by Jeannie Lin
“It’s only because you can’t have her.” Ruan spoke in Khitan. His grin was back, but there was a dark wisdom in his eyes.
“I’m no fool. I just need to get her to the khagan,” Kwan-Li retorted.
An-Ming looked expectantly between them, not understanding. She pouted when neither of them offered any explanation. “You have to teach me your language once we reach the central capital,” she said to Kwan-Li.
That stopped him short. “I am not staying, Princess.”
Confusion crossed her face, then alarm. “But I thought—”
Ruan conveniently backed away to help the others with the provisions.
An-Ming looked so lost that he was reminded of his own journey long ago into a foreign land. He’d been left adrift there, practically a hostage trapped in the imperial city.
He and An-Ming had embarked on this journey together. He had never considered she would expect him to stay with her. He had never considered she would ever want him to.
His throat clenched. What she was asking for was impossible. He was the one who had negotiated the peace marriage from his position within the imperial court. The responsibility lay in his hands, but duty and honor weren’t enough to keep him away from her. His control had already slipped once and if Ruan wasn’t hovering nearby now...
“There are others within the khagan’s court who speak your language. They can teach you.” He shouldn’t have to explain, but he did anyway. “I have my own tribe to return to. My own kinsmen.”
For the first time, he saw a break in her resolve and the loneliness underneath. He wanted to protect her. If this fire inside him were nothing but desire, An-Ming wouldn’t have such power over him. He was angry at himself for this weakness.
“I don’t suppose I can command you to stay,” she said softly.
He responded with an iron look. “I am not your servant to command, Princess.”
* * *
Kwan-Li took the lead that day. Ruan had explained the route. They would follow the river north to where the ravine opened into a valley. From there they would be only days away from the khagan’s camp.
An-Ming chose not to speak with him, favoring Ruan’s company instead. She was pointedly asking the Old Wolf to teach her Khitan.
The day was otherwise uneventful, until around midday as they navigated along the inclines of the ravine. Kwan-Li noticed movement in the pass ahead. A dark shape moved out of the shadows followed by another.
“Riders,” he called out.
Ruan came up beside him. “A hunting party?”
A low sound punctuated the air. Kwan-Li knew it at once and his heart seized. One of their companions doubled over in the saddle, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest.
“Stay back!” Kwan-Li commanded.
There was a startled cry from behind him. The princess.
Confusion spread as the additional horses became untethered. Ruan moved to the front, bow in hand to return fire, while Kwan-Li positioned himself between An-Ming and the intruders in the distance. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock.
“Head for the other side of the river. Go!” He leaned over to strike her horse’s backside.
An-Ming held on as the horse took off while he followed behind her at a gallop. There was little cover in the ravine. She needed to get out of range of the archers.
He led An-Ming behind a growth of brush by the bank. Her horse pranced in agitation, his hooves splashing in the shallow of the river. She was fighting to keep her hands from shaking, but she managed to steady the animal.
“Uyghurs?” she asked.
“Khitan,” he replied without emotion.
They were outnumbered and he needed to decide now. Fight or flee. Tension rippled through his body as he detached his bow from the saddle pack.
“If I fall, you ride north.” Kwan-Li indicated the direction with his hand. “Ride hard.”
“Wait—”
There was no time to see if she understood. He hooked the bow over his shoulder and gave her one final look before kicking his heels in to ride back into danger.
His kinsmen had regrouped to face the oncoming riders. The attackers outnumbered them two to one, by his quick assessment. A few of them had broken through the pass and were charging forward.
Kwan-Li urged his knee against the horse’s side, using the pressure to direct the animal, while he reached for an arrow and nocked it. The rhythm of the earth thrummed through him. The cadence of his breathing joined it. The pace of the enemy horsemen rushing toward them became a dissonant harmony. He took it all in.
Kwan-Li sank his weight onto the iron stirrups and rose, standing upright in the saddle. His horse continued its charge. This technique of shooting from the saddle allowed the Khitans to dominate the steppe, but it had been years since he had done this. A lifetime. He drew the arrow back and let it fly.
The body remembered. The heart remembered.
Kwan-Li aimed and fired again, his arrow once again finding its mark.
“Go!” Ruan shouted. “They only want the princess.”
Kwan-Li hesitated. His tribesmen had pushed the attackers back to the pass and were holding their ground.
Ruan exchanged his bow for a halberd. “Go.” His face creased into a grin. “This Old Wolf won’t be dying today.”
With a bellow, Ruan rode into battle.
CHAPTER FOUR
No matter how far they fled, Dao could still feel danger chasing them. She had grown up as a household servant in a wealthy section of the city. She’d polished furniture and haggled for good prices on chickens at the market. The only place she’d seen a bow drawn was at the archery park.
They rode for hours before stopping when the sky faded to red and gold. The land had once again flattened out into wide expanses of wild grass. Kwan-Li did one final scan of the horizon in every direction before setting up camp. He started a fire and broke off a chunk of a tea brick into a pot of water.
