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She walks once around me, her eyes appraising. “Bow lowest to His Highness and his sister. Next are the nobles, officials, and ministers. Do not address anyone unless they speak to you first.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because your rank is lower than theirs.” Her thin lips stretch wide like she’s enjoying this. “Your rank is lower than everyone’s in the palace, except those who serve you.”
“And yet, I am His Highness’s guest.” Petty, but why show grace to those who don’t deserve it.
She taps the table sharply, her nail scratching the polished wood. “Show me how you’d bow to His Highness.”
I fold over, stretching out my clasped hands as I did yesterday.
“Not bad.” She sounds almost grudging. “Except you’re a lady, not a soldier. Grace must flow in your every move. When you walk, imagine you’re gliding. When you bow, especially to His Highness, imagine you’re a flower bending before the sun.”
I laugh before I catch myself, transforming it into a choking sound. “Don’t flowers grow up toward the sun?”
Her eyebrows snap together. “One as you should bend before His Highness, as low as you can.”
After the twentieth attempt to bow correctly, I don’t laugh anymore, nor will I make the mistake of aggravating Madam Lau again. She sits by the table, eating the dumplings Cook Feng sent over as she barks a stream of infuriating orders. Nothing I do seems to please her, whether moving, smiling, or breathing.
At last, she tires of me snapping up and down like a wind-tossed branch. “Your bow is passable,” she declares. “Now sit. Pour me a cup of tea.”
As I pick up the teapot, pushing my sleeve up to avoid spilling on it, she slaps my wrist. “Don’t bare your arm.” When I offer her the cup, she sneers. “Use both hands to show respect.” Respect is far from my mind, but I silence any retort. And when I walk around the room following her direction, she hollers at me to take smaller, mincing steps.
By the time she leaves, my mood is dark. But she is helping me, and if I’m going to swim in these uncertain waters, I must learn to stay afloat.
Days pass, one folding into the next until a week has gone by. I haven’t seen Prince Zixin since the ball; maybe he’s forgotten me. Yet Madam Lau arrives with teeth-gritting regularity each morning, staying till evening as she teaches me to speak, walk, bow, even to eat in a way that makes it seem like I have no interest in food. Titles and court etiquette are drilled into me, piles of books left in my room of classics, history, poetry. I don’t touch them, but no matter how dull her lessons are, I make myself listen.
Every morning I study the mark on my finger, Little Dragon’s warning never far from my mind. The throbbing is ceaseless, not painful but incessant. Spidery streaks have appeared—barely perceptible—stretching from the flower like veins. It’s lucky that I only had the flower a day before it was taken, but already something feels off, a heaviness tugging at me, a looming sense of dread. How long do I have—weeks or months?
The moment Madam Lau leaves today, I hurry to the courtyard entrance, eager to explore the palace—to find the treasury where my ring is held. But a young woman is waiting outside, sitting by the marble table as she chats with Shan. She looks a few years older than him, clad in the gray dress of an attendant but with a red hem and sash, indicating a higher rank. She studies me in a speculative manner, her eyes moving from my face to my feet, then back up again.
“This is Mina, one of Princess Chunlei’s attendants,” Shan says.
As I greet her, she bows gracefully. “Chief Attendant Mai sent a message: His Highness was unwell, but has recovered and invites you to accompany him this evening.”
“Was His Highness’s illness serious?” I ask, concerned.
She shakes her head. “His Highness tires easily since his father’s death. The doctors claim that he only needs to rest.”
“Where should I meet His Highness?” My spirits lift at the thought—or maybe it’s because I’ve been stuck in these rooms with only Madam Lau for company.
As she smiles, a dimple forms in her right cheek. “By the lake, just outside the palace. It’s beautiful there.”
I thank her, my mind turning to what I should wear. How strange to worry about such a thing, so far removed from my life before.
Mina appears in no hurry to leave, following me into my room. “Do you like it here, Miss Yining?”
“The clothes are nice, and the food is good.” I offer her a plate of pastries, their flaky crusts wrapped around sweetened almond paste. Since Cook Feng’s visit, food has arrived in a steady stream: walnut biscuits, coconut pudding, even a bowl of costly ginseng stewed in rock sugar. I’m beginning to think the most important person here may not be Prince Zixin but his cook.
Mina bites into the pastry, crumbs scattering on the floor. My hands itch to sweep them up but Shan hurries into the room to clean it. I’m still unused to letting others tidy up after me when I’ve spent years doing the same for Mistress Henglan.
“What do you do in the palace?” I ask Mina.
“I serve Princess Chunlei.” As her gaze drops to the pearls around my neck, then slides to my hair, I straighten instinctively. “I can see why Shan asked me to visit you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I arrange Her Highness’s hair. I choose her clothes and accessories, the color of the balm on her lips. I can’t come here every day, but I’ll try when there’s need.” She cocks her head to one side. “I’d never choose that sash with that robe. Nor those accessories. Otherwise, you aren’t bad looking.”
