache.
He jumped as if he’d been burned.
He reacted strongly, scrambling to his feet and taking a few clumsy steps back.
I stared at him, puzzled.
He clapped a hand over the left side of his face and turned away.
His shoulders trembled a little; his voice shook but he was trying to steady it. "Sorry… I scared you."
The Boy Next Door Claimed Me
I nearly let a sob slip out, but he needed comforting right now.
I forced a casual laugh. "No, it's fine. That scar… it actually looks kind of manly."
The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.
I wanted to reach out and take his hand.
But Mia came in carrying a bowl of ginger soup.
She called Ethan to her house to help chop firewood.
Oh—I forgot what she and Ethan were doing now.
Ethan left.
She sat down, holding a spoon over the medicine, and tried to pry. "What's your name? Where are you from? What are you doing here?"
Of course I didn't tell her the truth.
Peter had said Ethan nearly jumped into the river for a girl.
I guessed that girl was Mia.
She stole my Ethan.
How did she do it?
I kept my face neutral.
I lied, "Everyone calls me Maggie."
"My family's in trade. We were in Havenford buying supplies, and I slipped on a mountain path and fell, got separated from my companions."
I asked her about her relationship with him.
She watched me warily.
She said they were childhood sweethearts, lovers.
She was ridiculous.
I asked, "So are you married?"
She hesitated. "Soon."
"Soon" meant not yet.
There was still time.
To set things right.
Around eleven in the evening, Ethan kept glancing at the pile of dirty clothes in the basin and then at me. His face flushed, then paled—he looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
Heat rose to my face; I felt it.
Ethan's amnesia, Mia's scheme, contacting Fiona and Peter—important as those were, they didn't feel as urgent as dealing with this basin of filthy laundry.
I waited until he fell asleep, then crept up in the dead of night to handle the urgent mess.
It was getting dark, and the water was icy.
I shivered as I scrubbed the clothes—completely freezing.
Suddenly ripples spread across the surface, and something dark darted under the water.
A cold wind blew; the hairs on my ankles stood up.
I heard a "sss, hiss" sound.
Like something slimy and cold slid under my feet.
I held my breath, too scared to move, and looked down.
In the weak moonlight I could see clearly.
A greenish snake was slipping through the grass at my feet. It paused by my foot, hissing, its red tongue flicking out.
I swallowed hard.
Don't spook it.
I pretended nothing was happening and stepped to the side.
The green snake didn't react.
I bolted.
Of course I tripped on a rock and fell.
The snake shot toward me.
Something wet and cold wrapped around my ankle.
This is it.
No, it's not.
Ethan showed up just in time.
He threw the snake back into the stream.
He reached out as if to touch my head, then like he suddenly came to his senses, quietly withdrew his hand.
But his voice was still so gentle it made me want to cry. "It's okay. Don't cry."
He always soothed me like that—telling me not to cry.
I didn't want to cry.
I forced the tears down. He didn't recognize me; I couldn't let him think I was weak or helpless.
Through my blurry eyes I noticed I was still holding something wet.
I hadn't had time to toss it.
He followed my gaze.
A red undergarment hung dripping, water plinking down from it.
I wanted to stare it into flames.
His eyes landed on the red garment, and a burn of color crept into them too.
So hot.
He turned away in a fluster.
He stammered, "Sorry…"
In the end, he turned his back and helped me finish the laundry.
Aside from the terrifying snake, it was a gentle night.
The stars seemed to float in the water, blinking bright.
Amnesiac Ethan's ears were flushed and he stammered when he spoke.
I was so happy.
When we were eating, Mia showed up.
She told Ethan her stove was too damp to light, so she'd come to eat with us.
Ethan carefully picked the bones out of the fish. He grabbed a chunk of fish meat, hovered, looking hesitant.
Mia, cheeks rosy, pushed her bowl forward and smiled, "Ethan's always the best to me. He knows I love fish."
That piece of fish landed in Mia's bowl.
I glanced at Ethan; he was looking at me too.
There was a cloudiness in his expression.
I gave him a small smile and lowered my head to my rice. "Ethan, you eat this."
"Mia, you take more. Don't worry about me, I'll—"
"No! I like to give Ethan food, and I like when he gives me food. It makes the meal taste better."
Ugh. As if no one else ever uses chopsticks to feed someone.
Mia buzzed around like a fly.
I wanted to tell her to shut up.
But Ethan wasn't mine—at least not to him—and I couldn't lose my temper. If I offended her, she might kick me out.
So I kept my head down and ate.
I wanted that fish too. It had been caught right from the stream—surely fresh and tender. But I didn't want to look up and watch them act like lovers.
I couldn't stand it.
"Hey, Ethan, don't just feed Mia. Give Maggie some fish," Mia announced like she ran the house.
She treated me like a guest.
He was the host.
A chopstick of fish landed in my bowl. "Eat more…"
Ethan's voice was soft.
It was the tender meat under the fish's eye—my favorite bit.
He gave it to me; I should have been happy.
But for some reason I couldn't be. I felt sad.
I pushed the meat back into his bowl and smiled faintly. "Thanks, I'll get my own."
The light in his eyes dimmed.
Mia giggled, "Oh, my bad—forgot. Men and women shouldn't touch like that."
Not even a bite left for me.
I pushed back my stool and stood. "You two, finish up. I'm done."
I was too afraid to watch anymore. I felt hopeless.
The carrier pigeon to Fiona had already been sent—when would she come?
Fiona had medical training; maybe she could help me get Ethan back.
I walked along the stream for a while, guessing they'd be done with dinner and thinking of going back to help clean up.
When I turned, Ethan stood not far off, those dark eyes watching me quietly.
Sometimes those passionate eyes tricked me into thinking he remembered.
I rubbed my eyes and gave him a small smile. "Finished eating?"
He nodded slightly, then suddenly asked, "Was the food not to your taste?"
I stared, puzzled.
His gaze flicked awkwardly away as he explained softly, "I noticed you didn't eat much just now."
Since the amnesia, Ethan was overly attentive to everyone.
I shook my head, looking at the ground. "Oh—I'm not hungry."
He said nothing.
I stole a glance at him.
He kept his eyes down; his expression looked dim.
He seemed troubled.
Fair enough. If I cooked and no one liked it, I'd be upset too.
I hurried to soothe him. "Ethan… Mr. Clarke, I'm really not hungry. Your food is—very good."
His features relaxed.
"Then what would you like tonight? I'll make more…"
One simple line from him made all my grievances vanish.
"Fish again… like the one just now…"
He smiled faintly. "Anything else?"
His smile almost made me think any request could be granted.
I silently added: don't have Mia eat with us.
She's so noisy.
I told him with a smile, "Nothing else."
Because it was so early, Mia didn't come—just Ethan and me. We ate early.
I ate happily.
Ethan concentrated on picking bones, continually feeding me meat and vegetables.
I ate and smiled.
He noticed and smiled too.
"Why so happy?" he asked.
"Just happy. Tonight's fish tastes especially good."
"Then eat more. Want some soup?"
"Yes! And rice."
"Okay."
"Don't rush. Eat slowly—it's all for you…"
All for you.
When he said those three words, I couldn't hold back and tears fell.
Ethan panicked. "What's wrong? Did a bone get you?"
I shook my head hard. "No—it's just… so good I cried."
Later, Ethan went to town with Mia to buy supplies.
I was down at first.
But he came back with two new outfits for me.
I couldn't help the corner of my mouth lifting.
Mia's face fell like rain clouds and she left as soon as she saw me.
Ethan claimed the shop had a buy-one-get-one deal and she wanted new clothes, so he picked some up for me. I didn't mind his explanation—I was secretly thrilled.
