Fly_Goose Girl Retold Read online

  Silence stretched for a long moment before Ava ventured, “Would you like me to disrobe for you, Your Highness?”

  His eyes burned with desire, answering for him.

  Swallowing, Ava fumbled with the ties of her gown.

  His large hand closed over both of hers, making undressing impossible. Prince Yun’s eyes softened as they met hers. “My body would have me say yes, and make you a proper, dutiful wife, like it wanted to do last night.” He sighed. “But my spirit refuses, insisting that you are more than a simple vessel to hold children.”

  Remembering the words of her gossiping maids in the garden, Ava said, “It seems that is all your people believe women are for.” She winced at the accusation in her tone.

  Yun clapped his hands. “So you have heard the other princesses' stories, yet you are not afraid. There is the spirit I saw yesterday! Such courage.”

  Ava couldn’t help it. She laughed. “I have no courage, Your Highness. What you mistake for courage is pure terror, stopping me from running away from what frightens me, as a sensible person should.”

  Yun shook his head. “No. I saw terror, too, but I saw more courage in you yesterday than on a battlefield full of men. You sat there, on your knees in his throne room, and defied the Emperor himself to his face. I couldn’t let my brothers break such a spirit. You are a treasure. And so, here we are. Keep your clothes on, if you wish. Amuse yourself as you please. I have a poem that burns to be released, if I have but the wit to write it.” He headed for the table in the corner of the room by the window, and searched among the papers that covered it until he unearthed a brush.

  Ava didn’t know what to do. “So you don’t want me, Your Highness?” The words came out sounding forlorn.

  “Weren’t you listening to a word I said?” he asked without looking up.

  “I listened, but I still don’t understand.”

  He sighed. “Did you not hear me call you a treasure?”

  “Yes, but –“

  “What does one normally do with treasures?” he asked calmly.

  “Keep them safe,” Ava whispered. “Like you kept me safe from your brothers by marrying me yesterday.”

  “And from me,” he added.

  “But the…but they say you are different to your brothers. Not like them,” Ava began, fearful all over again. If he never bedded her, she’d never bear him a son. If there were no sons, the Emperor would order him to punish her and…Ava shivered at the thought of being beaten so badly that she hobbled around like Princess Lan or that she might faint at the sound of a man’s voice, like Princess Fang.

  He laughed softly. “Barely here a day and you already know the palace gossip. If your father sent you here as a spy, we are all doomed.”

  “My father didn’t – “

  He hushed her. “No need to protest, Princess. No one can feign terror like you showed yesterday. My father already believes you to be a spy, and whether you are or not, he will not allow you to get a message out to your father, no matter what you discover. Other than that, you are my wife, entitled to all the honour and privilege due to a princess in the palace. Enjoy it. I doubt many of the others do.” He dipped his brush in a jar of ink and began to write.

  So he had seen the state of the other princesses, and still done nothing. “When will you break me like your brothers have done with their wives?”

  Yun set his brush down. “I am not my brothers.”

  Ava wet her lips. “But you are still a man, and I am your wife. Those poor girls in the garden – when will that be my fate? I deserve to know.”

  He rose and strode toward her until barely a breath separated them. “What if I say now? What if I tell you to take off your clothes, lie on the bed and spread your legs, like a good wife?”

  Ava’s hands went to untie her lacings once more. “Then I will be a good wife, like I should.”

  Again, Yun stopped her. “Enough with the undressing! I will not have an unwilling wife!”

  “I married you willingly,” Ava said steadily. “And I am willing to give my body to you, to do with as you wish, just as I was last night.”

  “That wasn’t willing! That was grudging.”

  Ava took a deep breath to steady herself. She wanted to give up, but something within her wouldn’t let her. “I am willing.”

  “No, you’re not. Willing is when you want me so much, you would search through the palace to find me, drag me back to your bedchamber, tear off my clothes, and have your way with me.” Yun’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “Are you willing to do all of those things?”

  Ava couldn’t seem to close her mouth. Did women really do such things? She’d heard stories in the harem and Bianca told more tales than most. Empresses who had kept harems of men solely for their pleasure. Women who had their own desires and needs and destinies, who…

  “You look lost.”

