TVisTV Book 4: Chapter 30 (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 30 - The Forsworn Prince of the Blood

Love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love.

- John le Carre.

It seemed, however, that Fate would have another twist left in store for Seraphina.

Now, she sat beneath a pavilion in the middle of the pond of the Spring Palace in silent contemplation as Haze Finleigh strummed a relaxing tune upon her Chordrelle. The music moved and echoed lightly across the water and air, its melody ethereal. Beneath the surface of the pond, large fish the size of small dogs lurked in the greenish depths, occasionally rising with ponderous dignity to ogle Seraphina.

Miriam stood nearby in attendance, adjusting her spectacles before pouring her lady a fresh cup of fragrant tea that would have cost a peasant family a year’s labor. To the young noblewoman, such facts made the tea taste infinitely better.

Hana, the small yellow bird, had taken possession of a nearby branch and was pretending to be master of the entire garden, her voice adding to the Chordrelle’s melody on occasion. Kiwi watched the songbird from the roof of the pavilion with three-eyed disapproval, while Tia, somewhere unseen, occasionally giggled at her own private thoughts.

Seraphina lifted the cup, breathed in the fragrance, and tried not to think of Fan Xiwei. Naturally, that meant she thought of little else.

The Flower General was the Prince’s promised. The beautiful heroine of the eastern army, soon to arrive in Tianhua crowned in victory, flowers, and the approval of the people. Fan Xiwei would arrive with a destroyed barbarian horde and a victory parade. 

The muscle-bound oaf threatened to upstage her, and that was something that Seraphina de Sariens most definitely did not tolerate.

How decidedly tacky of her timing, the young noblewoman thought, taking a sip of her tea. The tea was excellent, which for some reason, annoyed her

Then, there was the sound of footsteps from behind her as they crossed the small wooden bridge crossing the pond and a small voice came from the edge of the pavilion. “My lady.”

One of the palace servants stood at the bridge leading back toward the gardens, bent low enough that she seemed to be addressing the wooden floorboards rather than Seraphina. The girl was young, and her hands clutched her sleeves with a desperate firmness.

Seraphina lowered her cup. “Yes?”

“My lady has a visitor,” the servant girl piped with a squeak, bowing even. “A most honored visitor, my lady.”

How interesting, the noblewoman mused.

“And who,” Seraphina asked, “has chosen to honor me?”

The servant swallowed. “The Second Prince Hantien Liang, my lady.”

Fate, Seraphina decided, was a drunk playwright with a taste for unnecessary complications.

“Then we must not keep His Highness waiting,” she conceded gracefully.

To this, the servant bowed and fled with barely disguised relief.

By the time Second Prince Hantien Liang entered the garden, Seraphina had arranged herself into the proper degree of welcome. Not too eager, not too cold. She remained seated until etiquette demanded otherwise, allowing Miriam to set the tea aside and Haze to bring the Chordrelle’s tune to a gentle end.

Her lips curved into a small smile despite herself as she saw that Prince Liang had come with gifts. Two attendants followed behind him, carrying lacquered boxes wrapped in pale silk cords. Another held a narrow case of polished dark wood that looked like it held something rather expensive inside. The Prince himself walked ahead of them with easy grace, dressed in robes of deep red and silver-grey, his dark hair bound beneath a formal cap set with a small green stone.

He was handsome, that much could not be denied, but not quite as tall as his elder brother. And, not quite as striking either. Compared to his brother, Liang seemed simply less, almost like a flawed imitation. The lines were similar: the dark eyes, the straight nose, and the noble bearing. Yet everything was a little softer, a little less certain, and a little less refined.

“Lady Seraphina de Sariens,” he greeted, bringing one closed fist into the open palm of his other hand before his chest. His elbows lifted with ritual precision as he inclined himself to a depth that had clearly been calculated in advance. “Forgive my intrusion upon your afternoon.” 