In town, that style and fabric were top quality. I didn't believe any shop would sell at a loss unless someone insisted.
If he had forgotten, I could love him all over again.
It didn't feel so impossible.
I tried to repay Ethan by cooking for him.
Steamed fish turned into charcoal-grilled fish.
Tofu soup became salty water.
The greens were half-raw.
But the rice turned out okay.
Ethan and I exchanged glances.
I sulked, intending to toss it, and took a walnut pastry to fill my stomach.
He stopped me. He said he'd clean up and told me to start on the pastry.
When I brought one over to eat with him, I found him quietly eating the vegetables.
I watched him from the doorway.
He had his back to me; I couldn't see his face.
I got a hazy feeling that maybe my Ethan had always been there.
Mia grew anxious.
The foolish girl brought me a bowl of lotus seed soup.
I sighed inwardly.
Spending so long with Aunt Margaret taught me one skill above all—how to recognize poison.
In the palace, nine out of ten who survived knew poisons.
I scooped a spoonful and cooled it at my lips.
Mia looked nervous, but she couldn't hide a giddy joy.
The curtain was suddenly thrown aside.
Ethan came in and told Mia to go out and help.
As he left he glanced back at me. His eyes landed on the lotus soup; the long, ugly scar on his cheek hid in the dark.
His voice was calm, as if always checking on me: "Be careful not to burn your mouth. Let it cool. I'll get you some sugar."
Before I lost consciousness, I heard the sharp crash of a bowl hitting the floor.
Then hurried, stumbling footsteps.
Mia wanted to harm me—she got her wish.
There was a wild plant growing by the creek called the fake-death herb.
If you ate it, you'd fall into a soundless sleep for three days and three nights.
When I woke up, Ethan Clarke was sleeping at the foot of my bed.
His hand was under the covers, holding mine.
He slept restlessly.
His thick brows were knotted like little mountain ridges.
A dark shadow pooled under his eyes.
I wanted so badly for him to be happy.
I gently traced the deep scar on his face.
Then I leaned in and, on impulse, pressed a quick kiss to it.
He woke up. I smiled at him like nothing had happened.
"That's weird," he muttered. "After that lotus seed soup, I suddenly felt so sleepy."
He lowered his eyes; his long lashes cast a soft shade.
I thought this might drive a wedge between him and Mia.
But then he said, "I'll apologize to you on Mia's behalf. She used the wrong ingredient when making the soup—she was careless. How would you like us to make it up to you?"
When Mia was treated as if she didn't exist, I had this illusion that my Ethan had never left.
But whenever Mia was present, reality snapped back like a cold hand.
I could never compete with her.
I gently freed my fingers from his and forced a small smile. "Oh, she meant well. I didn't actually die, so let's leave it at that."
Justice is worthless in the face of favoritism.
I didn't even know who I was supposed to be angry at.
Mia came to see me as if nothing had happened.
She gave a perfunctory apology, then immediately turned to Ethan, batting her eyelashes and whining that she was too frightened to sleep and didn't look good at all.
Ethan patted her head. "It's okay."
They were still them, and I was still me.
Suddenly, I missed home.
I'd been away for months.
Mother must be worried sick.
Father's ears were probably being pulled off by Mother right now.
I sneezed.
If Fiona and the others didn't show up soon, I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold on.
Thank goodness they arrived.
Nathan came too.
As soon as he saw me, Nathan pinched my cheek and complained I looked scrawny, like my face had lost all its softness.
I swatted his hand away and rolled my eyes at him.
After his last failed confession, Nathan had quickly confessed to another girl, and we were happily back to being friends.
He leaned in and murmured in my ear, "Claire, do you think Ethan really lost his memory? Look at how he's staring at me—like he wants to kill."
I glanced toward Ethan under the tree.
Just as Nathan said, his look was cold as an ice knife, fixed on Nathan's hand slung over my shoulder.
I was about to pull Nathan's hand off when Fiona grabbed my arm and whispered urgently, "Even with amnesia, people can't forget certain instincts. If we trigger those instincts, maybe we can help Ethan get his memory back."
I felt like I was in a fog.
Fiona said, "You and Nathan should pretend to be lovers—stir him up. Didn't he get most upset when you were close to Nathan before?"
Peter Young disapproved of the plan.
But we couldn't think of anything else.
We had to try.
Havenford had a thousand-lantern festival. At night, thousands of households released sky-lanterns to pray for good fortune and to ward off calamity.
Our group planned to head into town and see the spectacle.
We only had three horses, so we paired up two per horse.
I had meant to share a horse with Fiona; I'm decent at riding and archery—I could handle leading her.
But Fiona, cheeks flushed, told me in private that Peter was always so distant with her, and she wanted to use tonight to get closer to him.
So Nathan and I shared a horse; Fiona with Peter; Mia with Ethan.
I hadn't dressed up in a long time. Fiona and I fussed with our outfits for half the day.
By the time we stepped out, Ethan and the others were already waiting with the horses beneath the trees.
Nathan whistled and teased as soon as he saw me. "Claire in a white dress—so pretty."
I glared at him.
My eyes snagged, unavoidably, on Ethan.
He wore all black tonight, solemn.
I actually preferred him in white—soft, clean—or red—festive and warm. Anything was better than black.
Black always felt like an omen.
He looked back. His dark eyes brightened for a breath, then clouded over.
There was a touch of loneliness about him.
If Ethan was unhappy, I would pull out every trick I knew to make him smile. It was a habit by now.
I wanted to go talk to him, but Fiona gripped my arm and hissed, "Remember—act."
I forced down the urge to get close and walked past him with my head bowed, moving toward Nathan.
A chill ran down my spine.
Nathan helped me onto the horse.
I didn't need it—one step into the stirrup and I was up—but I let him.
I felt awkward. Ever since I was little, the one who stood by me was always Ethan.
I watched Ethan waiting for Mia. He seemed impatient—kicking at the stones beneath him with his head down.
He rarely showed impatience. He kept his emotions in check and was always polite to others.
Mia finally came out, smiling as she took Ethan's hand. They both smiled, whispering something I couldn't hear.
Nathan snorted beside me. "Talk about being in the wrong place with the wrong thoughts—this is the real thing."
I pinched his hand. "Shut up."
"Prioritize beauty over friendship, huh?"
After Ethan helped Mia onto the horse, he hesitated for a beat, as if unsure whether to mount.
Mia tucked her head and cooed, "Ethan, let's go."
She smiled like it was cute to be so late.
I stared hard at them. Suddenly Ethan turned his head.
I quickly looked away.
That was close. My expression must've been awful. Good thing he didn't catch it.
I cared a lot about how I looked in front of him.
We set off at last.
When we reached Havenford, night had fallen.
Lanterns floated everywhere—on the water, in the sky, along bridges. The town glowed and buzzed. It was like stepping into a dream you stumble into on a boat and fall asleep in.
Unreal and fragile.
We tied the horses at the bridge and wandered into the crowd.
The market was packed—jugglers, monkey tamers, fire-breathers, and a crowd around a ring-toss booth.
I hadn't joined any festivities in a long time. Fiona and I ducked into the stalls to see.
I saw the top prize for ring-toss: a small porcelain bottle. The vendor said it contained a skin-clearing salve that could remove scars and spots.
The woman next to me swore by it. She said she had burned her face years ago, and after using the salve it healed in no time.
I wanted that salve.
As I stepped up to play, a local Havenford girl named Amy also said she wanted it and challenged me.
Fine. This Claire from Jin'an wouldn't necessarily lose to a Havenford girl.
But the vendor's rule was that the ring had to be tossed by lovers.
