The rice could wait. Mai had not gone to war so that some lackey from the Emperor could torment her family. She still seethed at how rude Yi had been to her when she'd come to his apartments to collect her shoes. She'd teach him a lesson in manners no matter how many men he'd brought. How dare he!
She clambered to her feet, brushing the ashes from her white robe. Not so white now, but it mattered little. She could still best Yi in rags or court robes.
"But the tea!" Lei hissed.
"Men who invade a house of mourning without an invitation do not deserve tea," Mai said, striding through the home where she had once been happy. Jing's sitting room had grown shabby, but today she barely noticed it. Mai stood as tall and proud as the Empress herself at the entrance to Jing's sitting room and set her hands on her hips. "Who demands to see Yeong Mao?"
Heng shot to his feet, bowing before his knees had fully straightened, but Yi was slower to move, letting his gaze rake over Mai's body as he rose. His eyebrows rose a little, as if in surprise, but his slight smile said he liked what he saw.
Mai didn't give a rat's arse what he thought.
"Yeong Mao died on the road home from the capital. He broke his neck when his horse threw him. There was nothing anyone could do to save him. He walks with the ancestors now, including his father, and if you wish to see him, you are welcome to join them."
Yi looked stunned, but he recovered quickly.
Rooster, Mai thought, as she saw that arrogant look in his eye again. She longed to spar with him and throw him in the dust until that's all he could taste.
"Do you know who I am, girl?" he asked.
Mai could have kissed him for repeating the line he'd used the night of the ball. She'd relived that night so many times in her head, the correct response tripped off her tongue.
"Many call you the Prince of Swords, but Yeong Mao called you a rooster, with good reason, I think," Mai replied, ignoring Jing's horrified gasp. "Do you know who I am?"
The surprise took longer to leave his face this time. "The Empress spoke of a girl born in battle, the daughter of Yeong Fu and Da Ying. I believe she might be you, and if that's true, then I have something which belongs to you."
Mai folded her arms. "A gift from my brother?" She had fought in a war, not bought gifts for her sisters, let alone herself. She itched to catch Yi in a lie so she could ask him his true purpose here.
"Perhaps," he said. "I left it in my saddlebag."
Outside, where he had reinforcements, Mai added in her head. As if Yi suspected he might need them. That brought her up short. Did he truly know who she was?
She shot him a startled glance, but he wore an enigmatic smile that revealed nothing.
"Then lead the way," she said, gesturing, and he did.
She counted a dozen men and horses in the courtyard, their hooves leaving divots in her training circle that she would need to smooth over before tomorrow morning's dancing session. Mai bet Yi never let horses muck up his training yard.
Yi reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a parcel shrouded in purple silk. He unwrapped it slowly, drawing out every moment as though he enjoyed having her eyes on him. From the first glimpse, she knew what he held, though, so that when he finally held up her shoes in all their dazzling splendour, she could feign indifference despite the awed gasps from his men. Only Heng and Yi seemed immune – for both had seen them before.
"What do you think?" Yi asked.
"I think those are my mother's shoes," Mai replied. She suppressed a grin at Yi's shock. "I would need to see them more closely to be sure, but I am almost certain they are the same."
"You will! You must try them on. I insist!"
Mai waited while Heng brought her a bench to sit on, before Yi knelt at her feet.
"Your Highness, let me – " Heng began, but Yi waved him away.
"I must know that they fit!" Yi hissed. "I must know!" He took hold of her foot, and slipped on one shoe.
As Mai knew it would, the shoe fitted as though it was made for her, as indeed it was.
Yi gazed up at her searchingly. "Is it true?" he asked, half under his breath. The longing in his eyes made her wonder if he was going to kiss her.
Mai met his gaze and said nothing.
He cupped her other foot in his hand. For a long moment, he hesitated, before he finally slid on the second shoe.
"A perfect fit," he breathed. He pointed a shaking finger in Jing's direction. "Is that your mother?"
