Zhihao stands at the window, one hand draped through the intricate, thinly carved wood and the other hanging down at his side. When he was younger, he used to think the wood was carved like this for the same reason that the spirit gate stood in front of the palace. He thought that since spirits could only travel in straight lines, if any managed to climb over their first line of defence, they’d get caught in the web of wood and would be confused by all the sharp corners.
Now Zhihao only sees skilled woodwork. His world has lost its magic to time.
The door behind him opens, the door gods slipping with it into the wall pocket. With them gone there was nothing to protect him from poison, and Zhihao sighs as he prepares to be berated.
“Everyone’s looking for you.” It’s Kuratsa. This is better than it being his father, worse than almost anyone else. Everything Kuratsa says sounds impatient, like he’s keeping her from being where she really wants to be, and it annoys him in the same way that someone coughing in a library did. “We’re meant to be leaving.”
“Oh, yes, my sincerest apologies.” Sarcasm scratched against the back of his neck, and Zhihao rolls his eyes even though she can’t see. He hates her today.
“Your Majesty,” she says in a high, breathy, lilt, “so sorry to inform you that your son will be refusing this non negotiable journey.”
Zhihao frowns. He can’t think of anything good and clever to say back, so he says what he usually does when he wants her to shut up. “So this is how the Princess of Tag-Igit speaks to her future emperor.”
A snort. He wrinkles his nose; so undignified. “You aren’t going to be a future anything if you don’t listen to him.”
Zhihao shifts to look over his shoulder at her. She meets his gaze, and hhe glimpses cold meaning there. The implication, the history. He was hoping that she hadn’t known, that the words just slipped out and they would deal with the accident together. But she knows, and the air is heavy with her knowing. She’s playing dirty with him, and Zhihao loathes that he’ll let her get away with it.
“Let’s go,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say in the wake of this. Kuratsa sighs, mutters something that sounds like “Finally,” and leads him out of the room. Zhihao follows, slowly, dragging his fingers across the wall and catching on wooden reliefs.
Sometimes he wishes he could be far away from her, forever. Send her back to Tag-Igit and never think of her again. Sometimes he wonders if he could marry one of her older sisters instead. He’s repelled by her, and watching the early morning dust, he thinks it’s in good reason. Even it seems to swirl to avoid her.