Amy pulled her partner over and sniped, "You already lost, anyway."
Hmph. I could beat both of them alone.
If it's lovers, then fine—I’d find a lover to make it work.
I turned to look for Nathan. He'd wandered off.
I asked the vendor, "Can two girls do it?"
He said the rule required one male and one female. Stubborn old fool.
Amy stuck out her tongue at me. "No lover, no play."
I was about to argue when a hand took mine.
"I'm her lover," Ethan said steadfastly.
In the lantern-lit street, Ethan gripped my hand tightly. He looked down at me with a slight smile.
His hand was warm—warmer than all the lanterns in Havenford put together.
I squeezed back hard, then lifted my chin triumphantly at Amy. "I have a lover now. Go on—don't cry later."
I didn't even get to throw.
Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind—one hand on my shoulder, the other guiding my toss. The ring flew true and landed squarely. The crowd cheered.
Amy sobbed and snapped at her partner.
I grinned at Amy, cheeks flushed. "Not only do I have a lover, my lover's amazing."
Amy stomped off covering her face. Revenge tasted sweet.
Ethan stood beside me, shaking his head with a small smile.
I was over the moon to have won the salve. I couldn't stop grinning.
Ethan brushed my cheek. "You really wanted it that badly? Your skin's already so clean."
"Yes," I said. "I wanted it a lot. I wanted to win it for you."
I placed the porcelain bottle in his palm.
I wanted, in my small way, to help Ethan smooth away his scars.
He looked momentarily startled, hesitated, then reached up and touched the scar on his face. He hung his head and asked in a low voice, "Does it bother you?"
His tone was so bleak.
I shook my head hard. "No. Scar or no scar, you're handsome. But if you don't want the scar, I can help you get rid of it. I just want to give you a choice."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
He tightened his hold on my hand.
Suddenly, more people surged in. The crowd closed in, chaotic.
Ethan said, "This place is too messy. Let's get out of here."
I scanned for Fiona so we could leave together.
Then I saw Mia—she had slipped in unnoticed. Her eyes landed on my joined hands with Ethan like a blade dipped in poison.
"Ethan, how could you leave me alone and come play?" she said as she stepped close. She was almost too close.
She laughed oddly.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of looking at her, but out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of cold metal sweep across my abdomen.
My heart lurched.
I hadn't had time to grab her hand.
Pain lanced through my belly.
I couldn't believe it—my white dress was instantly soaked in red.
Mia—how hateful. That dress was a gift from Ethan.
I clamped a hand over my stomach to staunch the flow.
There was another sickening sound of tearing flesh.
Something crashed to the ground.
Screams cut through the crowd.
I was so unwilling to go. I wasn't afraid of dying—couldn't I at least have Ethan back before I left?
The person who collapsed was Mia.
She was still going to drive the knife deeper when Ethan intervened.
The scar on his face was a shadow in the night—cold and hard.
His black clothes were flecked with blood.
"You're looking for death," he said.
I saw terror in Mia's face.
Ethan's dagger plunged without hesitation into her stomach.
Her blood gushed out like a broken dam.
I heard her pale, trembling voice. "Ethan… why?"
First she couldn't believe it. Then she began to laugh—starting low and spreading into a wild, hysterical cackle.
Her face twisted into something feral, her white teeth stained red with blood.
“You have no right to touch her.”
He stepped in front of me, his right hand gripping mine so tight I felt every bone.
My brother Ethan—he was back.
Mia stopped laughing. Her expression froze into something wooden and blank.
She stared at him, dazed, reaching for his hand—but missed. Her lips trembled as she stammered, “Ethan Clarke, didn’t you ever care for me at all? You jumped into the water for me. You always did whatever I asked.”
I couldn’t see Ethan’s face.
I only heard him chuckle softly. “Delusions of grandeur.”
Mia shook her head, like she’d gone mad. “No, no… that can’t be…”
Something seemed to click for her, and she laughed low and strange—until her laughter broke into tears.
Then her eyes went cold and vicious again, like needles. She spat a curse at me with every ounce of strength she had: “Claire Bennett, today he kills me. Tomorrow, he’ll kill you. You and I—there’s no difference.”
Mia was dead.
A vast sky burst with festival fireworks—meant to be bright and joyful.
But suddenly the rumble of iron-shod horses rolled up from beneath the city walls.
People screamed and scattered.
Countless lanterns toppled to the ground.
In moments, Havenford became a tangle of chaos, blood, and terror.
Cold blades slashed through festival crowds.
Brutal hooves crushed chests that had been cheering one heartbeat before.
Blood rained down over the Thousand Lantern Festival.
Enemies from every direction surged toward Ethan and me—eyes wild with bloodlust.
Ethan held my hand with one arm and swung his sword with the other.
I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes open, tracking incoming attacks, shouting warnings. I couldn’t be the reason he fell.
At last Nathan and the others reached us—but they were outnumbered.
We began to lose ground.
If only consciousness could be an endless shield; if only I could stay unbroken forever.
Before the last of my awareness slipped, I heard Ethan say, “Nathan, take the two of them and go to Westford to borrow troops—her uncle is there.”
“Peter, you stay and help me hold the city.”
I didn’t want to let go of his hand. I was terrified.
He pried my fingers loose one by one. His warm fingertips brushed away my tears.
“Claire, don’t be afraid. Be brave.”
My hand felt empty.
I didn’t want to be brave.
But if I was going to stand beside him, I could not be cowardly.
16
Havenford was the first line of defense on Waverly’s border.
Not long ago Waverly had beaten Dalong, and its border garrisons had let down their guard.
Nobody expected the defeated Dalong to strike back so quickly.
Waverly must have had traitors on the inside.
With Havenford’s forces spread thin, we couldn’t hold against Dalong’s cavalry.
We rode two days and nights to Westford. I begged my uncle for troops to relieve Havenford.
His answer was bleak.
First, Dalong had Havenford encircled, and they were determined to take it.
Second, Havenford was hollowed out—no soldiers, no supplies, communications cut. Reinforcements couldn’t get in; intelligence couldn’t get out. It was untenable.
Third, the border provinces were unprepared. Our priority had to be shoring up the rear—raise more troops and grain—prevent a string of lost cities.
Two days had already passed; perhaps Havenford had fallen.
My uncle wanted to abandon it.
I told him Ethan was still in Havenford—he was the Crown Prince.
My uncle replied that Waverly had already proclaimed Elliot Clarke as Crown Prince.
Whether Ethan lived or died, his place would be forgotten—buried like a royal ghost.
The world was unjust in so many ways.
Ethan had fought and bled for them. And in the end, his deeds were erased.
I sent Nathan to find my father’s former students for help.
Fiona raised money.
I slipped my uncle’s tiger tally from his belongings and rode into Westford’s main camp to requisition troops.
The officers recognized me and mocked me. “Little girl, stop this nonsense.”
A few veteran captains leaned back drinking; some younger soldiers gambled by the fire. They didn’t take me seriously.
I set my jaw, pulled on the reins, and held the tally up. “All soldiers, obey my order. Anyone who refuses will be executed.”
Some glanced up and laughed, slapping their thighs; the rest kept at their games, as if I were spouting nonsense.
I slid from my saddle, grabbed a nearby officer, drew my sword, and in one lightning stroke cut into his arm.
Blood spattered my face. I didn’t flinch. I smiled and said, “Sorry, wrong spot.”
Then I moved the blade to the poor man’s throat.
He dropped to his knees with a thud, sweat pouring, and yelled, “Obey the commander!”
That got their attention.
The room fell silent.
I looked around, the blooded blade in my hand, my face cold. “Do I need to do this one by one?”