Mai laughed. "No, Jing is my stepmother, foisted on my father by the Emperor, who likes to breed more good men from the ones he has. I am the daughter of Da Ying." She dropped her voice so low only Yi would hear it. "But I think you already knew that."
She fancied that he nodded slightly, but she could not be certain.
"It is not enough that the shoes fit you," Yi announced. "Before I make my decision, you must dance."
Mai didn't like the sound of that. "What decision?"
He gave a slight shake of his head.
By the ancestors, he was putting on a show. Mai would not stand for it. "What decision?" she demanded.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, until she dropped to her knees in the dirt. Mai heard the sound of steel scraping its way out of a scabbard. The touch of his sword was cold against her throat.
"Whether you should live or die," Yi said.
Thirty-Nine
She was so pretty, Yi's heart sang when he first beheld her. Maybe even beautiful, though it was hard to tell with her face smudged in soot. Her white robes were every bit as fine as those worn by the mistress of the house, though Yi fancied hers curved more at the chest than the older woman's did.
If this was Mao's sister, he would knock Yi down for thinking of her breasts. If the girl was Mao herself…would she knock him down or let him touch them? He caught himself smiling at the thought, and tried to smother it quickly. Not soon enough, though – the girl had seen, and it lit a furious fire in her eyes.
She repeated the same story the other woman – Jing? – had told him, of Mao breaking his neck in a fall. That Yi could not believe. No one could recover from a fall quite as well as Mao. But if he was not here, then the girl had to be one and the same.
She knew him, that was certain, and she knew Mao's nickname for him, too. That meant nothing, though – if he was her brother, he might have told her that and many things about his life in the army and at court.
The shoes would give him his answer. If they fitted her, then she must be Mao, just as his mother had hinted.
A bench was brought, and Yi knelt at the girl's feet, longing for the shoes to fit and yet dreading what it would mean if they did.
He'd never felt so nervous in his life. With Mao, everything had been easy. As friends and brothers in arms, he'd always spoken freely. Yet this woman regarded him with barely concealed contempt.
Heng stepped forward, offering to help, but Yi waved him away. He had to do this. He had to fit the shoes to her feet with his own hands, so that he would know if they were hers. If she had sat on the dais beside him at the ball, fought with him every day, slept beside him at night…
Ancestors. Had he been dreaming of her while he slept beside her?
Yi swallowed and looked down. Somehow, without realising it, he'd put the shoes on her feet.
"A perfect fit," he breathed. He didn't want to believe it.
Perhaps she wasn't Da Ying's daughter. Or she wasn't Mao. Even as he voiced his doubts, she put them to rest. She was everything he could ever want in a bride, and more.
Except he had not seen her fight. That would be the final proof. Surely no woman could fight like Mao. No man alive could fight like Mao, and definitely no woman could.
He pulled her to her feet and she didn't resist. Did that mean she trusted him, or simply that she was docile? Yi couldn't be sure. He released her, and she landed neatly on her knees. Coincidence, perhaps. Or design.
He wanted to challenge her to a fight, but he would only loo
k foolish in front of his men. The Prince of Swords, challenge a girl on her knees? But if he closed his eyes and imagined the kneeling figure was Mao…
Yi dragged his sword out of its scabbard, his hand resisting every inch of the way. Drawing his sword on a defenceless, unarmed, kneeling woman was dishonourable. She had done nothing wrong, except maybe lie to him. Either she was Mao, and she would laugh at him for daring to draw his sword, or she was Mao's sister, and threatening her would bring the man himself out of hiding. Yi prayed that he was right as he held the blade to her silky throat and threatened her life.
He thought he heard her sigh, and her shoulders slumped the slightest bit. That was all the warning he had before she swept his legs out from under him and snatched the sword out of his hand.
His men drew their weapons, forming a circle that closed in slowly. Uncertainty showed on their faces – none of them wanted to go up against an opponent who could best the Prince of Swords. Why, he was the best swordsman in the kingdom, or so they said.
They were wrong. The best was Mao.
