by Jeannie Lin
“The princess has nothing to worry about. The women do not follow the same practice.”
He nudged his horse forward and she did the same, keeping stride beside him as he had instructed. As a ranking official from the imperial court, Kwan-Li was the only one who felt he could speak to her without averting his eyes and agreeing to her every word. She found herself missing the comfort of conversation.
“You seem to have studied their customs very thoroughly,” she said.
He regarded her with an odd expression. “I am from Khitan.”
Her eyes widened. “But you don’t look—”
“Like an unwashed barbarian?” He allowed a slow smile to reveal itself.
“I didn’t say unwashed,” she protested.
In the capital, they spoke of the barbarians of the northern steppe to be a roughened, warlike people. The Khitans that rode along with them certainly had the hard-eyed look of survival amidst the unforgiving elements. Yet Kwan-Li’s bearing had the mark of education and culture.
“But you speak our language so fluently,” she said fascinated. “You even look Han.”
“You are mistaken, Princess.”
She traced over the shape and line of his face with unabashed curiosity. Kwan-Li grew his hair long and had it pulled back into a topknot as they did in the empire. His skin also lacked the dark, sun-drenched quality of the nomads. Perhaps there was a slight difference in the shape of his eyes, a broadness of his nose and chin that she had overlooked before.
“How unexpected! I would have never known.”
He was taken aback by her reaction. “I assumed the princess would have been told—” He stopped himself, his eyes narrowing as he considered her.
Dao’s pulse jumped. “I have no knowledge of the day-to-day dealings of the outer court,” she said quickly. “We princesses are kept so sheltered away in the palace.”
She attempted a smile. He frowned, but seemed to accept her answer. Or rather he rode on in silence. Dao realized she was gripping the reins too tight when her horse tossed his head, flicking his ears in agitation. She relaxed her hold and concentrated on the trail in front of her.
She had to be careful what she said around Kwan-Li. He was intelligent and likely well-versed in court etiquette and politics while she knew none of the things a princess should know. It was fine for him to think of her as a vacant and innocent as long as he was convinced she was a princess.
When she dared to glance at him again, he was looking over the caravan, ever watchful. She had assumed that he was a diplomat, appointed by the court to accompany her. This new information made her even more curious about him.
“Your name sounds Han,” she remarked.
He turned and regarded her as if surprised she was speaking again. “Kwan-Li is the name I was given by the imperial court. A courtesy name.”
She refused to be intimidated by his cold demeanor. She was the princess here, after all. “How long were you in Changan?”
“Twelve years.”
“You came to the capital to study?”
“I came to be educated.” There was a pause. “And for diplomatic reasons.”
All sorts of foreigners lived within the walls of Changan. The public markets were full of stalls set up by merchants from neighboring lands, but this was the first she’d known of a barbarian—of a foreigner—who was taken into the imperial court.
“I remained in the capital to ensure peace between our two lands,” he said in response to her questioning look.
“Much like an alliance bride, then,” she suggested.
He paused to think. “Perhaps a very similar arrangement...”
She grinned. “But in your case, you weren’t bound into marriage.”
He blinked at her, taken aback, looking flustered. “No...I was not.”
In that confusion, his expression lost its sternness, his eyes their coldness, and his speech relinquished that distinctive formality that she now knew was due in part to his having come from a foreign land. Without that wall in place, his entire demeanor changed.
“No woman would have you, barbarian that you are,” she teased.
His mouth curved upward slightly, with a crookedness to the smile, which sent a small flutter to her belly. He suddenly appeared approachable. More than approachable. For all its hardness, his face wasn’t an unpleasant one to look at. A slow rise of heat invaded her cheeks and she had to look away.
Dao prided herself on being practical. She had lived a life of servitude and constant toil. Cunning was more important than charm. She fought to keep her observations impassive as she gazed at Kwan-Li in profile: the hard shape of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth that took on an unexpected sensuality when he smiled.
Wayward dreams of romance would lead only to ruin. She had known that truth since birth. So Dao had no such romantic thoughts now as she rode beside Kwan-Li. Instead she tried very hard to forget that in a few weeks she would be wed to a stranger.
* * *
They stopped to rest again several hours later, after which Princess An-Ming insisted on getting back onto the saddle.
“The princess will be sore tomorrow,” Kwan-Li advised.
“She won’t be.” She positioned herself beside the horse and prepared to mount, ignoring him.
“She will.”
“She won’t.”
An-Ming braced a foot on his knee while one hand grasped his shoulder, fully expecting compliance. He hefted her up with a bit more force than necessary and she tottered as she clambered into the saddle.
Her eyes flashed fire down at him. He kept his expression blank as he mounted. Her touch on him, however brief and impersonal, lingered, as did the scent of her perfume.
Perfume. Out here among the dust and needle grass of the steppe.