“They won’t harm you,” he said when she looked over her shoulder warily.
“How do you know that?”
“You are the Emperor’s niece and an imperial princess.”
“Not out here. Bandits don’t care who we are,” she argued.
He fell silent, a frown creasing his brow as the tea brewed. After a few minutes, he handed her a cup filled with steaming liquid.
“Those were not bandits,” he said. “They were from another tribe and they wanted to keep us from reaching the capital.”
He sounded calm now. Deadly calm.
“What about your tribesmen? What about Ruan?”
“Ruan has survived much worse. Now drink, Princess.” Kwan-Li had to close his hands around hers to get her to grip the cup. “You will feel better.”
“Does it have mare’s milk in it?” she asked after a pause.
He laughed. It was brief, but it was a laugh. The touch of his hands was also brief, but they were warm and strong and did more to reassure her than anything else.
“You said the men were Khitan,” she began.
“I couldn’t tell which clan they were from, but none of the tribes would dare raise a hand against you. The wrath of the Tang imperial army would be too great.”
His jaw clenched and he radiated a low, simmering anger. The warrior in him had come out in battle and it remained. Dao could sense the change in every part of him. She had been so naive. This wasn’t a grand adventure to an exotic land. Being a princess meant more than wearing silk and having servants attend to her every need. It meant being caught in politics and power struggles. Things she knew nothing about.
She sipped at the tea. It was bitter, yet fortifying. “Is there always such fighting among the tribes?”
“There have always been disagreements.�
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She thought for a long time. “Khitan is a dangerous place.”
His eyes darkened at the statement. “No more treacherous than your imperial court.”
At that moment, Dao felt like she didn’t know anything about anything. Neither the dangers of Khitan, nor the imperial court. In her innocence, she believed that it was an honor to be selected to be an alliance bride. Her half sister had had the good sense to flee.
Kwan-Li was watching her carefully. “You regret coming here.”
It was too late for that now. “I won’t be writing any laments about being married to the other side of heaven, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Again, the half smile. “I did not think you would.”
The poetry of the frontier was always filled with homesickness and sorrow, but Dao hadn’t come all this way to wallow in misery. She was a princess now.
“What do I need to know about the Khitan court?” she asked.
“There is conflict in any court,” he said roughly. “But the princess will be protected at all times.”
Was he trying to protect her by keeping her in ignorance? Her half brother had been the same way. When the family had been on the brink of ruin, he’d tried to take all the troubles onto his own shoulders, thinking to shield them from worry. But the entire household had always known. She couldn’t remain ignorant if she wanted to survive.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “I’m to become the khagan’s wife, after all. And you’ll no longer be with me.”
Kwan-Li gave her a hard look. She stared back with a harder look. She won.
“The tribes of the south have lived among the Han, learned your language, in many instances adopting your ways. Other clans have similarly aligned themselves with the Uyghurs,” he continued. “For generations, the Khitan have balanced themselves between these two enemies, trying to appease both sides. The Tang court withdrew support when we became vassals of the Uyghurs, but within the last few years our clan has once again paid tribute to the Emperor to reestablish relations.”
She thought of Kwan-Li, who had been sent to the capital to be educated. “Your clan would rather be allied with the Tang Emperor.”
“I would rather we were our own masters.”
There was so much pride and conviction behind that statement.
“You risked your life for the sake of this alliance today,” she said.
“No.” His gaze burned into her. “I did what I did for you.”
It would have been the same had he known she wasn’t royalty. She was certain. He called her princess and almost always did what she asked, but she never thought of him as a servant.
“I’m very grateful,” she said, feeling the words were inadequate. “For all that you’ve done for me.”
His only answer was a brief nod before he went to tend to the pot that simmered over the fire. It wasn’t the first time she regretted how the difference in their positions kept him at a distance.
The rest of the brew was used to cook up a thick gruel of tea leaves and millet. They ate the simple meal in silence while she was aware of his every movement beside her. Kwan-Li was a constant puzzle: scholar and warrior. He was at ease with the silence as they watched the sun melt into the horizon. This land suited him with its harsh beauty.
“The princess should rest,” he suggested finally. “I will remain on guard.”
She started toward the tent, but paused as Kwan-Li scattered dirt over the fire.
“It is unlikely we would be found out here, but the fire would make us visible from afar in the darkness,” he explained.
They were down to a single sleeping tent as well as a limited number of supplies. All he had for warmth was a wool blanket and the steppe could become frigid once the sun was down.
“There’s enough room in the tent,” she offered.
He stared at her for a moment then looked away, shaking his head. The corners of his mouth lifted wryly. “You are...very beautiful, Princess.”
Their gazes locked. Blood rushed to her face and her heart was suddenly beating too fast. She wasn’t so very beautiful. She doubted Kwan-Li would have ever noticed her if he didn’t think she was a princess, but the way that he said it was more than a compliment.
