chapter 7
1614 Words
The Mugwort Night"*
The world came back to Xingchén in pieces. First the cold. Then the weight of silk against his chest. Then the sound of his own breath, ragged like he’d been running for miles in his sleep.
Mengxang.
That cursed dream-walking state had dragged him under again. His limbs felt like stone. His forehead was slick with sweat. The palace night was too quiet. Too heavy. The kind of quiet that pressed on your ribs until you wanted to scream just to hear something human.
He forced his eyes open.
The ceiling above him was carved with frost patterns — delicate, cruel, like the kingdom itself. Cedar Falls Kingdom didn’t believe in warmth. Not in its walls. Not in its prince.
Then the door clicked.
Soft footsteps. Hesitant.
Mengya.
She slipped into his chamber like a shadow that didn’t want to be seen. In her hands, a clay cup. Steam rose from it, bitter and sharp. Coffee. At this hour? The scent cut through the incense he kept burning to hold the dreams at bay.
Xingchén didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched her from under half-lidded eyes.
Her hair was a mess from sleep. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not just from waking but from anger. He could see it in the tight line of her mouth, in the way her shoulders were pulled back too straight. She was furious. At him. At the palace. At whatever nightmare had pulled her here at midnight.
She set the coffee down on the low table by his bed. The cup rattled against the wood. Her hands were shaking.
For a moment she just stood there, staring at him like she was trying to decide if he was worth the trouble. Then she turned. Silent. Already leaving. Already deciding this was a mistake.
“Stop.”
His voice cracked through the room. Low. Rough. Used too little in the last three days.
Mengya froze. Her back went rigid. She didn’t turn around right away. Her fingers gripped the doorframe like she could anchor herself to something solid.
Xingchén pushed himself up on one elbow. The sheets slipped from his chest. His skin was pale in the lamplight, marked with old scars that told stories he’d never spoken aloud.
“You are to sleep here tonight,” he said.
The words landed like a slap.
Mengya’s breath hitched. Audible. She turned her head just enough that he could see her profile. Her jaw clenched. Disbelief. Panic. Rage. All of it flickered across her face in half a second.
Her heart was hammering so hard he could see it in the pulse at her throat.
“Why would she sleep in the prince’s chamber?” her mind screamed. “If his fiancée sees her, that’s execution. That’s disgrace. That’s her family dragged through the dirt.”
But she didn’t say any of that. She couldn’t. Speaking would make it real.
Xingchén’s eyes never left her. There was something hollow in them. Something tired that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.
“Go get me mugwort from the palace herb man,” he ordered.
It wasn’t a request. It was a command. But his voice dipped at the end, almost like an apology he refused to give.
Mengya scurried out.
Her feet barely touched the cold stone floor. The corridors of Cedar Palace were long and empty at this hour. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might crack her ribs. Each step echoed back at her like accusation.
Why mugwort? Why now? Why her?
Mugwort was for dreams. For warding off spirits. For people who walked between worlds and came back broken. She’d seen the herb man dry it, bundle it, whisper prayers over it. But why did the prince need it tonight? And why did he need her to bring it?
The questions clawed at her throat as she grabbed the dried bundles from the herb room. The smell hit her immediately — earthy, bitter, ancient. It smelled like protection. Like grief.
She returned faster than she should have. Breathless. Hands trembling as she placed the mugwort in his outstretched hand.
Xingchén didn’t thank her. He never did.
He struck flint to tinder. The mugwort caught with a soft hiss. Blue smoke curled upward, twisting into shapes that made Mengya’s stomach turn. It smelled bitter-sweet. Like memories she didn’t have. Like warnings.
He burned it in the bronze bowl by his bed, then returned to the sheets without looking at her again. But his eyes stayed on her. Unblinking. Heavy.
Mengya stood there, unsure if she was allowed to breathe.
“Stop staring at me,” he said finally, voice flat. “And come join me on the bed.”
The lump in her throat was instant. Thick. Choking.