It had been easier when he had only been subjected to brief glimpses. A tantalizing flutter of yellow silk as she went from the sleeping tent to her sedan. He had expected the princess to maintain her distance and a proper sense of formality throughout the journey. Instead she insisted on riding in the open, on redirecting the entire caravan if there was some sight she wanted to see. She was as restless and vibrant as a summer wind across the grassland.
At least Princess An-Ming had donned more modest clothing for riding. Those elaborate robes she wore only gave the illusion she was hidden under layer upon layer of silk. Every movement hinted at the rounded curve of her hips, the enticing indent of her waist, and in a swirl of color that could not be ignored against the starkness of the plains.
“Why do you always have that scowl on your face?” she asked.
He’d been gazing at the horizon, taking in the long-awaited sight of the land of his birth and preventing himself from looking too long at her.
“I am thinking.” He tried again to turn his attention away, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“What about?”
It always surprised him how easily she fell into informal speech with him. The intimacy was out of place. It was the same way with the sly, sideways glance she wielded so masterfully.
She was watching him now, eyes bright, mouth pink and pressed just so. Her face was sensually rounded and he could lose a day just watching the expressions that danced across it. He turned to her, resigned. That intriguing dimple on her left cheek was showing itself.
Why this woman? Why her, when he’d been indifferent to all manner of beautiful women in the capital? She was a princess and the Emperor’s niece. Most importantly, her arranged marriage was meant to ensure peaceful relations between their lands.
“Our progress is not as I had hoped,” he said.
“You’re still upset that I wanted to ride today.”
She smiled at him, amused. He amused her.
“I h
ave no objection to you. This, however—” He gestured toward the impossibly long trail of wagons in the caravan.
She frowned, affronted. “I didn’t ask for all this. I don’t need people to dress and feed me.”
He eyed her skeptically.
“But I should have such luxuries...being a princess,” she amended, lifting her chin haughtily.
There was something very, very strange about Princess An-Ming.
“The princess must know how important it is to travel swiftly,” he explained. “The Uyghur delegation has sent their own alliance bride to petition for marriage. They may already be at the khagan’s central camp.”
An-Ming paled. “Another princess? But I’m supposed to be the khagan’s bride! He wouldn’t dare go back on his word.” She paused and looked at him imploringly. “Would he?”
Had she truly been locked away in some dark corner of the palace? It was told that the princesses of the Tang Empire were formidable women. An-Ming certainly upheld that reputation when it came to her audaciousness, but she seemed to know nothing of the politics of the imperial court.
“This was why the journey was moved ahead several months,” he explained, a bit impatiently.
“But the Khitans asked for this alliance to our empire.”
“The alliance is important to many of the southern tribes such as mine, but Khitan is a confederation of many tribes. We have been caught between the Uyghur and the Tang empires for hundreds of years.”
Her usual airy tone vanished. “So there are other tribes that support this other marriage.” She frowned and her expression took on a serious, calculating look that he’d never seen on her before. “I thought everything was already decided.”
His mood darkened. “So did I.”
At that moment, her horse faltered a step and the princess fell slightly behind. She was inadvertently pulling back on the reins, signaling her horse to slow. He started to remind her to relax her hold, but the section of the caravan before them had come to a stop.
One of the horses had become agitated. The rider worked to steady the animal while the other Khitan horsemen soothed their mounts. Kwan-Li scanned the area and saw the remains of a fresh animal carcass. Signs of a wolf attack with the smell of blood still in the air. It should have been nothing more than a routine distraction, but the princess was still fighting to regain control. Her horse snorted, his hooves stamping the ground in agitation.
Kwan-Li sensed disaster before it struck. The horse shook his head defiantly and suddenly reared up. His front legs lifted from the ground and the princess shrieked. The scream set the horse off and he bolted off toward the open plain in a storm of dust.
He cursed and set off after her. The beast was head down in a full run. An-Ming was reduced to a small huddled figure clinging to the saddle. As he came nearer, he could see her clutching on to the horse’s mane. She cried out for help, but her distress only made matters worse.
He hoped she could hear him above the pounding hooves. “Princess!”
Kwan-Li directed his mount alongside hers, edging gradually into the path of the runaway horse. He crouched low and used his heels to push forward. Faster. The earth rushed by beneath him.
He had to try to slow the runaway down. The horses turned in a wide circle, gradually matching speeds. An-Ming lifted her head to seek him out. Her knuckles were bone-white as she held on.
“Take the reins,” he shouted.
The leather strap whipped against her knuckles as she grasped blindly for them. She made another desperate lunge. The motion unseated her and she was thrown over the horse’s shoulder, landing hard with a sickening thud. Kwan-Li’s heart stopped. The runaway horse continued heedless through the grassland while the princess lay in the dust.
Kwan-Li dismounted and ran to her. The princess was curled onto her side.
“Princess!”
He called out her name when she didn’t respond. With great care, he rolled her onto her back and she opened her eyes slowly. The headdress had fallen away and her face was streaked with dust. Her chest lifted and lowered shallowly as she struggled for breath. Only a thin wheeze escaped her lips.
“Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”
She was able to focus on him, which was a small relief, but she appeared confused.
Kwan-Li realized he’d reverted to his native tongue in his panic and had to repeat himself in Han. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her midsection.
There was no time for fear. He ran his hands along the sides of her rib cage, trying to feel through the tunic. He unclasped the front of her deel, ignoring the flimsy silk garment beneath. Pressing his fingertips lightly to her abdomen, he checked for swelling, for pain. She didn’t wince at his touch, but continued to struggle for breath. He ran his hands over her arms, her legs, searched gingerly along her scalp. Nothing seemed broken. She’d simply had the wind knocked out of her.
“Breathe slowly,” he instructed, his voice low and calming.
After what seemed like ages, she was able to draw a shallow breath followed by a deeper one. His own breath returned as she let out a sigh and the color returned to her cheeks.
Relief flooded through him. Their eyes met as he helped her sit up and something unspoken passed between them. He had a hand on the curve of her waist and another braced behind her shoulder. She was watching him, her eyes deep and dark, lips parted. Her hair was in wild disarray. He reached up to brush at a smudge of dirt on her cheek and suddenly it was more than relief that warmed his veins.
He’d avoided this for so long. Avoided even the thought of it, but she was so close and his hands were on her, touching skin. Hungrily, helplessly, he bent and pressed his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER TWO
Dao’s eyes shot open. Kwan-Li was kissing her, his breath becoming her breath. His fingers sank into her hair to hold her to him as he tasted her. She went still like an animal hunted. The roughness of it sent her heart racing, harder and faster than it had during the wild chase across the plain. But the kiss had barely begun before he tore away.
She was left staring up at a blank sky. It was several moments before she could gather her wits. It was much longer before she could catch her breath. His back was still to her and his breathing was low, harsh.
“I didn’t even think you liked me,” she said, her throat dry.
He turned to her, an incredulous look on his face as if she were the one who had lost her mind. “We must return to the caravan,” was all he said.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on front of the deel. In the distance, she could hear the sound of horses and in a matter of minutes, several of the nomads from the caravan appeared on the horizon.
When Kwan-Li helped her to her feet, his expression was wooden, but his eyes continued to burn. He kept his hands fisted by his sides, refusing to reach out to her even when she stumbled. Her horse had finally stopped and wandered back toward them, bending his head to graze tranquilly upon the wild grass. The beast.
Kwan-Li retrieved both of the horses as the escort came closer. “You’ll ride with me,” he said as he mounted.
“But that would be highly improper.” She was still dizzy from the harrowing ride, from the fall, from his nearness. From...everything. “For a princess,” she added. “Wouldn’t it be?”
He gave her a hard look and held out his hand, stopping all argument. She climbed onto the horse behind him. She considered trying not to touch him, but the danger of falling again had her holding on tight. The muscles in his back tensed as her arms circled his waist and he flinched when she sank her cheek momentarily against his shoulder.
What had just happened? What would happen now?
“Kwan-Li?” she began tentatively.
“Not now,” came the muttered reply.
He kicked in his heels to set the
horse in motion, guiding the second one by a rope. Her chest was pressed to his back and she could feel the rhythm of the ride through him.
Before today, Kwan-Li had never said anything to her outside of what was absolutely necessary. He remained just as quiet now, as if willing the silence to scour away that one unforgettable moment. It had come and gone too quickly for her to react, but her mind and body reacted now.
Kwan-Li. Looking at her with unmistakable desire in his eyes. Kissing her. It was as if heaven and earth had changed places—she had never considered such a thing.
“The princess is unharmed,” he reported tersely as they rejoined the other riders.
They rode without a word back to the caravan, where he returned her to the sedan, enclosing her safely away. Even when she was alone, her heartbeat refused to settle down.
This was not good. She was adrift in a wild and foreign land. Another princess was trying to take her place and Kwan-Li was her one tie to the imperial court as well as to the khagan. She needed his guidance. She didn’t need...whatever this was that had her skin flushing and her stomach all nervous and swimming.
Dao had assumed an alliance bride would be assured a position of respect. As a household servant, she’d had no chance of marrying well. Her mother had been seduced and then cast aside by the master of the house. At least her mother had been allowed to remain in the household and not forced to raise Dao on the streets. It might have been different if Dao had been a son. Instead she was born into the same humble servitude, growing up alongside a brother and a sister she could never recognize as her own. Being married to a chieftain was a brighter future than she could have ever hoped for.
Suddenly that bright future had become clouded. She had not come to this strange land to be cast away as a second wife, a concubine. Little better than a servant. She had come here to become someone new. As a princess, even a false one, Dao could finally determine her own fate. She had that power now—or did she?
Thoughts of another caravan and a rival princess, a real princess, haunted her.
* * *
Kwan-Li had said she would be sore the next day. Dao was already sore within a few hours. She was bone-weary and every part of her ached. She slept inside the palanquin and continued sleeping as they reached a Khitan settlement.
