Chapter 10

ZHEN

His face and voice were Xu's—but in every other way, he was the prince of Wuyue. They were the same person, and yet they weren't.

Xu, the irreverent horse keeper who had leaned in and whispered teasingly in Zhen's ear, didn't exist. In his place was the

prince—imposing and impressive, wearing an air of detachment with even more effortless grace than he wore his lóng páo . He was like a leopard, its presence revealed not by any sound it made but by the silence it created. Birds would stop chirping,

and the forest would hold its breath, as Zhen was doing now.

Zhen dropped to his knees, lowering his eyes. Chu would have had a fit if he'd seen him gawking at the prince. "Good evening,

Your Highness."

Footsteps moved forward. "There's no need to call me that."

"Steward Chu made it clear this is how I should address you at all times, Your Highness."

The prince's expression was veiled. "And what if I ordered you not to?"

"Then I would ask you not to put me in a difficult position... Your Highness."

The prince's black leather boots halted in Zhen's line of sight. Zhen ventured an upward glance. By the gods, the prince was

devastatingly handsome in a completely different way than Xu. His hair was pulled back in an austere knot that sharpened the

angle of his jawline. His cheeks were tinged with a light flush, probably from the wine he'd been drinking. But when he gazed

down at Zhen, his eyes were clear as pools reflecting moonlight.

"I wasn't lying about my name," the prince said. "I'm called Xu Xian, but I prefer to go by Xian."

Zhen understood enough about human honorifics to know it was highly unusual for a prince to reveal his given name to a commoner,

much less his short name, which was reserved for his family and closest friends—certainly not for a stable hand he had just

met.

Xian. Zhen liked the sound and shape of the name. Not that he imagined the prince was giving him permission to use it. Xian. He wondered what the name meant.

Xian held out a hand as if to pull Zhen to his feet. "After so many oily dishes at the banquet, I'm in the mood for a cup

of pu'er tea."

Nothing in Chu's instructions had included how to respond if the prince extended a hand while he was kneeling. It seemed rude not to take his offered hand—but as the prince's attendant, wasn't it disrespectful for the prince to be the one helping him stand up?

Zhen made a quick decision—his hand closed around Xian's and he was firmly tugged upward, but he let go as soon as he was

on his feet.

He ducked his head and hurried to the stove to make tea. He was careful not to touch the yellow tips of the sulfur sticks

as he rubbed them together, kindling fire to light the coal. A large jug of water stood nearby, and he filled the kettle.

Chu had said something about bringing the water to a boil for at least a minute. Which teapot was for the pu'er tea? Which

leaves were pu'er?

He surreptitiously peered into each of the four tea canisters. None were labeled; they didn't need to be, since all the courtesans

could probably prepare a perfect cup of tea with their eyes closed. Three canisters contained dark-colored leaves, and the

fourth had leaves that were more shriveled, herby-looking. Pu'er sounded herby, so it had to be that one.

As he scooped up the leaves with a wooden spoon curved on both sides like a canal, he felt Xian's eyes on him, which made

him fumble and spill some leaves onto the tray. Chu had mentioned that the teapot with the smaller opening would keep the

fragrance longer, so he put the leaves into that one and added boiling water. He let it stand before pouring the pale yellow

tea into a porcelain cup.

He offered the cup to Xian with a nervous smile. "Your Highness."

Xian's expression betrayed nothing as he took the tea and sipped. Zhen held his breath. If he accomplished this task, there

might be hope for him yet.

Xian lowered the cup and looked him in the eye. "You've never brewed tea in your life, have you?"

Zhen turned red. Steward Chu had predicted that he'd be dismissed by the prince in the morning, but he might fail to meet

even the lowest of expectations by getting kicked out that night. He would probably lose his job in the stable too. If he

had to leave the palace, what about Qing? Madam Hua treated her well, and she was safer living in the palace than outside

its walls.

Zhen fell to his knees and bowed so low that his forehead touched the floor.

"Please forgive me." His dignity was worth less than being able to watch over Qing. "I beg for another chance to do better."