Why would she? Every instinct in her body screamed no. Scream. Run. This was wrong. This was dangerous. If anyone found her here, her life was over. His fiancée’s family would see to that. The court would see to that.
But if she screamed, no one would come. If she fought, no one would hear. The Cedar Palace swallowed sound. It swallowed girls like her and never gave them back.
So she gave up.
Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. Each step toward the bed felt like stepping off a cliff. The sheets were cold. The air between them was colder.
When she reached the edge, Xingchén’s arm came around her without warning. He pulled her close. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just… desperately. Like a drowning man grabbing for air.
She stiffened. Her hands clenched the fabric of his sleeve. Her heart was a wild thing trapped in her chest.
Then his breathing slowed. The mugwort smoke did its work. The nightmare loosened its grip on him.
Sooner than she expected, both of them slept. Her, rigid with fear. Him, finally free from the dream that had been killing him night after night.
---
*MORNING AT CEDAR PALACE*
Dawn came pale and thin through the latticed windows.
Mengya woke first. Always.
She moved like a ghost. No sound. No hesitation. She slipped from the bed, from his arms, from the danger of being found. Her purpose was done. She’d brought the mugwort. She’d stayed. She’d survived.
Not like Xingchén didn’t know when she left. His eyes followed her even in sleep. He always knew. But he let her go. Because he understood what it cost her to stay.
He dressed in silence for the council meeting. Black and silver. The colors of frost. The colors of a prince who was never allowed to be warm.
The great hall was worse than the night. Colder. Sharper.
His father sat at the head of the table, older now, shoulders bent under the weight of a crown he’d never wanted to pass on. Other personnel filled the room — lords, advisors, men whose loyalty shifted with the wind.
Xingchén listened. For a while.
Then he spoke.
He insulted them. One by one. The minister who couldn’t manage grain stores. The general who lost patrols to bandits. The advisor who spoke in circles and called it wisdom. His voice was ice. Precise. Cutting deeper than any blade.
The room went silent after. No one dared meet his eyes.
After the meeting, his father pulled him aside.
“The engagement,” his father said. “You must hurry. The kingdom needs an heir. Frost Haven needs stability.”
Xingchén’s laugh was short. Bitter.
“If you really cared for me,” he said, voice low enough that only his father could hear, “why would you marry another wife when my mother died? Why would you replace her before her body was even cold?”
His father had no answer.
Xingchén turned and left. Straight for his chamber. Straight for the empty space where Mengya had slept and left no trace.
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*FROST HAVEN*
_A village under Cedar Falls Kingdom_
Frost Haven wasn’t a city. It wasn’t even a town, not really. It was a cluster of wooden houses huddled against the mountain wind, smoke rising from chimneys like the breath of something ancient. The people here were tough. They had to be. Cedar Falls didn’t feed its villages. It drained them.
That morning, in the largest house at the village center, breakfast was being served.
Sitting at the table: Lady Lian rou, Xingchén’s fiancée. Her father, Lord Lian Baichen. Her mother, Lady Lian Meiying.
The tea was hot. The bread was fresh. The conversation was not.
“We need to pressure him,” Lord Baichen said, voice slick with ambition. “Hasten the engagement. If she marries the prince, our family rises above every other village. Above every other house in Cedar Falls.”
Lady Meiying nodded, eyes sharp. “A powerful heir. That’s what we need. And more.”
Rou barely touched her food. She was listening. Really listening.
“And the healing,” her father continued, zleaning forward. “Anyone who gets intimate with him… they say they can be healed automatically. Sickness, wounds, even old age. The royal blood carries it. If you marry him, you’ll possess that power too.”
Rou’s eyes widened.
Greed hit her like a wave. Hot and sudden and impossible to hide.
She wanted it. All of it. The power. The status. The ability to raise her family above everyone who had ever looked down on them. To never be powerless again. To never be ignored.
Her fingers tightened around the cup until her knuckles went white.
Outside, the wind from the mountains howled. Frost Haven held its breath. And somewhere in Cedar Palace, Xingchén stared.
- Writer
