LITMIR.BIZ

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startled cry chased the last of the sleep from her. This was not her pallet. She was no longer in the teahouse. She sat up and found herself clutching a woven blanket. Fei Long was crouched at the edge of the mat, one hand pressed over his left eye.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

      ‘You looked cold,’ he growled.

      She stared at the blanket that had mysteriously appeared around her. Fei Long lowered his hand from his face, though he still winced from the blow. In the morning light she could make out every line of displeasure over his well-defined features.

      ‘Forgive me,’ she squeaked out.

      ‘If I had known you could hit like that, I wouldn’t have worried about your virtue.’

      Was he … was he teasing her? Nothing else about his manner said so. His dark hair fell loose about his shoulders, giving him an untamed look that shocked her to her toes. The haze of the morning and his disarray made the moment uncomfortably intimate, though he was blinking at her with more ire than usual. She clutched the blanket tighter around herself.

      Fei Long pulled himself to his feet and removed himself to the other side of the chamber. A knock on the door provided a momentary distraction. She went to open the door and the attendant presented her with a wash basin. Dutifully, she carried it to the table beside the bed and set it down.

      The nobleman had his back to her. He ran his hands over his hair and then tied it into a topknot with a strip of cloth. In a coordinated dance, she returned to her corner to fold the blanket and roll up the mat while he moved to use the wash basin. She was accustomed to such rituals growing up in the cramped quarters of the teahouse kitchen. This was how people living in the same small space without doors or screens allowed each other some privacy.

      In a breach of such politeness, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Fei Long rolled his sleeves back in two crisp tugs at each arm. Dipping his hands into the basin, he splashed water over his face. It slid down over his chiselled jaw and throat and she didn’t realise she was staring until he caught her. A sharp line formed over his eyes.

      ‘My lord,’ she intoned by way of apology. Her face burned as she rushed over to hand him a wash cloth.

      He took the cloth from her without a word while blood rushed to her face. In many ways, looking at him so boldly was a worse transgression than dousing him with tea in anger. She held her breath and waited to be reprimanded.

      ‘The water is still warm,’ came his brusque reply. He pressed the cloth to his face and took his sword from the bedside before leaving the room.

      She had to remember that Chang Fei Long was well-born and well-mannered. Everything had to be done with care. More so when they reached the capital and she began to train to be an alliance bride.

      Blessedly alone, Yan Ling used the water to quickly wash. One of the few belongings she’d taken from the teahouse was a wooden comb. She untangled her hair and concentrated on braiding it back out of her face. She had to at least look presentable now that she was attending a nobleman. Fei Long returned just as she tied the end.

      ‘We have some things to do before leaving the city,’ he said.

      Unlike the day before, he had plenty to say while they took their morning tea and meal. He needed supplies, she needed clothes. She hadn’t considered how ragged she must look beside him. Her grey tunic was over a year old and had been patched at the elbows.

      By the time they rode out, she was outfitted in a leaf-green robe made of light cotton. She ran her hands wondrously over the sleeves. The weave of it was finer than anything she’d ever worn. What would the townsfolk think of him buying her such fancy clothing as if she were a—she blushed to even think of it—a pampered concubine?

      Fei Long was intent on using every moment of the day now for education. He recited a classic titled The Three Obediences and Four Virtues to her while they rode, asking her at intervals to repeat back what she’d just learned.

      ‘You have a good memory,’ he said at one point.

      It might have been the very first compliment he’d ever paid her. Perhaps it would make up for her rough, provincial manners.

      Ten days passed quicker than Fei Long had anticipated. Changan, the imperial capital, stood a day away. They only had a few months before Pearl was supposed to take her place as princess. Fortunately, Yan Ling was a quick learner. He had drilled her on etiquette and her dialect had shifted slightly to mimic the patterns of speech of the capital.

      ‘We’ll be in the city by late in the afternoon,’ he told her.

      Their morning tea had become the staging point for the day’s goals. Yan Ling listened intently as she did every day.

      ‘The mourning period over my father’s death provides us some privacy,’ he continued.

      ‘When did you lose your father?’

      ‘Over a month now.’

      ‘Such a loss.’ She quieted and bowed her head reverently before speaking again. ‘Your family must be saddened by the loss.’

      ‘That’s a private matter.’

      ‘Oh. Sorry.’ She bit her bottom lip.

      ‘Don’t do that.’

      ‘Do what?’ In her nervousness, she bit down even harder.

      For now, he decided to let it go. Yan Ling needed to learn that she was no longer in the common room of a teahouse with its hum of chatter and gossip.

      ‘His death was unexpected,’ he said.

      Fortunately, she took his cold tone to mean there would be no more questions. Of course there was sadness. His father, the man who had given him life and raised him, was gone. But Fei Long didn’t have time to grieve. As soon as he’d returned, everyone had surrounded him, asking him, ‘What now?’ Pearl was nowhere to be found. He’d let the household mourn in his stead. There were too many new responsibilities as eldest son and the new head of the household.

      ‘You’ll be carried in a palanquin into the city.’

      ‘What’s a palanquin?’

      ‘A litter. You’ll sit inside while we enter. It wouldn’t do for you to be seen. Too many questions.’

      Her lips moved in a silent conversation with herself as she recited his instructions. He found the habit endearing and took a sip while he watched her.

      ‘Once you’re installed in our family residence, there will be a whole new set of lessons,’ he continued. ‘You’ll need to learn how to read and write. We’ll also need to practise court etiquette—entirely different than private etiquette.’

      Her lips pouted and she blew out an exasperated breath. This part he didn’t find quite as endearing.

      ‘You’ll need to practise controlling your expressions,’ he reminded her. ‘And not make such faces all the time.’

      ‘I wasn’t making a face, my lord.’

      ‘You were.’

      ‘What does it matter when it’s just the two of us?’ she demanded.

      They hadn’t had many arguments during their journey, but this was a recurring one.

      ‘Practise these habits all the time and they’ll come naturally,’ he said, forcing patience. ‘Remember, you were not accustomed to being heard or seen as a servant. Others will be watching you now. At times you’ll be the centre of attention, such as when you’re presented to the Khagan.’

      ‘Surely I have better manners than a foreign barbarian,’ she scoffed.

      His lips twitched. ‘That is a matter for debate.’

      She opened her mouth to argue, but the carriers had arrived with the palanquin.

      ‘Come,

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