A dozen men hit the ground at once, voices like thunder: “Obey the commander!”
My aunt was the Empress Dowager; my father was the Right Chancellor; my uncle commanded Westford. Even if they knew the tally was stolen, none would expel me from camp—yet they still belittled me.
They assumed I was a frail girl they could brush off until my uncle intervened.
They were wrong.
Claire Bennett was not someone to trifle with.
My palms were sweating anyway. My leg tucked under my pants shook. The wound in my belly felt like it was tearing open, a sizzling pain.
But I did it. I hid my fear well. I wanted Ethan to call me brave.
I had to get to him.
That night Nathan, Fiona, and I gathered our troops and supplies and rode for Havenford.
17
Smoke and fire, war drums pounding—Havenford was consumed.
Ethan had trusted I would come. He held the city to the very end.
I trusted he would wait, and I arrived as the walls fell.
Amid endless fighting and slaughter I caught sight of him from far off.
He stood in front of the crimson phoenix battle standard, relentless, cutting down the swarm of enemies.
The flames lit his handsome face, his iron armor carved his stern features.
He looked up—somehow distant—and I saw him glance my way.
An enemy raised a heavy blade behind him, preparing to strike.
My heart leapt to my throat.
Then Ethan’s mouth tilted into the faintest, most tired smile. In the firelight it looked unexpectedly gentle.
He spun and stabbed the attacker through the heart; the man collapsed into a heap.
I almost sobbed.
On my side of the flames I forced the brightest smile I could and gave him everything I had.
His smile grew in response, braver, wider.
He cut and he rode toward me, stepping through the bodies toward victory.
At the moment the city was won, he finally reached me.
His breath reeked of blood. The drums of triumph thundered in my ears. The ground beneath us was a carpet of corpses.
He grabbed my shoulders, bent down, and kissed me with a brutality that was nearly tender—hard enough to claim me.
His taste dominated my mouth. My tongue went numb; the tiny shock of electricity swept through me like wildfire—down to my bones.
My legs went weak.
He hooked his arm around my waist and gazed at me for a long, quiet moment.
I wanted to say so many things—I had a thousand words racing to spill out.
In the end I said nothing.
He brushed hair from my face, touched my cheek, lowered his eyes.
Pressing my skull to him, he kissed me again—until it felt everlasting.
He murmured against my lips, “Claire, thank you for not abandoning me.”
Later I asked when he’d recovered his memory.
He paused, then said it came back the night of the Thousand Lantern Festival—the moment I was wounded.
We learned more afterward.
Mia was from Dalong. She’d been sent to kill Ethan, but in the end she hadn’t struck.
Mia was hateful—but she was also, in a way, pitiable.
We also discovered the traitor in Havenford: a junior officer, oddly enough with the same surname as ours, distantly related to us.
A cold unease settled in my chest.
I was afraid.
Peter said that during the last campaign, the enemy had seemed to anticipate our moves several times. Many in the army were my aunt’s confidants.
I tried to tell myself I was imagining things. How could my aunt betray her own country?
18
We returned to Jinan.
The battle for Havenford had won Ethan the people’s hearts.
Petitions piled up like snowfall, pleading for Ethan’s restoration as Crown Prince.
Public opinion surged, but the power to decide lay in the hands of a few.
Uncle Harold wavered.
Aunt Margaret strongly backed Elliot.
Several ministers—Nathan’s father, the Left Chancellor—kept neutral.
My father sided with my aunt. Peter’s father had deliberated long, but after Peter’s pleading, he sided with Ethan.
Grand Tutor Hale had yet to decide.
General Pei’s support alone wasn’t enough.
My father locked me in the mansion. I couldn’t see Ethan.
Ethan begged Uncle Harold for permission to marry me—and was punished, forced to kneel.
I refused food at home.
On the third day I fainted. When I woke, my mother pinched my cheek, tears in her eyes though she smiled. “What daughter would be like you? You give up your parents for a man.”
I buried my face against her. “Mother, I only want him. I don’t want anyone else.”
She smoothed my stray hair and whispered her agreement.
My parents had a huge fight. My mother joined my hunger strike. My father tried to coax her into eating.
She smashed a bowl and laughed coldly: “I have only Claire. Not like you, with a whole house of sons.”
My father went pale. She threw a formal divorce document at him and said, “Jiang Ye, I won’t watch my Claire be ruined by you.”
My father trembled, tore up the paper, and slammed out.
They’d fought like that before, but never so viciously. I was frightened.
My mother hugged me tight and soothed me. “That boy Ethan is the one for our Claire. As for Elliot—what is he, really? Don’t worry, Claire. Mother will protect you and make sure you're happy.”
My father finally relented—he promised to try to persuade Aunt Margaret.
But Aunt Margaret dug in her heels.
Then suddenly Gavin Cole stepped forward and accused Elliot of treason—colluding with the enemy.
He produced detailed evidence, letters, seals, correspondence found among Mia’s things.
I couldn’t tell if Gavin was friend or enemy.
The court erupted.
Aunt Margaret tried to stall—she wanted further investigation; she refused to accept one man’s accusation alone.
She didn’t reckon on how stupid Elliot could be.
Afraid of being deposed, he panicked and lashed out.
He almost assaulted Bianca Hale.
Trying to make the cooked rice stay cooked.
Who knew Ethan would ruin it.
Ethan kicked him away from Bianca.
Naked Bianca collapsed into his arms.
He wrapped her in his own clothes and escorted her home.
Not long after, with the support of the Grand Tutor and General Young, Ethan was restored to his position as Crown Prince.
Elliot's crimes of treason and collusion were confirmed; he was stripped of his title and reduced to a commoner.
Aunt Margaret finally agreed to my marriage to Ethan.
But the grand wedding was a spectacle for three.
Bianca and I married into the Eastern Palace the same day.
I became Crown Princess.
She became a secondary consort.
On the wedding night at nineteen, I poured every grievance into his mouth.
I bit hard.
He said nothing, pinned me down, bracing my thrashing legs, and began ripping off my red wedding robe.
"Liar. Don't touch me."
I struggled and broke free.
My sharp nails gouged his clean right cheek.
A thin line of blood soon appeared, bleeding faintly.
An unseen ache flooded in from every direction.
I hated him, yet helplessly ached for him.
He still didn't seem to feel the pain.
He even smiled and, in a hoarse voice, said, "Claire, we're finally husband and wife."
He wanted to prove the fact.
The red robe lay torn by his hands.
A flash of red lingered where it had been undone.
We both froze, suddenly remembering the first time he saw that red sash.
Embarrassment stole over us before anger could take root.
He leaned toward my ear and whispered, "Claire, I'm not alone anymore."
I opened my mouth to mock him—of course he wasn't alone; he had married two wives.
But the words wouldn't come.
Cold, gentle—none of it could be said.
He waited a long time for a response and, hearing none, his eyes dimmed. In silence he opened his fingers and gripped my hand tightly.
"I'm starting a family. My wife is my Claire. We'll have many children. We'll have a lively, happy home."
Rain streamed down his face.
He kissed my tears away with careful patience.
It sounded like a dream, faint and yet steady.
He said, "Claire, I only love you."
He didn't even explain.
A few words, an easy brush-off.
And my heart, so rigidly built, collapsed.
He knew exactly how to make me soften.
He pulled me into his arms and rubbed his jaw against my hair.
He got away with it that time.
If only we hadn't met so early.
I didn't know then about how many things were beyond his control.
I didn't know about his grievances and resentments.
I could have righteously blamed him.
But we met so early.
I witnessed the hardships he endured.
I couldn't bear to let him suffer more.
On the twenty-second night he would spend the night with the secondary consort.
