Page 16 of The Nightblood Prince

“You are not going to die,” he hissed.

Another almost-laugh, even fainter this time. Darkness began to blot my vision.That’s not up to you, my dear prince.

As I closed my eyes, I felt his hand grab my face. “If I want you to live, not even Death himself can take you!”

I smiled and hoped that with me gone, Yong’An would not burn like it did in my dreams, and everyone I loved would live long and happy lives.

Darkness fell heavier and heavier.

Selfishly, I didn’t want to go.

There was so much I hadn’t seen or experienced yet.

I wanted more than this.

I wanted more than a life unlived.

I wanted…

“Do you want to live, Fei?”

Yes.

8

As I lay dying, I waited for darkness to consume me.

Instead, I saw only bright memories.

Of him.

Once, when I was younger and smaller, Siwang asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I said great golden wings to fly over the palace walls. So he gave me a robe with real golden feathers sewn into the sleeves and snuck me out into the city to light lanterns and watch New Year’s fireworks.

The air was cold that night, but his hand was warm, holding mine.

“What use is combat to an empress who will be protected by the emperor of all emperors?” Siwang’s martial arts teacher had said whenSiwang asked if I could join his lessons. “She is beautiful to look at. There is nothing else you need from a wife.”

When he said this, I bit my tongue so he would not see me cry, until I tasted copper.

When I asked Siwang to teach me in secret, my request was met with his hesitant frown. Yet when I pursed my lips and gazed up at him with teary eyes, Siwang melted like ice under the summer sun.

????.With time, water can wear down rocks.And Siwang wasn’t a rock. He was clay in my hand, so easily molded into whatever I wanted him to be. Just as Siwang eventually molded me into a semi-satisfactory student—with the help of the phoenix’s mark, of course. If I ever covered the mark, my visions would fail to manifest, and I became as terrible of a shot as the sordid noble sons who preferred mischief over knowledge, leisure over practice.

Over time, constant practice eventually gave me a semblance of skill. Each time my arrow found its target without aid from the phoenix’s mark felt like a victory. Each time I looked over my shoulder, he was there, cheering and flashing that proud, boyish grin. I used to feel so warm, bathed in his light.

The palace walls were tall, so my winter days were darker than most.

When it snowed and the other kids failed to show up for class, I always cried. Because I knew they were on the other side of these walls playing, laughing, probably building snowmen and sledding down hills. Having fun without me. Doing all the things I wished I could do but would never be allowed to, given the endless palace rules.

Each time, Siwang took my hand and let me chase him around theimperial gardens and hit him with fistfuls of snow until his fur coats were white with ice. He let me boss him around for hours, rolling giant snowballs so that I would have the biggest snowman of all our classmates. He’d help me build it right outside our classroom and look for the shiniest pebbles for its eyes and drape his favorite coats around it.

I always proudly wrote my name under my creations. Every day, as the snow scattered in the wind and my name disappeared, Siwang wrote it again and again until it all melted under the early-spring sun.

So that everyone knew that the snowman who wore the crown prince’s favorite winter coat was mine.

Never has a prince doted on a single girl so much,the court said.

When I got sick, Siwang would spend hours in the kitchen with the imperial cooks and learn how to make ginger and beef-bone broths for me.

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