"You wish to dance with me, Prince of Swords?" she asked. "I will dance with you, but on one condition. We dance alone."
A victory, of sorts, thought Yi, as he clambered to his feet. He nodded. "Yes. All of you, sheathe your weapons. Except you. " He pointed at the nearest man. "Hand me your sword. She's going to borrow mine for a moment."
One man sniggered, and the others followed suit. Tension ebbed away from the circle as his men realised what their eyes could already see: their prince in a sparring circle with a girl holding a sword. She was not Mao to them. As for Yi…he wasn't sure what she was to him. His best friend. His best friend's sister. Maybe his bride. If she'd have him.
Doubt crept in. What if she wouldn't?
Weapons slid back into scabbards until the only two naked blades were the one in his hand and the one in hers.
"Shall we dance?" he asked, bowing slightly as he held his sword in readiness.
Her whole face lit up with a smile so dazzling Yi's heart stopped. There was no woman in the world he wanted more.
"We shall," she said, taking a fighting stance.
Forty
It had been weeks since Mai had sparred properly with anyone, so it was impossible to keep the smile from her face as she crossed swords with Yi. Though they carried true steel and not wooden practice swords this time, she was reminded of the night of the ball, when they had circled and danced for what might have been hours as they lost track of the time. Then as now, they had matched one another perfectly. This was neither a fight nor a battle. It truly was a dance.
A dance she wanted to continue forever.
Mai faltered at the thought. She did not dare lift her hopes so high – she knew better now. She might not know why the prince was here, but it could not be to claim her as his bride. Why, he had seen her feet – shod them himself. He knew she did not have proper lotus feet like a court lady.
So this dance must end, she told herself. Much like the siege of Dean, it would only end when there was a victor. But first, they must fight.
"What will you give me if I win this fight?" she asked suddenly.
Several of Yi's men laughed. Mai did not blame them. After all, they were loyal to their prince, and she was a girl they did not know. Of course they believed his victory was assured.
Yi stared at her for a moment. "I will give you whatever you wish," he said finally.
Your heart, her own heart screamed in her chest, but Mai ignored it. The prince could not be hers. "I wish that you would place my family under your protection, so that they do not fear the Emperor's armies or that of our neighbours. And return the men who left for the siege of Dean, for the siege is over now, yet they have not returned."
He nodded once.
"And when the prince wins?" one of the onlookers called. "What will you give him, girl?"
Mai had already given him her heart. She had nothing else left to give. "If you win, what would you ask of me?" she asked Yi.
His dark eyes regarded hers for a moment that stretched for far too long.
Then he moved, advancing in a flurry of blows, just as he had on the day they met.
Mai blocked every blow, letting him get closer to her with each one until he was near enough to lean over and whisper into her ear, "I would ask you to be my bride, daughter of Da Ying."
His answer surprised her. Surely she could not have heard right. Yet even as she watched him, he nodded and mouthed one more word: "Mine."
There were many paths to victory, as Mai well knew.
Mai looked deep into his eyes, though two swords separated them, and chose her path.
Forty-One
It was as though time stood still, ready to repeat itself. Yi stood in this courtyard, fighting the woman in white, yet at the same time, he stood in the dust outside Dean, expecting to beat Mao, only to find himself defeated. He lunged, leaving himself open to whatever rapid defence Mao had used on him that first time. Now he would know for sure whether this woman was Mao or someone else entirely.
Her eyes met his, as if she could read his thoughts. She twisted, just as Mao had done, but instead of throwing him to the ground, the girl slipped and landed flat on her back. Defeated, as Yi brought the tip of his sword to her throat.
Her gaze was as tranquil as one of the mountain lakes he'd passed to reach her home. "Victory is yours, my prince," she murmured.
His heart sank like a stone. No. He didn't want to be victorious. He wanted Mao. This had to be him…her. But he had never beaten Mao in a fight. Never. So this girl with Mao's eyes couldn't be…
"Leave us," he said. When no one obeyed, he repeated, much louder this time, "Leave us!"