After dinner I ate only a little, then prepared a bath and bed.
Hot water chased away fatigue.
I was exhausted from last night and busy all day; my eyelids felt heavy.
In the dimness I felt a tickle at my lashes that slowly spread to my brow, the tip of my nose, my lips… teasingly pleasant.
I thought I had finally slipped into a sweet dream.
Suddenly someone cupped my face.
I woke with a start.
Ethan was in front of me, smiling softly.
He sent for the evening meal to be brought back up.
We ate together.
He looked hungry and ate a lot.
I held my chopsticks and glanced at him.
"Weren't you with Bianca already?"
He popped a piece of meat into my mouth.
He kept eating.
On the day we paid return visits after the wedding: in the morning he went to my family, in the afternoon to Bianca's.
He and his father were in the main hall discussing state affairs.
I was whispering with Mother and my sisters in the courtyard.
Mid-conversation, Hazel elbowed Eleanor, and Eleanor looked down the corridor.
Mother looked too.
The three of them covered their mouths and laughed at me.
Puzzled, I turned.
Ethan stood under the eaves, cheeks a little pink, cleared his throat awkwardly, and said, "Mother, Eleanor, Hazel—you all are here."
Mother burst into a laugh, pulled me into her arms, and teased him, "What, afraid our Crown Princess will be lost? Come looking for her a third time?"
Eleanor and Hazel couldn't help laughing either.
I glared at Ethan.
He rubbed his nose. "I was just out admiring the flowers. When I was done, I came in."
They teased me about him all morning.
After lunch Ethan was supposed to accompany Bianca to the Grand Tutor's house.
I walked him to the door.
He took my hand and asked quietly, "Could you not spend the night at your home? Can I come pick you up tonight?"
I still wanted to be home and refused.
That evening, no more than we'd finished dinner, Ethan arrived.
I expected him to drag me back to the palace, sulking—then he said, "The carriage broke down. We're not going anywhere tonight."
He stayed and slept at my home.
When no one else was around I couldn't help but peck his cheek.
Later, Ethan somehow produced some sparklers.
We led the little nephews and nieces and played with fireworks at the gate.
Mother and Eleanor leaned on the doorway watching us.
My elder sister-in-law came to keep an eye on the kids and joined them by the door, laughing.
After a bit, Father came out; seeing Mother so happy, he pulled her out to set off sparklers.
Mother scolded in a playful way, "At your age, aren't you embarrassed?"
Father coaxed her, "You look about the same as Claire."
Ethan chimed in, "Mother-in-law and Claire could be sisters, not mother and daughter."
For the first time the son-in-law teamed up with Father to make Mother beam.
Father held Mother's hand as they lit sparklers.
Hazel ran down to play and got lost in it; as she stepped back she bumped into Peter Young who'd come looking for Ethan.
He steadied her.
Before he could say anything Hazel pushed away and snapped, "It's you again, you wild rogue."
She turned and walked inside.
Peter laughed and said, "Xiangxiang, keep playing. I'll go."
The sparks were faint but beautiful.
Our whole family hadn't been this lively and happy in a long time.
I looked back at Ethan; he lowered his brows and smiled at me.
I smiled back.
In the light of the sparklers, his smile softened even more.
"Claire, you finally smiled."
I felt my nose sting.
He wrapped me in his arms, his hands covering mine.
We set off fireworks together amid laughter.
I spent a short year as Crown Princess before becoming Empress.
As Crown Princess I had a fleeting honeymoon—only a month of happiness.
A month later Bianca was pregnant.
Eight months later, they had a child.
He soothed me, saying only children from me and him would count as his children.
I believed him.
But on New Year's Eve he didn't come. I went to find him.
He held their child under the lantern light, smiling and chatting with Bianca.
The child called him "Daddy."
I thought I would never give up Ethan.
But at that moment my blood ran cold.
I knew completely: he wasn't mine.
A love engraved into the bone isn't something you can abandon overnight.
He still came to dine with me, slept beside me, powdered my brows, dabbed rouge on my lips.
On the surface nothing changed.
Sometimes I would drift, craving his gentleness.
I even wondered if having our own child would fix things.
But I couldn't get pregnant.
He soothed me gently, "Don't worry. It'll come."
Days passed quietly.
Until one day.
Uncle Harold fell gravely ill, and the Crown Prince was put in charge of the state.
Elliot Clarke, reduced to a commoner, suddenly accused Aunt Margaret of being the mastermind behind collusion with the enemy.
All the evidence was conclusive.
Before Aunt Margaret was given poisoned wine, she summoned me to the palace.
She stroked my head with the fondness of old and hugged me like when I was a child.
"Claire, Auntie lost," she said.
She told me many things.
Ethan never truly lost his memory—his jump into Amber River to save Mia was all part of a plan.
Gavin pretended to ally with Aunt Margaret; Peter knew everything from the start.
They staged a flawless play.
They knew Aunt Margaret would try to ambush him on his return.
So they had Gavin fake allegiance, Ethan fake death, to lower her guard.
Mia was a breach.
Ethan placated her, got the crucial evidence.
Gavin, by pretending to defect, got access to even more secret proof.
They worked inside and out, enduring and lying low, all to strike her down at once.
The battle at Havenford was an accident—but it made Ethan a hero, winning the people's hearts.
Aunt Margaret died.
I walked back to the Eastern Palace alone in the vast night.
I remembered the bewildered look on his face when he saw me fall into the wild brambles.
He originally didn't intend to save me, right?
I must have been an accidental variable in his plan.
And Mia's lotus-seed broth—he knew it was poisoned, didn't he?
If I hadn't been able to tell, I would have drunk it.
He never tried to stop me.
In the end, in Havenford, Mia stabbed me, and he killed her.
I thought he was avenging me.
He wasn't.
She'd simply become useless.
By Havenford he already had all the evidence.
So that's how it was.
Mia's curse was truly terrifying.
In truth, she and I were no different.
He married me because I had value.
After all, there couldn't be another fool like me in the world.
Maybe I'd never known Ethan at all.
The Ethan I thought I knew was always a façade.
He could show everyone a gentle face, even if it wasn't sincere.
I stumbled back into the bedchamber, trembling.
I ripped through chests and trunks, packing to go home.
I wanted to go back.
But he appeared and wouldn't let me leave.
He begged me to believe him.
He held my hand, pushed me onto the bed, and kissed me.
My tears mixed with his.
Together we soaked the bedding.
I still ran home.
He came to fetch me.
The family's atmosphere froze.
Ethan was no longer the son-in-law who bought fireworks.
He held me as I slept and threatened.
"The empress case isn't closed. We don't know who else in the Bennett family is implicated."
He got his way; I told Mother it had just been a quarrel and we'd made up.
Mother, reluctant, smoothed a stray curl behind my ear and said, "Claire, if he treats you badly, come home. Mother will always be here."
I forced myself not to cry and put on a brave smile.
On the way back we rode in a carriage.
I hugged my arms and curled into a corner.
Every time he touched me I trembled all over.
I couldn't stop shaking.
He softened and looked defeated, then reached out to cup my face; those dark eyes shone with that same, habitual gentleness.
"Claire, don't be afraid of me. I won't hurt you."
I asked him, voice trembling with fear, "Ethan, what else do you want?"
A tear trembled on his eyelashes and fell, searing the back of my hand.
"I want you. I want a home for us.
Claire, you and I—we're family too."
I didn't say a word.
He already had a family. He and Bianca already had a child.
The three of them—they were the real family.
As for me, I was an accident.
What else did he want?
What else did he want to do to my family?
Not long after, Uncle Harold died, and Ethan Clarke ascended the throne.
He became emperor, and I became empress.
