The ride back to the Crown Prince's Manor was quieter than it should have been.
The horses moved at a steady pace, hooves muffled against the worn dirt road. The shadow of the market place loomed just ahead, but for the first time since leaving, Zhao Xinying didn't seem to be in a rush to reach it. She rode with one hand on the reins, the other resting in her lap, fingers slowly curling and uncurling. Smoke trailed through them—black on one hand, white on the other—rising like silk threads and coiling in intricate loops.
Shi Yaozu didn't speak at first. He watched her from his horse beside hers, posture alert but unthreatening. His hand rested lightly near the hilt of his blade, more out of habit than necessity.
