The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(33)

Normally her father would have spoken here, but today there was no mention of him. No one wanted to admit their emperor was ailing. Instead, the captain of the guard cleared his throat and announced, “Shin Mung, adviser to the Emperor, our Lord of Ten Thousand Years, will now recite an excerpt from the Analecta to initiate the hunt.”

A thin, bookish man, Shin Mung slipped somewhat gracelessly from his elk and stepped forward. He recited in a quavering voice: “When the true king rules humanely, according in every manner with the Ways of the Heavens, then his kingdom will experience peace and prosperity . . .”

Lu passed her cousin a glance. Set was poised in his saddle, the trace of an idle smile twisting his elegant lips. But there was something new beneath its placid surface—something brimming, trembling. Anxiety, perhaps?

No. Eagerness.

“The true emperor is not he who holds the sharpest sword, but he who inspires his kingdom through his own righteous conduct,” droned Shin Mung.

It had been five years since she’d seen Set swing a sword or string a bow. He’d been of unremarkable talent at the time—neither particularly good nor bad. But he’d become a general since. Even if it was nepotism that had won him that rank, he must have acquired some martial skills in the interim.

Lu flexed her fingers, itching to reach for her bow, her sword. Some weapon. Instead she took the leather gloves from her saddlebag and pulled them on.

“. . . may your mounts be swift, and your aim be true,” Shin Mung concluded.

And with that, they were off.

They rode deeper into the forest and prepared to split off into two groups. Sleek, athletic hounds laced artfully between the mounted horses and elk, alternating between efficiently sniffing the air for potential prey and nipping at one another in clumsy, puppyish discord.

Set raised an arm to call his men toward him, delegating and strategizing. Lu called over her own men. Yuri came first, reining up beside her.

“Princess,” he said tersely.

Something in his tone made Lu meet his eyes. They were tight at the corners, and overly bright with some unspoken urgency. A cold finger of fear scraped down her spine.

“Shin Yuri,” she said, leaning in toward him. “I’m glad you were able to come! I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I haven’t seen you in a few days.” It was true—he’d disappeared after the Betrothal Ceremony. Had he even been at the banquet? She couldn’t recall. Somehow the idea frightened her now. She’d overlooked something, she realized. What was it?

Yuri snatched her by the wrist, hard. He raised his other hand high; it held a knife. He brought it down, but she threw an elbow, hitting him in the wrist and knocking it from his hands. Just as he had taught her to do. Just as he must have known she would.

She met his eyes, wild and searching. His were grimly satisfied.

He hauled her close, nearly yanking her from her saddle. The coarse stubble on his face scoured her skin, and she heard him hiss a single word in her ear.

“Run.”

That was when the first arrow flew at her.





CHAPTER 10


Shamaness

A magnolia tree grew just outside the window next to Min’s bed. She would track its changes through the year, watching the spring’s crop of tight velveted buds soften and flare fuschia at their tips, then unfurl into fleshy stars spangling the bare branches. It struck her as sad in a way; each change so grand and lovely, and yet never final, always fruitless, always doomed to begin again.

Today, though, Min looked through the tree, trying to recall her dreams from the night before. Every time she grasped for them, they receded, as irrevocable as the tide. All she remembered was that her sister had been there, but when Min called out to her, Lu had turned around and it hadn’t been Lu at all.

“I wonder what’s happening.” Snowdrop’s high voice pierced Min’s reverie. Min looked over to where her nunas were gathered in the corner of the room, chattering and eating candied haws from little bowls. Butterfly had unraveled her long black hair and was slowly running a comb through it.

“Oh, I so wish we could watch the hunt,” Snowdrop chirped on.

Tea Rose laughed. “What do you know about hunting, Snowdrop?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to hunt; I just wish I could see it!”

Min felt a stab of annoyance. “What time is it?” she asked. Not that it mattered. Her lessons for the day had been canceled.

“Princess, do you need something?” Butterfly swept over to her, reordering the bedding Min had disturbed. “Are you hungry?”

Min clung at the coverlet draped across her lap, drawing it down. A waxy streak of white powder and lip rouge was smeared across the edge—makeup from yesterday. For a moment she thought of how the nunas would be forced to strip the bed later for careful washing and felt a pang of panicked guilt, but she pushed it away. That was their duty. To serve her needs.

They should have done a better job of removing her makeup in the first place.

“Leave me!” she snapped, so suddenly that Butterfly dropped the blanket she was holding. It collapsed to the floor in a silken puddle.

“Princess?” the nuna asked hesitantly.

“I wish to be alone,” Min said.

There was, she discovered, a mean pleasure to be taken in the other girl’s uncertainty.

What is wrong with me?