“Your Highness honors me,” Seraphina replied, rising and returning the courtesy with equal precision. 

His smile warmed by a fraction. “Then, if you will allow me to keep honoring you,” he offered, gesturing to the attendants.

The attendants came forward, presenting the gifts one by one. The first lacquered box contained tea cakes pressed with the seal of a famous mountain estate. The second held a set of delicate writing brushes with handles of carved jade and dark horn. The narrow wooden case, when opened, revealed a slim hairpin of silver and green enamel shaped like a crane standing among reeds.

They were all very elegant and excellently chosen, causing Seraphina's smile to widen. “Your Highness is most generous.”

“Only appropriately attentive,” Liang he flattered. “The court speaks often of your learning and accomplishments. I thought the brushes might be of use.”

“And this?” she asked, covering her mouth as she chuckled lightly.

His eyes flicked, briefly, to the little fox still tucked among her gold ornaments. “A poor attempt to compete with your current favorite, perhaps,” he observed.

Did he know of Master Chen? the girl wondered absently.

“The fox is fond of its place,” Seraphina returned.

“As it should be. Creatures of cleverness often are,” he replied adroitly.

Seraphina motioned for the Prince to sit, and tea was poured. Miriam moved through the motion with flawless, almost ceremonial, care though Seraphina could feel the maid’s tension in every small motion. A prince who came to pay court was not merely a visitor; he was a problem, and perhaps an opportunity all rolled into one.

They spoke first of harmless things. He asked whether the accommodations had been suitable. She replied that the Empire understood hospitality with admirable seriousness. He observed that Tianhua could be overwhelming to those newly arrived. She feigned ignorance or indifference to that matter.

The prince laughed at her reaction. It was not mocking, exactly, but neither was it friendly. The young girl noticed that he laughed as though laughter itself were a piece on a board, moved only with control and intent. 

“How did you find your reception before my father?” he inquired deftly, turning to more serious matters.

Seraphina allowed herself a small sigh. “It was an experience.”

“My father can be… direct,” he apologized smoothly.

“A quality I  much prefer to its opposite,” she replied with a wry smile.

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Even when it is aimed at you?”

“Especially then. Hidden blades are far more tedious.”

Liang studied her over the rim of his cup. “Then I hope you did not find the court too tedious.”

“Parts of it were fascinating. Though I must confess, I did not attend for long.”

The Prince spoke of the recent court session, Liang mentioning that several ministers had spent the morning pretending not to discuss Seraphina’s marriage conditions while discussing little else. Later, he offered the expected condolences for the difficulties she had faced upon the road, feeling her out for details even as he apologized for the current state of the Empire. She accepted his condolences with proper grace and allowed him to understand, without saying it aloud, that the difficulties had mostly belonged to those foolish enough to stand in her way.

Eventually, naturally, the conversation curved toward Fan Xiwei.

“The capital prepares for General Fan’s return,” Prince Liang inserted with an attempt at a rogueish smile.

“So I have heard. Such news has even reached these walls and the maids were practically abuzz with it,” she replied lightly as if it were of no real concern.

The prince looked thoughtful before delivering his verdict. “The people are grateful. The barbarian, forgiveness please, cast a long and violent shadow.”

“No forgiveness is necessary. To my eyes, after all, it is you, my prince , that is the barbarian,” came her swift riposte, delivered with more amusement than real venom.

For a moment, the Prince looked as if he might say something more. Then he seemed to reconsider and set his cup down.

“General Fan is greatly admired,” he said instead. “Her victory has brought relief to many.”

“I am sure she deserves admiration,” she commented dryly.

It cost Seraphina nothing to say, and so she said it beautifully.

“The masses enjoy a story,” Liang continued, his tone mild enough to be mistaken for idle reflection by anyone who had not spent a lifetime listening for poison. “A village girl rises from nothing. A sword is placed in her hand. The army cheers her. The court honors her. The people throw flowers and begin to wonder whether birth is truly so important after all.”

