The Nightblood Prince

1

I spent my life trapped behind crimson walls, inside this palace where I could dance along golden hallways and grand pavilions and do everything I wanted—­except leave.

You are the future empress. You need to be protected, my father reminded me on the last day of each moon.

Since I wasn’t allowed to leave the palace without written permission from the emperor, this was the only day of each month when my parents were allowed to spend rare hours with me.

We often wandered the peony gardens, took leisurely strolls along the koi ponds and exchanged pleasantries at my pavilion on the rainy days when we could not find other distractions to fill our silence. I had so much to say. I yearned to hug them and laugh with them like a normal daughter, but not under the surveilling eyes of the palace ladies who were here to monitor my every move, not just wait at my beck and calls.

Their eyes were always watching, ears always listening.

When my parents asked me about my days, I forced smiles and pretended I was happy. I in turn asked about their days as if I didn’t have their lives told to me like soft-­spun folklore by the servant girls whose favorite pastime was gossiping about the capital’s families. Brief rays of sunshine against the vast gray of the palace life.

From my gilded cage, I heard about how my sister was growing up and how my parents were aging. I heard about my parents’ nosy neighbors, the noble ladies with whom Mother played mah-­jongg, the ministers who disputed with Father, and the men who were asking for my older sister’s hand with envy.

For I didn’t want to hear about that life. I wanted to live it.

But I was the future Empress of Rong before I was my parents’ daughter.

Their words were always few and shallow and their smiles were tense, ever so polite. My parents bowed when they greeted me, and bowed when they said their farewells.

My parents didn’t know how to talk to the future empress, who was torn from their arms before i was old enough to be off my mother’s milk.

I did not know what to say, either. Especially to my father.

Seventeen years, and I could not remember a single moment spent with them when I had not felt like a stranger on the outside, looking in.

A child stolen, raised by servants who knew only to kneel and beg for forgiveness when I cried for my mother, father, and sister.

A girl whose only purpose was to marry a boy because the stargazer claimed I was destined to rule over a united warring states. But if I was chosen by the Gods and destined to rule, then why did visions of bloodshed and calamity haunt me every time I closed my eyes?

2

Premonition tingled at the edge of my senses.

A quick vision, a pulling instinct.

I foresaw the moment before I experienced it.

Magic.

I would have reached for my bow, if not for Father’s warning.

The first kill is not yours to claim.

3

Nobody cheered when Prince Yexue’s arrow claimed the first kill of the season.

The forest held its breath, waiting to see how Siwang would react.

Though Lan Yexue, too, was a prince, he was not a prince of Rong.

To put it kindly, Yexue was a ward sent here by his uncle, to be educated by our great empire.

To put it bluntly, he was a prisoner sent from one of our many tribute states, to be kept on a leash in case his uncle, the current Regent of Lan, dared to rebel.

A prince in name only, unworthy of claiming the first kill.

After two years in the Rong court, surviving under enemy roofs, Prince Yexue should understand 훙瞳肱瑀苟꼇돤꼇됴庫. When living under the mercy of another, one must bow one’s head.

“Is no one going to congratulate me?” Prince Yexue jumped from his horse to examine the prize, not an ounce of fear weighing down his tone.

How princely of him: ignoring what was expected of him to do what he wanted.

Jealousy rattled.

Prince Yexue of Lan was a boy of sculpted angles and porcelain skin. Thick brows, sharp jaw, and the kind of doe-­brown eyes that made even the most proper of daughters lose their wits. To make it worse, he was also tall, towering over almost everyone with the exception of Siwang.

All of that beauty, and the kind of arrogant, rebellious streak that only princes were allowed to have—­no wonder he’d caused a frenzy when he arrived at the capital two years ago. Every maiden had swooned at the sight of him—­and so had a handful of the imperial concubines and the city’s noble sons. Rumor had it that half of the court had tried to marry their besotted daughters off to him, despite his crumbling kingdom and uncertain fate.

Visitors from across the continent came to Yong’An and the city had met plenty of beautiful faces before, though never one quite as haunting. Lan Yexue’s heavenly face was almost enough to make the court overlook his odd name and forget those swirling rumors of dark magic that his family practiced, and how his ancestors were the once-­cruel southern rulers who had almost driven Siwang’s ancestors to extinction hundreds of years ago.

Empires rise and empires fall. Now Yexue’s country was our tribute state, and their beautiful prince was our ward.

“You have a sharp eye.” Tension eased slightly when Siwang finally cracked a smile.

“I’ve had practice,” Prince Yexue replied, his voice cold as the frozen terrain surrounding. “Not everyone can be the pampered heir to the most powerful empire in the land with nothing to fear and nothing to want.”

Caikun, the son of a first-­ranked general and Siwang’s personal guard, grimaced. His hand rested on his sword, his eyes on Siwang, waiting for a signal to strike.

Other lips twisted into half smiles, including mine. It wasn’t every day that someone had the courage to make fun of our beloved crown prince, however foolish it was.

This hunting party of fur coats and leather riding boots and bows decorated with gold and silver and bedazzling jewels comprised some of our empire’s most powerful heirs. The children of generals, first-­ranked ministers, and the wealthy merchants whose coffers filled the imperial treasury and funded our never-­ending campaigns to claim more land, more power.

All in the name of my prophecy.

The one thing these heirs had in common, besides status and wealth and gleaming gold spoons hanging from their mouths?

Their compulsion to worship the ground Siwang walked on as if their lives depended on it.

Because in a way, they did.

엌狼낵价낵꼇돤꼇价. If the emperor wanted a subject dead, the subject must die.

Regardless of status, name, or who their fathers were, all of their lives were delicate porcelain to Siwang, suspended on silk cords. If Siwang wished, he could make any or all of us fall to a death of ten thousand shattered pieces. Including me—­even if he would never admit it, even if the entire court thought otherwise.

I was the empress-­to-­be, but an empress still had to bend to the will of a man.

“The imperial hunt doesn’t officially start until tomorrow,” I interjected before this could escalate. “This is an outing of leisure, and a chance for us to scout out the terrain before we hunt the bigger prizes tomorrow.”

Though Siwang’s jaw ticked with slight annoyance, the smile that followed was easy, charming, as princes were taught to be. “May the best man kill the first Beiying tiger tomorrow and bask in true glory.”