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Shan hurries into my room, his face creased with worry. Since my symptoms have worsened, those I can no longer hide, he’s been fluttering around me, fetching water, fruit, and medicine—all of which I’ve refused.

“Prince Zixin is on the way. He’s bringing the royal physician.” His voice is hushed like he doesn’t want to disturb me.

I curse the prince inwardly, wishing he’d stay away. Most would, for fear of contagion, but Prince Zixin is probably arrogant enough to believe he’s invulnerable. At least I don’t have to pretend to be ill; one look at me should convince him of it.

As Shan offers me a damp washcloth to clean my face, the door swings open without the courtesy of a knock. Prince Zixin enters, followed by the royal physician, the one who inspected Daiyu. Six attendants follow them, their heads bowed though their ears are undoubtedly pricked up.

“I hear you are ill.” The prince strides toward my bed, a silver-and-black overcoat thrown over his white robe. His gaze rakes me, taking in my pallor, the way my chest strains as it rises and falls. His mouth twists as though torn between concern and suspicion. “I summoned the royal physician to treat you.”

To expose me as a fraud? I smile wanly, hiding clenched teeth. No physician can help me, but maybe this will convince the prince to leave me alone. “Your Highness is considerate. I am honored.”

“Miss Yining has been unwell since yesterday,” Shan replies, helping me without knowing it. “Her appetite has been poor.”

“Miss Yining, will you tell us your symptoms?” the royal physician asks.

“My head hurts,” I say weakly. “My body aches. I feel cold and tired.”

He extends his weathered palm to me. “May I take your pulse?”

I offer the royal physician my right hand, my other tucked beneath me. He frowns as he checks my pulse, then releases my hand to touch my brow. Finally, he asks me to open my mouth, inspecting my tongue and throat.

“Miss Yining is gravely ill,” he proclaims at last. “She has all the symptoms of fever, yet her body isn’t warm. Perhaps she is still fighting the infection, causing her temperature to rise and fall erratically. Her body is very weak, like she’s been suffering awhile.”

“Is she in danger?” Prince Zixin’s tone is tense, no longer tinged with disbelief.

The physician strokes his beard. “From her symptoms, this appears to be a severe infection. She must take the medicine that I prescribe. Rest is essential, she needs to sleep as much as she can.”

Shan is pale as he bows in acknowledgment. “I will ensure she does.”

The prince frowns. “She must be well for my coronation.”

Despite my discomfort, anger flares. “I can’t govern my illness, Your Highness.”

“If Miss Yining is unwell, it would be dangerous for her to attend Your Highness’s coronation—not just for her health but for the court,” the royal physician cautions. “Illnesses spread quicker in crowded surroundings.”

“I don’t want to risk infecting anyone.” I cough loudly, then add, “I’ve found it hard to sleep with the soldiers right outside.”

Prince Zixin swings to his attendants. “Order the guards to keep their distance from Miss Yining’s room and to avoid any unnecessary noise. She is not to be disturbed.”

I drop my eyes to conceal my relief, but to my horror, Prince Zixin pulls a stool over and sits beside my bed. “The rest of you are dismissed.”

The royal physician hesitates. “Your Highness, the lady’s illness is contagious. You must think of your health—”

“I will stay,” Prince Zixin says coldly.

“No.” I soften my protest with another frail smile. “The royal physician is right. What if you fall sick before your coronation, Your Highness?”

Prince Zixin leans closer, bringing his face to mine. “Then you will need to look after me.”

There are few things I’d like less. But I blink like my mind is slipping, pretending not to hear.

“She is tired, Your Highness,” the royal physician reminds him tentatively.

Prince Zixin’s jaw tightens. “I will stay until the medicine is prepared.”

He dismisses the physician and his attendants with a curt nod. Once they leave, Prince Zixin picks up the discarded washcloth and dips it into a bowl of water. He wrings it dry, then places it on my forehead, a cool relief seeping through me.

“My aunt used to do this when I had a fever,” I say drowsily, wanting to resent it but feeling too weak—almost grateful for his care.