by Jeannie Lin
“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 onto 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 have 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 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.
When the palanquin stopped, she lifted a heavy head to peer out the window, searching first for Kwan-Li, but not finding him.
The settlement resembled a village. About thirty yurts, large circular huts wrapped in felt, were arranged around a cistern at the center. Plumes of smoke vented from the huts and pale-colored sheep flocked in pens around the camp.
Dao stared in fascination at the women and children milling about the dwellings. She wanted to explore, but was ushered discreetly from the palanquin into one of the yurts. Princesses weren’t meant to be seen.
The yurt was luxurious compared to the sparse tents they had slept in during the journey. A sturdy lattice-work frame and a fan of wooden beams, much like the spines of an umbrella, provided the structure. While the outside had been wrapped with a plain canvas, the inside was furnished with a low bed and sitting area. Woven rugs in rainbow colors covered the floor and the yurt was heated with a central stove. A precious basin of water was brought to her. Not enough for a bath, but Dao was able to wash away the layer of dust from her skin.
Several attendants came in bearing trays laden with bowls and pots trailing steam. Dao took a sip of a pale, thick drink that they explained was mare’s milk. She managed to keep her face still until the attendants left before washing the sour taste away with a dose of strong tea.
There was no rice with the meal, but there were plates of golden pastries and thick stews and generous portions of roasted lamb. As delicious as the food looked and smelled, Dao was only able to finish a few bites before exhaustion claimed her again and she fell into a deep, restless sleep. When she awoke, the yurt was dark and she was alone.
Curse that skittish horse and her insistence on riding it! She’d meant to summon Kwan-Li after dinner, but the day had taken everything out of her. From outside she could still hear the drone of conversation along with the muted wail of strings, singing an unfamiliar song. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
She crawled out of bed and felt her way through the darkness until she reached the flap that covered the entrance. Dao opened it to let herself out into the night. A scatter of torches lit the settlement and a blanket of stars greeted her overhead. More stars than all the people in the empire.
She stared up at the dots of light, feeling dizzy beneath their watch. It was said that the stars told of celestial designs, the will of the heavens. Had they always known she would be here, on a journey to be presented to the ruler of Khitan? She, who was born to a mother who was the lowest of servants and a father who never recognized her as daughter.
The sound of a male voice startled her. Dao recognized the young man as one of her guardsmen.
“Where is Kwan-Li?” she asked.
He responded with a string of sounds that meant nothing to her. Dao hadn’t learned enough of the Khitan language to make her purpose known so all she could do was shake her head in frustration and move toward the sound of voices. The guardsman could do nothing but trail after her. She wove around the dwellings. The settlement was still very much awake and the voices grew louder. Soon she arrived at a gathering around a fire pit. She stopped at the edge of the light, not wanting to intrude.
An elderly man pulled a bow across a stringed instrument with a long, thin neck. The wailing sound she’d heard earlier now took on an effusive, resonating quality, filling the entire circle with a racing song, like the stomp of hooves across the plains. The music was as indecipherable and mysterious to her as the language and customs of this land.
She scanned the crowd and her skin flushed as she caught sight of Kwan-Li. Dao wasn’t one to be taken by romantic notions. She had agreed to pose as princess to elevate herself from a life of servitude. Still—to be kissed without restraint, without warning. Kissed almost savagely by a man who was always so impeccably well-mannered. Any woman, whether she be a lowly maidservant or a princess would weaken a little.
He had traded the blue deel for one of tanned felt, similar to what the other nomads wore. A fur cap hid his topknot. He could have easily blended in as Khitan, yet he stood at the edge of the circle. An outsider.
Dao had been set apart throughout the entire journey. When night came, her attendants would see to her needs and then disappear. She was left isolated in her sleeping tent while the entire caravan gathered around a fire to trade stories. She could have called them back to provide her company, but she used to enjoy that small peace at the end of the day when she was a servant. When there were no more demands on her and her time was her own. Besides, what did attendants have to say to a princess? She could sense their discomfort whenever she tried to converse with them. It always left her feeling so lonely, but she understood the boundaries of status. This was the price of her deception.