Maybe because my father, my uncle, and my eldest brother still held much power, he had to make me empress.
Bianca became the imperial consort.
Everyone in the harem knew the emperor favored the consort and that the emperor and empress weren’t close.
Bianca and I had always been at odds.
In the palace, nothing changed.
Once, my cat wandered into her chambers and she tried to keep it, nearly killing it.
I rushed in and pulled my cat away.
I had her bound and gagged, towering over her, and slapped her several times.
She whimpered. I pulled the cloth from her mouth.
She shouted angrily, "Who do you think you are to hit me?"
I wiped my hands and smiled faintly. "I am the empress. What are you but a consort? If I want to hit you, I will. I don’t need a reason."
Suddenly she knelt, bowed her head, put on the pitiful helpless act, and cried behind me, "Your Majesty, it was my fault. I made the empress angry."
Ethan appeared behind me.
Oh—he’d seen his empress bullying this woman.
He'd come to set things right, I thought.
I turned and gave him a small curtsey and a light smile. "Your Majesty, is the title you gave me just for show? Can't I even punish a mere consort?"
He looked at me quietly, then lowered his gaze and said, "The empress is the head of the harem. No one may stand above you."
I smiled thinly.
Ethan's power wasn’t fully secure yet.
He still needed to win over an empress like me.
As for Bianca, he must have been confident he could placate her.
I swept my sleeve and left.
That night he came to dine with me.
I hated him interrupting my meals.
I was feeding the little cat at my feet; we ate happily, man and cat, ignoring him entirely.
Steward Lee looked anxious and finally reminded me aloud.
I only glanced at him.
Catching his eye, he lifted his chopsticks and offered me some fish.
I smiled and fed the fish to the cat at my feet.
He slammed his chopsticks down and walked out.
I gave a cold smile.
But at the doorway he came back.
That night he slept in my Phoenix Hall.
He wanted me to bear him a child.
I didn’t know what he was thinking.
I cooperated—out of duty.
I needed a child to secure my position.
Before long I was pregnant.
When the imperial physician told me, I sat dazed for a long time.
I sat on the steps, chin in my hand, staring down at my flat belly.
A child. A child.
Ethan and Claire’s child.
I drifted off, lost in thought.
Then I heard hurried footsteps.
He lifted me from the steps and buried his face in my chest.
His voice was full of joy. "Claire, we have a child."
He said it over and over, repeating himself.
At first I thought he was the one being foolish. What could this child give him that made him so happy?
But I felt a faint, growing warmth inside me.
The morning sickness was bad; I missed home.
My mother came to the palace to see me.
She made so many tiny clothes and little tiger hats and patiently told me all her experiences as a mother.
Being a mother wasn’t easy.
Pregnant women were sensitive.
I cried into her shoulder, missing home, missing the past.
She fussed, asking if I’d been wronged.
I shook my head, wiped my tears, and said no—only that I now knew how much she had suffered for me.
She touched my face, shook her head, and smiled. "Not suffering at all, not at all. The happiest day of my life was seeing you the first time. You’d make those little bubble noises with your mouth… I’m getting old, and my Claire is going to be a mother. I’m going to be a grandma."
"You’re not old. You’ll help me raise the baby…" we laughed as we talked.
Father sent a gift for his grandson through my mother: a simple but heavy longevity lock.
Elliot sent an amulet to ward off evil. Eleanor and Hazel gave the little clothes they’d sewn.
Maybe because I was so happy, my health improved. I ate a lot; the physician said I was healthy.
Ethan rubbed oil on me every night, saying it would prevent stretch marks after childbirth.
We had peaceful moments like that—rare and calm.
I teased him that he seemed experienced.
His face fell for a moment, but he didn’t dare lose his temper around the child.
Calm before the storm, as they say.
Then trouble struck the Bennett family.
A corruption case implicated my eldest brother.
When I found out, the situation was already dire—at final judgment.
If convicted, the Bennetts would be punished and their property seized.
I panicked.
I begged Ethan.
He didn’t want to see me.
I waited outside in the falling snow, my hands and feet freezing.
Finally he opened the door with a blank expression. "Even the sovereign cannot show favoritism."
My tears shook as I gripped his hand. "I’ll give up everything—money, power, even my title as empress. Take it all back—just let the Bennetts live…"
His face darkened.
I fainted from the stress; I’d harmed the pregnancy.
I lay in bed for a month, but he promised me.
The day my son was born it was overcast.
I bit Ethan’s hand until it bled; I was in such pain I thought I might die.
"Claire, don’t give up on us…" His tears were so hot.
I made it through.
When I woke, I saw tiny Lang asleep, puffing little bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
My heart melted.
I was a mother now. I wanted my mother.
Ethan held me and the child. His head rested on my brow.
He said nothing.
I asked softly, "Can my parents come into the palace to see the baby?"
He hesitated. He said later—after the confinement month—afraid that if I saw them I’d weep and harm myself.
But Bianca came first.
She couldn’t wait to tell me the Bennetts had been seized.
My family—gone.
They had died en route to exile.
I kept dreaming—the faint fireworks the night of the homecoming ceremony. The light was dim, but it warmed every smiling face.
Father gripping Mother’s hand. Mother smiling with that dimple. Hazel blushing, handing Peter a sparkler, "Want one?" Eleanor at the doorway, gentle and serene. Elliot lifting the little nephew to light sparklers, laughing until the kid wet himself, and everyone teasing him. The nephew cried; the new aunt soothed him. Ethan held me from behind, his arms warm. I looked up smiling at him; he looked back smiling. His black eyes glittered like eternal stars.
Then I woke up to long nights and bone-deep cold.
I carried a small night lamp, shuffled to the window and opened it. Snow drifted like homeless children.
So much of the past was blurred; I feared facing it.
Mia heard the noise and rose. She lifted the curtain, rubbing her eyes, and put a cloak on to warm me. "Your Majesty, be careful not to catch cold."
She closed the window and warmed my freezing fingers with her hands.
I gave her a small smile.
I heard movement outside and thought it was a branch cracking under snowfall, then heard boots crunching—someone on patrol, I thought.
It wasn’t a guard. It was the emperor.
He pushed back the curtain, slipping out of his cloak as he came toward me.
Mia glanced between us, bowed, and left.
Snowflakes dusted his jet-black hair and reddened his ears from the cold.
He took my hand, rubbing it gently.
I lowered my eyes and slowly lifted each of his fingers, smiling faintly. "Your Majesty, you’re in the wrong place. This is Phoenix Hall."
He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. "Don’t forget—you are still my empress, bound to fulfill your duty as my wife."
As he spoke, he pushed me against the window and tried to kiss me.
Before his lips touched mine, I snapped, "Emperor—don’t you feel disgusted?"
His face went pale; the deep scar at his cheek looked severe. "Disgusted?"
A mist softened his eyes. If this were long ago… long ago was too distant.
"Yes. Every time you touch me, I feel nothing but disgust—utter, complete disgust."
For a moment surprise and pain flickered across his face, then vanished.
"Then the empress shall endure it," he said.
A cold hand pressed along my spine.
He lost his temper.
From beneath his robe he tore the red undergarment and forced me against the window.
He held my shoulders hard, bit my lip, and violated me mercilessly.
I could hear the wind screaming outside.
He forced our marriage upon me like an animal.
Like madness, again and again he took me.
He kissed away my tears and said hoarsely, "Claire, why can’t we start over?"
Start over.
"If the dead could come back to life, if you returned my family, then we could start over."
People in the palace said the empress had gone mad—she nearly throttled her own son, stabbed the emperor, and set the palace on fire.
I was deposed.
Ethan took Lang and raised him himself.
