was a dog. Lower than a dog that you kicked just for the hell of it. He had to remember that.
‘What happened today will never happen again.’ His words fell heavy, as if he were a magistrate handing down a sentence. His own sentence. ‘I can promise you that.’
‘Can you?’ she challenged softly.
‘It will not happen again,’ he said, forcing conviction into the words. ‘It cannot.’
All the light drained from her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know.’ When she faced him, her eyes glistened, but she didn’t turn away. ‘You told me as much the very first night we were together, didn’t you?’
‘The first night—?’
‘In that tiny roadside inn. Because of who you are.’ Her voice faltered. ‘And who I am.’
She dropped her shoulders back in the chair, retreating as far away as she could.
‘You have a good memory,’ he said stiffly.
A few painful moments passed. The attendants had all but disappeared though the dishes remained on the table. In the way of servants, they knew when to stay away. When Yan Ling met his eyes again, the light had come back into them, but it was a different fire there. One that sparked.
‘This isn’t about my welfare. You’ll always be Chang Fei Long and I’ll always be the humble tea girl. The silken robes, the lessons, they don’t matter at all. You wanted me to fool everyone, but I could never convince you.’
Her words cut into him, one stab after another, too quick for him to defend. ‘That isn’t what I meant. We can’t be together—’
‘Because I’m beneath you.’
‘No.’
The force behind his retort stunned her into silence. They could hear the crickets in the garden.
She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as she tried to compose herself. He could hear the catch in her breath. Her face revealed a flood of emotions: yearning, disappointment, despair. The two of them were like twin mirrors set against one another. Yan Ling reflected everything that he kept hidden. He wanted so much to take away the pain.
‘No,’ he said, quieter. He could feel the spirit draining from him. ‘That’s not it at all. Don’t you understand that I can’t allow this to happen? My father—’
He stopped himself. He wanted to try to explain to her, but it was too personal. A private matter that should be buried with his father. Fei Long stood and looked out into the garden. Beyond the glow of the lanterns, there was nothing but dark and formless shapes.
‘I think of you, Yan Ling, more than I should.’ A wave of longing struck him. ‘When I see your face at night, I don’t see the tea girl or the elegant lady. I only see you.’
He could see her now, even though he couldn’t face her.
‘I think of you, too.’
Her soft confession nearly unravelled him. He had to get this all out and be done with it.
‘If I acted on these feelings, if I…if I took what I wanted, it would be an abuse of authority. You’re under my care. That was what I meant when I spoke of our positions. I won’t treat you like that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As if you’re here for my pleasure.’
The whisper of silk told him Yan Ling had risen. She approached him while he counted each step with the thundering beat of his heart.
‘You told me I wasn’t your servant,’ she said.
‘You aren’t, but that doesn’t change who I am.’
He turned before she could reach him and took a step away. They had to keep their distance. Yan Ling came closer anyway.
‘The only hours of the day when I’m truly awake…’ her lower lip trembled ‘…are when I’m with you.’
He dug his nails into his palms. It was the same with him, the very same. Yan Ling was his sanctuary, a butterfly trapped within cupped hands. But no one could ever keep a butterfly. He’d have to let her go.
‘You have a future in Khitan as a princess. Here, there’s nothing but ruin and sorrow.’
She was close enough to touch. He could smell her perfume.
‘I’m not afraid, as long as we would be together,’ she said.
‘No.’
Her voice rose. ‘If I’m not your servant, then I can choose.’
He was suddenly weary. ‘I’m asking you not to. It would be pointless.’
The finality of it sank deep into him. He was tempted to tell her about the debt, the dishonour that hung over them, and how he sometimes wished he wasn’t shackled with this duty. But the shame of it stopped his