To his surprise, Xian chuckled. "I knew what I was getting into when I asked for a stable hand as my attendant. Get up, and

I'll show you."

Zhen couldn't hide his astonishment as he climbed to his feet. "You know how to make tea?"

Xian grinned. "You forgot to add Your Highness at the end of that question. Keep it up." He walked to the table and picked up the teapot with the larger opening. "This

teapot is for brewing pu'er." He took another canister of dark-colored tea. "And these are pu'er leaves. The ones you used

were oolong."

Zhen covered his face, mortified. "I'm sorry."

"Here's how to tell them apart." Xian pointed at the leaves Zhen had used. "Oolong is somewhere between black and green tea.

The leaves are wilted and bruised, while nearly all other tea leaves are needle-like and flat. Oolong is cooling, perfect

for a hot summer afternoon."

He opened another canister and beckoned Zhen closer.

"Pu'er, on the other hand, is a fermented tea," he continued. "The leaves are blackish brown with a reddish tint. Unlike other

types of tea, pu'er tastes better as it ages, and it's mild enough to be drunk at night."

Zhen tried to memorize everything, but standing close to Xian turned his brain into a sieve.

"First, we need to ‘awaken' the leaves by blanching them." Xian scooped some pu'er leaves into the teapot, added boiling water,

and drained the leaves almost immediately. "Now the tea is ready to be steeped. Pour the kettle just above the teapot to reduce

exposure to air, which helps preserve the tea's flavor. And don't throw away the leaves after. They can be steeped up to ten

times, and the taste evolves with every brew."

Xian tipped the teapot and filled two porcelain cups. The tea was clear but had the rich color of red wine, bright and dark

at the same time.

"You're a prince," Zhen said, still amazed. "How do you know all this?"

"My mother comes from a family of tea farmers in the eastern province of Guangwu." Xian held out a cup, and Zhen automatically took it from him. "I wouldn't be a good descendant if I hadn't picked up a few tricks of the trade."

Zhen froze as it hit him: The prince of Wuyue had just offered him tea . And he'd accepted it .

Steward Chu was going to kill him.

Xian seemed oblivious to Zhen's consternation as he brought his own cup to his lips and inhaled deeply. "Spend a moment savoring

the aroma before taking the first sip."

Zhen raised his cup and sniffed, but his mind was racing too much to register the scent. Did Xian realize he had just served

him tea? Surely he must have. Was it a trick? A test? Should Zhen apologize? But the other boy didn't seem to mind one bit.

It was almost as if he were Xu again and they were back in the stable sharing an apricot. Was the prince of Wuyue treating

him less like a servant and more like... a friend?

Zhen sipped too quickly, scalding his tongue.

Xian noticed. "Drink slowly. Let the flavor of the tea unravel. Linger over the aftertaste."

The tea was as much a contradiction as the person who had steeped it: strong and earthy with an intriguing lightness, bitter

with a returning hint of sweet.

"So, tell me." Xian lowered his cup and popped a dried plum into his mouth. Zhen had completely forgotten to offer the snacks.

"The rumors you heard about the prince of Wuyue... do you think they're true?"

Zhen's cheeks burned. Earlier, in the stable, he'd told the prince that he was rumored to be handsome. Right to his face. And it was certainly true. People also said that the prince was unconventional, contrary, willful. But no one had mentioned that his mother was from a humble family of tea farmers or that the prince's laugh was such a pleasing sound. Zhen would do anything just to hear it again.

Zhen met his gaze. "The rumors didn't tell the half of it."

Xian drained his cup of tea and set it down.

"I wasn't exactly truthful with you about my identity," he said. "I can see why you might be uncomfortable calling me Xian.

I don't want to make things difficult, so when others are around, you can address me as Your Highness. But when we're by ourselves,

I want you to call me Xu. At least something about the first time we met was real."

"I understand the reason you did it—" The words spilled out before Zhen could think them through. He broke off, afraid he

had spoken out of turn.