Seraphina took another sip of tea. “Is that not inspiring?”

“I prefer order,” he stated. “Inspiration is difficult to govern.”

“The Flower General must be a remarkable woman to have risen so high. Yet, she was raised from peasant stock, was she not?” Seraphina asked, as if she had only just remembered. And yet now she commands armies. The Empire allows this?” the young girl remarked.

He kept his smile, but his eyes had grown cold. “The Empire rewards merit.” 

Seraphina saw the shape of his ire. Fan Xiwei had not merely won battles, she had offended the world by rising. To men like Liang, such a woman was not merely inconvenient, she was a precedent. And precedent, unlike people, was very difficult to bury.

In another lifetime the young noblewoman might have even applauded her. But what she could not control, she could not suffer to get in her way.

“I take it Your Highness does not approve of… this sudden rise.”

Liang’s gaze returned to her, sharper now, though his smile remained. “You are very direct.”

“I am foreign woman. We are allowed our small barbarisms.”

That amused him. “Then no, Lady Seraphina, I do not always approve of what the court chooses to celebrate. A general should serve the throne. A commoner hero should not become a second banner for the people to follow.”

“Especially when that hero is promised to the First Prince?” she tested.

Liang looked at her for a long moment, genuinely surprised. Then he smiled.

“Auspicious matches can be complicated things,” he commented.

The official story was loyalty. Second Prince Hantien Liang had sworn his sword to his elder brother. The court repeated it often enough that it had begun to sound like prayer. But men did not repeat truths that needed no defense.

Liang did not merely dislike Fan Xiwei. He disliked what she did for Huan. He disliked what she meant for Huan. A concubine-born prince with the people’s victorious Flower General at his side would be a more difficult obstacle to overcome.

How fascinating. How very stupid of him to let her see even this much. Or perhaps he had meant her to see, she considered to herself. That was the problem with clever men, one always had to assume at least half of their mistakes had been placed there deliberately.

“The court and the capital will certainly be lively when she arrives,” Seraphina admitted.

“As shall we all,” Liang replied. “The season is turning.”

There was weight to the prince’s words, not threat, but expectation. Events had placed Seraphina upon one side of some unseen balance, and now the Flower General’s return would place another weight opposite her. Liang had come to measure her and to see whether she might be a tool, a distraction, or perhaps a wedge driven carefully into his brother’s future, she concluded.

How tedious of him to think that I might be some sort of tool.

The visit did not last long enough to be improper, nor end quickly enough to be meaningless. When the tea had been drunk and the gifts properly admired, Liang rose.

“I have taken enough of your afternoon,” he said with his small smile.

The blonde girl lowered her eyes. “Emperors, kings, and princes rarely take only what is enough.”

He laughed then, softer than before. “May I visit again, Lady Seraphina?”

A simple question, elegantly placed, heavy with everything it did not say. A second visit would be noticed, and refusing him would be an insult. Accepting would not bind her, not yet, but it would open a door. And doors, in the girl’s experience, were useful things, especially when one might later need to slam them in someone’s face.

“You may,” she replied. “If His Highness finds my company tolerable.”

“More than tolerable,” Liang replied, bowing, “tolerable is far too small a word.”

“How very generous,” she replied meeting his eyes

He did not flinch as he held her emerald gaze. “Accurate, I hope.”

The Prince withdrew with his attendants, his gifts left behind as declarations of intent. Seraphina watched him cross the bridge and disappear into the garden paths beyond.

And from above, Tia whispered, delighted, “That one smells like wanting.”

Seraphina held out her empty cup, and Miriam stepped forward to refill it.

“Yes,” she conceded softly. “That is the problem. But wanting what, exactly? And how much of it? That is the question.”

The Bard and the monstrous maid looked at her, then at each other, both suddenly uncertain who, if anyone, she was truly addressing.