At twenty-three, I spent a year in the cold palace.
Mia found out things for me. "Consort Bianca told the wet nurses to starve and then overfeed the prince," she said. "He’s often sick and frail. Bianca teases the boy to call her 'mother'; when he can’t speak, she pinches him. He still can’t call anyone, can’t speak. People say the former empress was mad and her child is a fool."
I asked, "What about the emperor? Doesn’t he raise him personally?"
Mia said, "The emperor is busy. He can’t manage everything. Your Majesty, you have to find a way out, or the little prince will be tormented to death."
I squeezed her hand. "Thank you. You found out so much."
By coincidence, Bianca hadn’t yet become empress. Her temperament burning, she came to take out her anger on me.
I stood under the tree back then, scooping snow off the red plum with a little clay cup. Cold plum and cold snow—tea brewed from that tasted especially sweet.
She barreled over, snatched the cup, and hurled it to the ground. What a waste.
I calmly wiped the melted snow from my hands and looked at her with a smile.
"Long time no see. I've been in the cold palace a year, and you’re still… the favored concubine?"
Her brows shot up in fury and she swung to slap me.
I slapped her back—hard, several times.
She clutched her face, eyes wide with disbelief. How could a woman who’d been at the height of power be bullied by a discarded empress from the cold palace?
"You viper!"
When she recovered, she screamed at me and ordered the palace attendants around her to deal with me.
She knew she’d stocked herself with idiots—weak, pampered maids. Could they really handle me?
They were too winded from my beating to block me properly, which let me focus on Bianca.
I only needed to beat them into weakness to have the time to teach Bianca a lesson.
I grabbed her hair and slapped until her face was swollen.
I pressed my cheek to her numb face and laughed lightly. "A favored concubine—what nonsense. How dare you act so brazenly before me? I'm the crazy one. The former empress was mad. Mad people murder, and it's not a crime…"
I faked going to strangle her. She trembled like a sieve, but still spat venom: "Claire Bennett, if you lay a hand on me, I'll make the Emperor wipe out your whole clan."
"Ha. You'll annihilate my entire family before I'm even empress? Fine by me. My whole clan is down to one child fathered by the Emperor."
"Oh—Concubine, Your Highness, are you planning to kill the prince? Say it loud. Let the whole palace hear."
"You—" She laughed hysterically. "So what, Claire? Don't you know? Even if I kill the prince, nothing will happen. You've been in the cold palace a year; you don't know the world outside. The court is the White family's now. Ha! Of the four great clans, only the Whites remain. Your Bennetts are gone. The Nans fled back to the countryside. The Youngs have been hollowed out since Peter died. Now I just want to kill a little prince. What's so hard about that?"
I truly wanted to strangle her.
She suddenly remembered something, tapped her temple with her knuckles, and sneered, "Oh right—Peter and your second sister ran off together like two doomed lovers, caught in an avalanche and both died. Pah. What a pair of wild lovebirds."
My eyes reddened. I dug my fingers in, harder.
If not for little Spring—Maggie—holding me back, Bianca wouldn't have lasted the night.
That night a fever took me. I sent Maggie to find Mr. Lee (steward) and beg him to fetch the imperial physician.
Maggie seemed relieved; clutching my hand, she sobbed, "Your Highness, you finally see reason. If you humble yourself, the Emperor will surely bring you out."
I flashed her a faint smile. "Silly girl."
Ethan came.
He sat on the bedside, wringing a cold towel across my forehead.
Maggie stood by, eyes rubbed red, whispering, "Your Highness sits in the cold palace hungry, scantily clothed. Today the favored concubine came and beat you—your Highness was so furious you collapsed—"
Maggie had a talent for "pushing the right angle." She just wanted us out of the cold palace.
Ethan's eyes were red. He bent and kissed my fevered lips.
I yielded, just like Maggie had predicted.
Tears fell, nose clogged, head splitting. My voice softened on its own: "Ethan, please—let me out. I miss Lang."
At last I saw my Lang again.
He couldn't speak yet. Frail, frightened of strangers, he didn't even recognize me at first—shrinking into Ethan's arms.
I gently took his hand, rubbed my face against his thin little arm, and measured him inch by inch.
His skin was very pale—paler than Westford's paper.
His eyes were black and deep, like ink washed from Blackwater County.
His lips were soft and moist.
His hair stuck up in stubborn tufts.
A white-hot burst cracked through my chest.
He was almost exactly the small, helpless, childlike version of Ethan.
"Lang—I'm your mother."
I smoothed that stubborn hair with slow hands.
Ethan covered my hand with his and, voice thick, coaxed, "Lang, this is your mother—the person in the whole world who loves you most…"
Shy Lang finally lifted his eyes to me. For a long moment his clear pupils studied my face; then, quietly, he hooked his tiny pinky around mine. Nervous, he buried his face in Ethan's chest again.
My tears came against my will.
"Lang, with your mother here, no one will bully you anymore…"
I'll make sure my Lang never suffers injustice. I'll make his life smooth and safe. By any means necessary. At any cost.
…
I left the cold palace. The White family panicked; petitions to install Bianca as empress flooded in like a tide.
But at the same time rumors blossomed across the court and the city.
They said the crown prince might not be the Emperor's son—that the favored concubine had given premature birth eight months into the marriage under suspicious circumstances. They said she’d once nearly been assaulted by a prince, and the timing matched.
People noted that the elder prince resembled another prince more than the Emperor.
Others said, seeing the little prince made the truth obvious.
You can't stop gossip.
Even the Whites couldn't silence it.
Meanwhile, a new street play called "Defending Havenford" took hold. It told of a young woman who seized the command token, rallied the army, and rescued her beloved from Havenford—ending with the girl becoming her beloved's empress.
The play was a hit. The crowd's imagination filled in the blanks; of course they equated me with that heroine.
Public opinion made me again.
I became empress, and Lang was named crown prince.
Ethan sat with me every night. He taught me how to read memorials and mark them.
He taught seriously; I learned seriously. Lang slept soundly.
A grand banquet and fireworks were to come soon—an all-night revel.
The night before the feast, Ethan said no more memorials. He carried me to bed and claimed me endlessly through the night.
Before dawn, in the dim light, he kissed me and murmured, "Claire, all I've ever wanted is a home—a home with you."
I spent the day keeping Lang amused—flying kites, skipping stones, eating spun sugar.
When he wore down, he dozed, half-asleep in my arms, eyes barely open. He pushed them wide with effort, looked at me, and in a tiny voice called me "Mama" once—then drifted into a sweet dream.
It was the first time Lang had called me mother.
Before we went to the banquet, Maggie did my hairpin and whispered, "Your Highness, the medicine is ready."
Looking into the mirror, I smiled faintly. "Maggie, if you had never come to court, what life would you have chosen?"
She drifted, "I'd have herded on the great plains."
The grand fireworks lit up the night over Southport. All the court's civil and military officials attended.
Everyone craned their necks to watch those distant, ephemeral bursts. I watched too, my neck aching, but still feeling those fireworks couldn't compare to the fragile sparks of the night when I first returned to the palace.
Ethan looked at me, reached over, and put his hand on mine, fingers caressing the back of my hand.
"Pretty?"
His voice felt as ephemeral as the fireworks.
The pyrotechnics kept blooming. Bianca couldn't sit still; she leapt up, smashed her cup to the floor. Soldiers in full armor surged through the palace gates—led by the White family.
Grand Tutor Hale slowly rose at the table, holding his cup and smiling at Ethan. "Your Majesty has been misled by the Bennett enchantress. Tonight, we shall purge the court."
Shouts broke out and factions formed.
The Grand Tutor had weight—about forty percent of the officials backed him.