"What reason is that?" Xian's expression was not reproving but questioning, encouraging him to continue.

Zhen bit his lip. "I imagine it's not easy to know if people are responding to you or to your position. If you hadn't pretended

to be someone you weren't, I would never have dared to speak to you. And we might not be standing here right now."

A languid smile curled on the edges of Xian's mouth. "Perhaps we were meant to meet the way we did."

Zhen was acutely aware of his pulse jumping in his wrist, in a vessel in his neck. "Is there... anything else I can do

for you?"

"Actually, there is." Xian unbuckled the pendant belt around his waist and raised his arms by his sides. "I'd like you to help me out of my lóng páo ."

A warm shiver prickled over Zhen's skin, sending a fluttery feeling through his stomach. Whatever else the prince asks you for, do the best you can—

Zhen swallowed hard as he moved forward. His fingers were clumsier than they should have been as he removed the heavy ceremonial

robe from the prince's shoulders. He brought the robe to a horizontal wooden rack nearby and carefully draped the fabric so

it wouldn't be creased.

When he turned around, Xian had removed his inner shirt and was wearing only linen pants.

Zhen's breath caught in his throat. Xian's body was on the lighter side of tanned; the muscles in his shoulders and arms were

lean but wiry, like taut cords beneath his skin. A jade amulet on a silver chain rested against his bare chest.

Something stirred in Zhen's lower abdomen. Did Xian disrobing mean he was supposed to as well?

Xian walked forward, still shirtless, and halted in front of Zhen. They hadn't even been this close in the stable earlier—they

were as near each other as two people could be without touching.

Xian spoke. "There's one more thing I want you to do for me."

He was a couple of inches taller than Zhen, and when Zhen raised his gaze, Xian's eyes were like the tea he had steeped—bright and dark at the same time, their color clear yet heady and intoxicating. The air was alive with an inexorable connection that seemed to draw them together. Zhen was sure the prince would reach for the front of his robe, and when he pulled it open, Zhen would not stop him—

"Do you remember what you offered to do if I had a day off?" Xian asked.

Zhen blinked. "I said... I would bring you riding in the forests outside Changle."

"I intend to take that trip, and I chose you as my attendant because I want you to be my guide." Xian stepped back, breaking

the magnetic pull. "We will set out once my bodyguard arrives with the rest of my contingent."

Zhen's heart sank. He had a feeling the prince wasn't talking about a scenic tour, which meant it would be a hunting trip.

Obviously, as a snake, Zhen had hunted, but that was out of nature and necessity. He hated the thought of killing animals

for sport.

Xian walked across the room and took a sleeping robe hanging on a rack. He shrugged the robe onto his shoulders, and the jade

amulet around his neck disappeared behind the front folds when he fastened the robe with a sash.

He looked at Zhen. "It's windy tonight, and your cot is facing the window. Make sure you use a blanket when you sleep."

Zhen couldn't hide his surprise. Was that all Xian planned to do—sleep? Alone in his huge bed? Didn't Qing say that was the

last thing he would be doing tonight?

Xian climbed onto the platform bed and rested his head on the silk pillow. He didn't remove his hairpin or release the bun. "You can dim the lights now."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Zhen went around the chamber, snuffing out the candles and extinguishing the braziers. The embers glowed,

suffusing the shadows with faint illumination.

Zhen had balked at the idea of sleeping with someone he'd just met, but now he wasn't sure if he was relievedor disappointed.

Xian obviously knew that asking for pleasure was within his rights. So did his lack of overture mean Xian wasn't attracted

to boys—or was he just not interested in him? Is that why the prince made it clear he had chosen Zhen only to be a guide on his hunting expedition?

Zhen unfolded the blanket at the foot of Xian's bed and draped it over the prince, pulling it up to chest level. Xian's eyes

followed him, his expression unreadable. Zhen untied the curtains, letting the gauze canopy fall around the four-poster bed.

He hesitated before he spoke. "Good night... Xu."

Through the gossamer layer, he caught the prince's smile. "Good night, Zhen."