Someone lifted the sedan curtain, and a eunuch poked his head inside.
Achou’s heart leapt into her throat.
The eunuch glanced at her.
More precisely, he looked at the half of her face faintly visible beneath her veil.
Then he let the curtain fall and turned to say something to someone.
The sedan was lifted again and carried toward the city gate.
Achou secretly raised the corner of her veil and peered through a gap in the curtain. She saw a prison cart.
It was open on all sides, with a thin layer of straw spread across the floor.
A man sat on the straw, wearing gray-white prison clothes. He leaned against the wooden bars, his head bowed.
A large, dark-red stain marked one leg of his trousers.
Achou’s heart clenched.
That was the Deposed Crown Prince.
The man she was supposed to marry.
The bridal sedan stopped beside the prison cart.
A guard came over and roughly yanked open the curtain. “Get down.”
Hugging a bundle to her chest, Achou climbed out of the sedan.
It held everything the Marquis Yongchang’s Residence had packed for her: two old changes of clothes, a small packet of dried food, and a waterskin filled with water.
“Get in the prison cart.” The guard pointed at it.
Achou froze. “I… I’m riding in the prison cart?”
“What else? You thought you’d ride in a sedan all the way to the place of exile?” The guard gave a laugh. “You’re a criminal’s wife now, not the Crown Princess. Wake up.”
Several soldiers nearby joined in the laughter.
A cold gust of wind blew past, and she hurriedly clutched her veil to keep it from flying off.
Holding it in place, Achou climbed into the prison cart.
“Don’t you dare blow away,” she muttered. “This is my first time wearing a red bridal veil.”
The straw inside was damp from the snow the night before. She pushed some aside with her hands to clear a relatively dry spot, then put her bundle under her and sat up primly.
“The conditions aren’t great,” she said to herself, “but at least I don’t have to walk.”
The man in the prison cart slowly raised his head.
Achou lifted one corner of her veil. Only then could she see his face clearly.
She stared.
He was extraordinarily handsome.
His sharp brows swept toward his temples, his nose was high-bridged, and his thin lips were pressed together. Even with his cheekbones jutting out from how thin he was, he still had the noble bearing of a dragon and phoenix.
In her six years at the Marquis’s residence, the most handsome man she had ever seen was the young apprentice to the bookkeeper, the one with dimples.
Compared with the man before her, he was like heaven and earth apart.
It was just those eyes of his—they were too cold.
His black eyes were like a frozen, deep pool: no light, no warmth, no emotion at all.
His gaze shifted toward her too.
Achou hastily dropped her veil.
She waited a while, but there was no movement from the other side.
She peeked out through a gap beneath the veil.
The gaze that had turned toward her was gone. The man had closed his eyes again and was leaning against the wooden bars.
He made no move to lift her veil.
Achou’s fingers tightened around the red silk, then loosened, then tightened again.
She didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad.
A bride whose husband ignored her ought to be heartbroken.
But she wasn’t really a bride, and he hadn’t really wanted to marry her.
If he didn’t lift the veil, then so be it. That would save them the awkwardness of facing each other.
But she was his wife in name.
The groom was supposed to lift the veil.
If he didn’t, was she supposed to keep wearing it forever?
Achou was wondering whether she should just pull it off herself when a loud shout rang out: “Move out!”
The prison cart jolted violently and began rolling forward with a creak and groan.
Achou hurriedly grabbed the bars to steady herself.
The veil was jolted crooked. She freed a hand to press it back into place, but before she could secure it, the cart rolled over a rock and lurched hard.
At last, the red veil fluttered down into a corner of the cart.
Achou reached for it, but after two failed attempts, she gave up.
Oh well. It had fallen off already.
She lifted her head and met those eyes.
The man had opened them again at some point, and his gaze was fixed on her face.
More precisely, on the blue birthmark stretching from her left eyebrow to her cheekbone.
Achou instinctively raised a hand to cover it.
The man’s gaze lingered on her face for a few breaths. At last, a flicker of emotion appeared in those eyes that had been so expressionless.
“You’re not Cui Ying’er,” he said.
He had once glimpsed Cui Ying’er at a palace banquet. He didn’t remember her clearly, but she had been fair and refined. She certainly hadn’t looked like this.
