Page 102 of Empire's Curse

“I suppose the glamour of it is lost on you,” she said with a long sigh. “Probably because you’ve grown accustomed to all of this splendor. But I’m not like that. I hope to never become like that. I want to appreciate beauty at all times.”

“You don’t sound like you’re talking about the festival.”

“Well, no.” She could feel her blush spreading, this time from embarrassment. “I mean in general. I don’t want to ever become ungrateful, or get too used to all of this. I want to remember where I came from.”

He was quiet for a moment as if mulling over her words. “Where you come from, huh?”

“Speaking of which …” She peered up at him. “Where areyoufrom, Muyang? You obviously had a life before you became the emperor. What were you doing? What was life like? Did you have a family?”

Muyang stiffened, the festive mood dampening in mere seconds, replaced by a storm that seemed to brew in his black eyes. He locked his jaw and stared straight ahead. “I’d rather … not talk about it.”

“Oh. I … I’m sorry.” She hated that she had ruined the moment. Whatever sparks were flying between them buzzed away. There was only coldness now. She touched his hand lightly, but he pulled away. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I don’t have many fond memories of my past,” he said carefully. “I don’t … really remember much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He breathed out deeply. His emotions shuttered from his face and a mask seemed to slip back in place. Suddenly, he was calm again, unbothered, andclosed off. And, it seemed, done with this conversation. “Daiyu, how about we talk about your life?”

“Um, there’s not much to talk about.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she watched him carefully; she hated that he was no longer as relaxed as he was earlier. She could sense the tenseness of his shoulders, the edge in his smooth voice. “I grew up on a rice farm. My father and his father, and his father before him, for many decades, grew rice. So of course, that’s what we did too. Life was pretty … simple.”

“What were your days like?”

“I’m not sure you’d be interested in my boring life,” she said with another laugh. She tightened her grip on the balcony railing and traced the embossed grooves along the metal. “Seriously, nothing interesting ever happened.”

“I want to know.” He placed his hand atop of hers. His fingers were warm, a stark contrast to the cool night air. “There’s nothing boring about you, Daiyu. So tell me about your life. Your family. Your … everything.”

She began to tell him about her daily life on the farm, about the mundane tasks she did every day. Soon, before she knew it, she was telling him everything. About Lanfen, her brothers, her parents, her neighbors, all the farm animals they had, and everything about their small village. She told him about the flower fields she loved to frequent. About the friends she grew up with, the changing of seasons, the fond memories she had. She kept talking, and talking, and talking until she was sure he would grow bored.

But he didn’t. He simply watched her and nodded, asking questions from time to time.

“Well, I’m sure I can talk forever at this point,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But maybe we can do something else now? I’d hate for the night to pass and we realize we’ve done nothing but discuss my boring eating habits back at the farm.”

Muyang smiled gently and her heart fluttered in her chest. “You’re not boring me, Daiyu. I hope youunderstand that.”

“Yet.”

“I don’t think you could ever bore me.” He wove his fingers into hers, intertwining them. Bringing her knuckles to his mouth, he planted a soft kiss against the grooves of her hand. “But since you insist on doingsomething, would you like to take a walk with me? Through the festival?”

Daiyu bobbed her head quickly—excitedly. “Yes, I’d love to.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m telling you, you’ll grow accustomed to it eventually, and then it’ll lose its shine. But right now, when you’re so full of enthusiasm and thrill, I’d like to relish this moment, since it might not come again.”

“AndI’mtelling you, that won’t happen.” She turned to the glittering capital once more. “I never want to grow bored of this view. I want to enjoy it every time I see it. No matter how many times I see it.”

She could feel him staring at her again, and her blush continued to deepen.

The night carried his voice away and she almost didn’t hear it when he murmured, “Me too.”

36

Daiyu smootheddown her sapphire and plum-colored skirts, feeling all the stranger to be at the helm of the festival like this. She was at the roof of the palace, where a plethora of nobles milled about the heavily decorated rooftop venue with drinks and food and merriment all around them. At the center of the event was the large, scarlet lantern that was meant to be lit by the emperor’s chosen person—for this year, Daiyu.

She had never felt so out of place than she did in that moment. Nothing felt real. She was the wife of the emperor, she was somehow a part of his court now, and she was most definitely not making a mistake—or so she hoped. A few months ago, she had been on her family’s farm, harvesting from their garden, picking flowers to decorate along their windowsills, and helping milk her elderly neighbor’s goats every morning. And now, she was somehow important enough to light the first lantern to kick off the rest of the lanterns that would be lit and flown throughout the empire.

And even though she should have felt like the most powerful woman in the room, she couldn’t. Not when everyone else formed their own little circles, talking to one another and laughing,while she sat alone on the dais with Muyang to her right and no one else to converse with. She felt like an accessory more than a powerful empress.

It was just the beginning, she told herself.

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