“I should go,” she said.
“Yes.”
Only in the shelter of the tent did she allow herself to consider what was happening between them.
His words sounded like a warning...and like a promise. As if he wouldn’t be able to resist her if tempted. Her heart pounded.
It was impossible not to have these thoughts. Kwan-Li was young, strong and handsome and she was stranded on the endless steppe with him. They were being pursued. Her future was clouded and she was a little frightened. The khagan was old and...and nothing. She knew nothing else about her husband-to-be.
Darkness descended and a lone wolf howled in the distance, but no mate answered its call. Dao lay down on the rug and closed her eyes. Her thoughts floated outside to where Kwan-Li remained in order to preserve her honor. She realized that she did want very much to tempt him.
* * *
The sky was hanging on to the last orange threads of daylight as the warmth from the fire ebbed away. Kwan-Li seated himself beside the tent and prepared for a long night. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. It was still his duty to guide the princess safely to the khagan. The security and future of his clan rested upon it.
He could hear the rustle of movement from inside the tent. There wasn’t a moment of the day where his body wasn’t acutely aware of her. The princess wasn’t yet asleep. After a long moment, there was silence and Kwan-Li stared at the empty horizon beyond. Anything to keep from looking at the tent and thinking of what awaited inside. Loneliness overtook him, a loneliness that came not from the starkness of the land, but from hovering between two worlds.
Out here, there was an intimacy that could never be found within the city. Two strangers meeting quickly became friends. A man and a woman alone quickly became...
He had kissed her only once. That was all he’d ever have, yet the soft press of her lips lingered with him. The open plain provided nothing to distract him.
The princess was moving again. His heart lodged in his throat even before the tent flap lifted. Her shadow slipped over him and her hands settled lightly on his shoulders. She was a fox-spirit in the moonlight.
“Princess,” he acknowledged her.
He spoke with quiet forcefulness. She faltered when he made no move toward her. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, her lips touching his almost fearfully. He let her go on and waited for her to lose her resolve. It was almost cruel, except she was killing him, as well.
Her mouth pulled away, but only to descend once again, searching in a caress that was too sweet for what he truly wanted.
“Princess,” he said again, his voice husky.
He already knew he wouldn’t fight her. In a dark corner of his heart, he’d known this moment was inevitable. There was no avoiding one another when they were the only two souls around.
He gathered up her hair as she had done by the river and pressed his mouth to her neck. He inhaled the scent of her skin as her pulse throbbed beneath his touch. He wanted to use his tongue on her. His teeth on her. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t want her.
An-Ming lifted a hand to his jaw. Her eyelashes fluttered delicately against his cheek. “I didn’t want my first lover to be a stranger,” she whispered.
She pressed against him and kissed him again, bolder this time. He’d heard all sorts of stories in the palace about princesses who flaunted authority, who took lovers without shame. He’d never thought it of this princess, but it didn’t matter now.
They moved together, clinging to one another. He shoved the canvas flap as
ide and the darkness of the tent closed over them. He untied his sash and pulled his tunic open before reaching for An-Ming. He felt her touch momentarily against his chest, pressing softly just above his heart.
More pulling and loosening of cloth. The moment’s delay stretched on for too long before his hands were on bare skin, running up the curve of a knee, the softness of her inner thigh. He parted her, stroking deep with just his fingertips in that most sensitive place where heaven lay waiting.
She gasped, her breath hitching on a sibilant cry that went straight to his groin. Her legs curved naturally around his hips while her mouth sought his. Every part of her body was urging him on. Commanding him. He positioned himself, his organ hard against soft flesh, his mind a storm. He thought fleetingly that she was a princess, that she was inexperienced...that he had a duty. Then he was inside her.
She closed around him, hot and tight. He abandoned all other thought in the wake of the dark pleasure. He began to move in slow, gradual thrusts. An-Ming consumed him and he gave himself over to her. For the first time in years, he no longer questioned where he belonged.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dao closed her eyes to concentrate on the feel of Kwan-Li inside her. He was holding her, kissing her. His weight anchored her to the rug. This first time taking another person into her body was...confusing. The heat, the pressure. The feeling of being stretched and invaded. The longing. The pain. The strange pleasure beneath it.
She was being taken. Undeniably so. His every movement radiated through her. The coupling was rough and hungry and unapologetic. Yet when his tongue touched hers, desire curled through her, making her want the things he was doing to her even more.
Soon the pleasure outweighed the pain. Soon there was no more telling what was what in the darkness. There was nothing but the harsh rhythm of their breathing, his weight above her, and a feeling of being anchored and held to the earth while the heavens spun around her.
She pressed her lips to his throat, feeling the pulse that pounded there.
Dao was never one to be taken with romantic notions, but she wanted this. She wanted this. Her body strained against him, becoming single-minded with need.