The Head Nanny’s rehearsed explanation turned over in Achou’s mind. “I… I’m a maidservant at the Marquis’s residence. Eldest Miss… she’s fallen gravely ill. The Marquis and his wife asked me to perform the rites in her place for now. Once she recovers, they’ll send her here to attend to Your Highness.”
As soon as she finished, she lowered her head, too guilty to look at him.
“The Marquis Yongchang’s Residence certainly knows how to pick them.”
He glanced at her, then closed his eyes again. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to laugh—or perhaps sigh.
Of course. How could a fifteen-year-old young lady be expected to accompany a half-dead man like him to suffer at the border?
He had been Crown Prince, but now he’d been deposed. Even a fiancée he had never met wanted nothing to do with him.
The Marquis’s residence had gone so far as to choose its ugliest maidservant to fob him off.
What was there left to say?
Never mind. They had already left the city. What was the point of pursuing the matter now?
A faint haze settled over his heart, cold but not painful.
He had been hurt too many times already. This little trick didn’t even count as pain.
When Achou saw that he had fallen silent, she cautiously looked up at him.
He had his eyes closed and was curled up in the straw. His face was white as paper, his lips dry and cracked, his breathing rapid and shallow.
Achou frowned.
She reached out and touched the Crown Prince’s forehead.
It was so hot that her fingertips recoiled.
“Your Highness, you have a fever!” she cried softly.
There was no answer.
Achou rummaged through her bundle and took out the waterskin, then carefully held it to his mouth.
Like a withered plant finally getting rain, he drank and drank.
After giving him water, she searched through the bundle and pulled out everything that could be used to cover him, then spread it over his body.
When she was done, she crouched in front of him and studied his pale face earnestly.
“Your Highness, if you don’t mind, Achou will look after you from now on.”
He seemed not to hear her. He simply closed his eyes.
By the time the prison cart stopped at dusk, Achou’s stomach had already growled several times.
The relay station was a dilapidated earthen courtyard.
The soldiers escorting them drove the prison cart into the courtyard, opened it, and dragged the Crown Prince into a room. Then they went off to drink and rest.
Achou hurried after them.
At last, she had somewhere to put her feet.
Achou looked around. There was a lamp on the table, so she lit it.
By its light, she glanced at the Crown Prince on the bed. His fever still hadn’t broken, and a flush had spread across his pale face.
Then she looked at his leg. The injury was new; if it wasn’t treated soon, he might be left disabled.
“I need to buy medicine,” she murmured.
But she didn’t have a single coin.
After hesitating for a long time, she finally leaned close to the Crown Prince’s ear. “Your Highness… Your Highness?”
He stirred. His eyes remained closed, but his brow furrowed.
“Your Highness, do you have any money on you?” Achou asked, bracing herself. “I’ll go buy medicine for you. Your leg and your fever both need treatment.”
The man was silent for a while, then slowly opened his eyes.
His black eyes studied Achou, his gaze full of scrutiny.
She felt a little uncomfortable under his stare, but still managed a grin. “I won’t steal your money. I’ll come straight back after I buy the medicine.”
He turned his head slightly. “There’s a box in the prison cart.”
Achou froze, then hurried to look for it.
Inside the box was a large bundle containing several changes of prison clothes and a blue cloth purse.
She took out the purse.
“It’s better to keep your money with you,” she said, handing it to the Crown Prince. Then she took out a piece of silver and showed it to him. “I’ll only take what I need, and I’ll account for it when I get back.”
She brushed the straw off her clothes and headed toward the room at the relay station where a light was burning.
A young soldier stood at the door, warming his hands around a bowl of hot water. When he saw Achou approaching, he eyed her warily. “What do you want?”
“Sir,” Achou said with a conciliatory smile, “I’d like to go into town and buy some medicine. His Highness has a bad fever. If he doesn’t take medicine soon, I’m afraid he won’t be all right.”
The soldier frowned and glanced toward the room.
Inside, Head Zhao and the other soldiers were drinking and playing finger-guessing games, shouting and making a racket. No one was paying attention to them.
“No,” the soldier said, shaking his head. “Orders are that prisoners aren’t to leave, not even for a step.”