I couldn't help a small, bitter smile. "The tutor's eyesight really is failing…"
Ethan squeezed my hand and smiled, then rose slowly, face composed. "Tutor, are you rebelling?"
The Tutor smiled back, "I say we purge the court—restore order."
Ethan's laugh was cold. "How will you restore order?"
Tutor: "The favored concubine is virtuous and dignified—the natural empress. The crown prince was born first and is of good character. He should be heir."
"Are you instructing me how to rule?" Ethan asked.
"Tutor: Do you forget I taught you? Once a teacher, always a father. I cannot stand by as my pupil strays. I must act."
Ethan darkened. "And if I refuse to listen?"
Tutor smiled, "Then don't blame an old man for extreme measures."
The Tutor clapped and his troops advanced. Loyal officials rushed to defend their sovereign—an overt standoff.
The Tutor lifted his hand, holding the momentum, and declared, "The palace is surrounded tonight. I advise those unwilling to resist to stand down and join our purge—we'll be merciful."
I looked at Ethan. He stared at the officials below the dais with quiet composure.
No one moved.
I was surprised—Ethan really did have loyal men.
The Tutor's face shifted. He signaled again, voice rauque: "Kill."
His troops took a step forward—but suddenly the high place above blazed with light.
Ethan applauded once as he walked to the dais and smiled toward the Tutor. "You said flies can't get in, did you not? The empress was right—the mentor's eyesight is failing. Look above—what is on the palace towers and walls?"
Countless feathered guards held torches and bows, encircling the prey.
One torch light shone on a familiar face—Peter Young. Not dead at all; he stood as leader of the feathered guards.
The Tutor's expression crumpled into defeat. He staggered, nearly toppling onto the table behind him.
"How—"
How could this be? The Tutor, a man of strategy, had taught his pupil well—but his pupil had learned both civil tactics and battlefield skill, now surpassing his master.
The banquet was washed with blood. This time the White family fell.
Bianca, choking on bitterness, demanded, "Why—why do you favor her…?"
"You're not the same," Ethan said, not looking at her. He came back to the table, took my hand, and sat beside me.
The fireworks went on.
Maggie nudged my elbow gently.
I poured a cup of wine and handed it to Ethan. He took it; the cup paused at his lips.
After a moment, the corners of his mouth slowly split into a gentle smile.
He asked me with that smile, "Claire, are you happy?"
I nodded lightly.
He tipped his cup back and drained it in one swallow.
I stayed where I was. Peter had finished dealing with the enemies and came to report.
But Ethan couldn't answer him now.
I kept my face lowered, not letting anyone read my expression.
Everything's a mess again—everything's gone wrong.
Back at Phoenix Hall, Little Spring darted ahead of me to scoop up the waking Lang. I grabbed her wrist.
A sliver of cold light flashed.
I twisted her wrist inward; a cold dagger slid into her lower belly.
I sighed softly. "Little Spring, if you were really from the riverlands, why would you long to herd on the great plains? You're from Blackwater County."
She clutched the wound in her stomach, her face draining of color. "When did you start suspecting me…"
"You followed me the moment you came to the palace. When I was sent to the Cold Palace, you went with me. You lost all your palace connections, and yet you know everything. A girl from the riverlands with no parents—how would she know so much? Even about poisons…"
I drew the dagger back. The blade hadn't pierced her heart; there was still time to staunch the wound.
But these were all victims of political fights. She had stayed by my side for so long—I'll send her back to the plains to tend sheep.
I've known everything since I first started to go mad. Bianca said the Jiang family was gone; I didn't believe her.
Ethan told me the Jiang family still lived, tucked away in some remote border region.
He promised me: hold on for a year, and he'd return my family to me.
A year has passed.
Tonight's feast—we all knew the Grand Tutor would rebel. We all knew Little Spring was from Blackwater County, that there were other Blackwater County people in the palace.
Tonight, we worked together to sweep away every obstacle, to carve a bright future for Lang, so he could live openly, without shade.
Ethan knew everything. No—he didn't know I'd give him a cup of poisoned wine.
After Peter cleaned up the aftermath, he came to me. He said, "Claire, did you really think he didn't know? When you came to him then, you almost drank poison—he was standing at the door watching. He would never have let you drink that cup. But he felt he owed you. If one day you wanted to take it all back, then take it."
Peter said a lot more.
He said, "What choice did Ethan have? His mother was killed by your aunt. He's been alone since childhood. In this palace, to survive, he learned schemes and plots at a young age. All he wanted was revenge for his mother—what's wrong with that?"
"He leapt into Amber River—did he want to? Who wouldn't want to live if they could? But if he didn't jump, your aunt would kill him. What could he do? You showed up out of nowhere and ruined the plan. He tiptoed, manipulating things, afraid you'd see through him, afraid you'd be hurt."
"He married Bianca because that was the condition set with the Grand Tutor. Bianca was violated by Elliot; Ethan promised her a status—only so he could become Crown Prince. If he couldn't become Crown Prince, he couldn't marry you."
"When he was at the Prince's Mansion, he didn't dare let you become pregnant because he couldn't protect you and the child then."
"When he becomes emperor and you are pregnant, he'll clear every obstacle for your family. The Jiang and Bai families are deeply entangled—many things they've done are legally and morally intolerable; they must be removed."
"He dared not tell you everything, fearing you'd see him as despicable and leave him."
"Your Jiang family wasn't spotless either. He's the sovereign; he couldn't avoid dealing with them. He did his utmost to preserve the lives of the Jiang family."
"Everything he did was to secure a bright future for your family."
"He knew you hated him but still taught you to read memorials, to review them. He thought that if one day you killed him, at least you'd be able to support Lang and you two could live well."
"Tonight's cup of poison—he willingly drank it. He paved the way for you and your child. If he dies, you two can live on without restraint."
"He schemed against everyone, but never against you."
I kept my eyes down, rubbing the small hand in Lang's palm.
"What if we'd never known each other? Wouldn't that be better? We wouldn't entangle each other; no one would owe the other."
"Is that possible? With your aunt's nature, it would be either him or Elliot. If not for that, he might have spent his life watching you from afar. You're two different people—one raised in darkness, one raised in light. It's futile to talk. Get some rest. The imperial physician says there's no saving him. Tomorrow have the Department begin funeral preparations. Lang inherits the throne; you'll rule behind the curtain…"
Peter left, defeated.
Lang suddenly lifted his face; those black, bright eyes flashed with light. He mumbled, "Where's Daddy…"
I rubbed my eyes and nuzzled Lang's cheek, smiling faintly. "Daddy will come back."
Peter froze in confusion and turned to look at me.
I smiled lightly. "Tit for tat. That time, I didn't drink poison—I drank a death-mimic herb. This time, it's his turn…"
Ethan had asked me once if we could start over.
I said only if the Jiang family could be resurrected.
I'm a woman who keeps her word—especially promises made to Ethan. I never break them.
He woke, pallid and stunned, and reached out to hook his pinky around mine.
Clever Ethan was being foolish again.
Hoarse and tearful, he asked in a daze, "Is this a return of the light?"
I shot him a hard glance.
He looked me over—first startled, then he smiled softly, the smile growing brighter.
"You're a complete fool…"
He only laughed; he didn't speak. Then he propped himself up, pinned me down with his hands, and kissed me—a long, tender, insistent kiss.
"Daddy, Mommy…"
Huh?
I heard Ethan murmur softly, "Lang, be good…"
He covered Lang's eyes with one hand and cradled my face with the other, planting another heavy kiss.
We'd doubted, wavered, nearly given up—then, in the end, no one did.
We kept loving each other and began again.