His men retreated out the gate while the Yeong household headed back into the house. Where they could all spy on him and the girl, Yi presumed. He hoisted the girl to her feet and dragged her into the nearest building – her ancestral shrine, he realised, once they were inside. A fitting place to execute her, if that was his wish, but if he killed her, any answers she might have died with her.
The strange girl didn't struggle in the slightest, letting him manhandle her into the place without a murmur. Did she want to die?
He released her, expecting her to stumble, but she merely straightened her spine, then remembered herself and bowed her head.
"You're not Mao," Yi said bitterly.
"I told you, Yeong Mao died on the road between the palace and home," she said.
"Then where is his funeral tablet, so that I might burn some incense for his spirit?" Yi demanded. "I owe him my life, and if he is dead, I cannot repay my debt."
The girl swallowed, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "He has none. Nor will he, while I yet live."
"But you are not Mao!" Yi repeated.
She smiled sadly. "No, I am not. I am Yeong Mai, the daughter of Yeong Fu and Da Ying. Victor of the siege of Dean and every bout I have fought against you. Mao was an illusion cast to allow a woman to join the army in her father's place, to save her family. This I have done with honour. I should be content."
"You didn't win that fight out there, and that is why I know you can't be Mao!" Yi said. Mao had perfect balance. Mao would never have slipped…especially not in those magical shoes.
"Because I did not tip you on your royal behind as I did during our first sparring match, and countless times after? You'll never be a good fighter, Rooster, unless you truly master the art of war. I have already won a victory that way. Once I have won, I do not repeat my tactics but respond to circumstances in a variety of ways. A good general is not a predictable one." She stepped close so he could feel her breath on his face as she looked up at him. "Who says I did not win?"
Ancestors help him, Yi wanted to kiss her. To grab this woman with both hands and plunder those lecturing lips until he forgot what she'd said. Until she forgot, too. He forced himself to step back. "Me. I mean, you didn't win. You slipped. I saw you."
"I lay down,
with my sword in hand," she corrected, showing him her sheathed blade. Huh. She must have put her sword away as he dragged her across the yard. "It does not follow that because I am victorious, you are not." She gestured toward the courtyard. "And it is not seemly that a prince should be defeated by a girl in front of his own men. You offered a victory more tempting than the one I had planned for, which I choose to accept."
"You choose to…" Nothing made sense any more. Least of all the thoughts in Yi's head. "What do you accept?"
The girl – Mai, Yi reminded himself – licked her lips nervously. "You said if you won, you would take me for your bride. My sisters would consider a prince for a husband to be the ultimate victory. Though I don't often agree with them, this time…I might." Her eyes seemed to dance, though the rest of her stood still, anticipating…something.
Mai or Mao or whoever she was had more pride than the Emperor himself. Yi laughed. "You might consider me a suitable victory prize?"
Mai tilted her head as she scrutinised him. "Your body is sound, and your mind is mostly so. Your sense of humour and manners are charming enough. But you are a terrible fighter. A girl could beat you, Rooster." When she smiled like that, so full of mischief, Yi almost saw Mao in her face…but…she was much prettier than Mao.
"You could beat me?" he asked, assuming a fighting stance. "If you wish to spar again, we will, but the outcome will be the same."
Her smile didn't fade. "I will still win, but without witnesses, you might not." She beckoned him to attack.
Yi strode forward and…
…somehow found himself lying on the cold tiles, gasping for the breath his fall had knocked out of him as his sword clattered against the far wall, out of reach.
Gentle feminine laughter greeted him and he glared up at Mai's joyful face. "Are you happy now, my prince? I can teach you how to fight as I do, you know. My father taught me everything he knew, and I will share it with you. You only have to ask. I know a courtyard in the palace where we can dance together daily, if that is your wish." She held out a delicate hand to help him to his feet.
Dance: Cinderella Retold (Romance a Medieval Fairytale series Book 3) Page 11