  Yun’s amused words drew Ava out of her dream. “Only lost in thought, Your Highness,” she said. “Especially as you searched for me, found me, brought me back here and…and…it would be a shame to tear such lovely clothes.”

  Yun tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. “There are plenty more in the palace. If you want me in your bed, say so, and you shall have me.”

  As Ava looked into his eyes, she felt like she’d swallowed a snake that now writhed in her belly. There was something about this man that made her want to say yes. After all, Prince Yun was not like his brothers.

  The image of the two broken princesses in the garden popped into Ava’s mind. If a prince could do such a thing to his wife…

  Yun moved away. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll have to share your bed for the first month of marriage, as custom demands, but I won’t touch you unless you ask me. You may retire when you please. I will continue writing poetry while I still have light.”

  He returned to the table and his papers.

  Ava sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted by the exchange. Would she ever be willing in the way he said? Was it worth a chance to find out if the tales were true, and a woman could take pleasure in her marriage bed? Could she, with Yun?

  A man she barely knew, Ava scoffed, as she often had to Bianca when her sister had told her tales of couples falling madly in love on their first meeting. Bianca insisted such a thing was true, but Ava had her doubts. What happened in tales rarely occurred in real life. If she trusted Yun, perhaps she would not mind so much when he touched her. To trust him she must know him better.

  “I have heard that poetry speaks of the writer’s spirit,” Ava said slowly. “May I read some of yours?”

  “Absolutely not,” Yun replied.

  Defeated, Ava readied herself for sleep. When she had removed all her clothing except her shift, she climbed beneath the blankets and tried to sleep, but rest eluded her. Her thoughts swirled too fast.

  “Why not?” Ava asked finally.

  Yun turned to stare at her. “What?”

  Ava had a strong desire to stay silent, but she’d been brave enough to ask once, and a tiny whisper of courage still remained. “Why won’t you let me read your poetry?” she asked.

  “Because I won’t let anyone read it. It’s not good enough to be shown to anyone.”

  Ava wasn’t sure what to reply to that. “One day, I would like to read it,” she said finally.

  “Then you will be the first.”

  Yun returned to his work, and Ava decided not to disturb him further. She could ask him again later. After all, they were married now, and would be sharing a bed for a month. Surely he’d give in to her eventually.

  Twenty-Three

  Yun tried to concentrate on the page before him. With all his might, he strove to conjure up the image of a noble battle, an army victorious. He'd have settled for the bloody battlefield, strewn with corpses. Yet all he could see in his mind's eye was her hands, fluttering at her breast as she offered to unlace her dress.

  Willing, yet wishing she could fly free. Far from fearless, for
she knew about his brothers and their wives, though she did not fear him. Laughter like chattering parrots as she described her terror.

  What sort of woman laughed in the face of her own fear?

  If he touched her breast, would her heart flutter beneath his fingers?

  With trepidation, he lifted his brush and wrote:

  My love is a bird

  Bright of eye with airy wing

  Fluttering high with my heart

  Teaching it to sing

  The moment the words were on the paper, he wanted to screw it up and throw it across the room. He would not sing, not if he couldn't compose something about his brothers' victory.

  “I have heard that poetry speaks of the writer’s spirit."

  Yun stared at her. Why was she still awake? Had she watched him write words about her?

  A faint blush coloured her cheeks. “May I read some of yours?” she continued.

  Show her his feeble love poem? Then she truly would know him for a fool.

  “Absolutely not,” he said firmly, trying to sound as frightening as his father. If she was the obedient wife she claimed to be, she would not push further.

  Yun waited, every muscle held in taut expectation as he prepared to defend his piece of paper from her sight, but she merely moved past him to lay her clothes on the chest at the end of the bed. The shift she left on was too large for her tiny frame, drifting around her like cloud, or mist, letting him see curving details that tantalised him before they disappeared beneath the linen veil.

  His brush moved almost of its own accord over the page:

  My love is a dream

  Clothed in caressing mist

  Even in silence

  Her lips beg to be kissed.

  "Why not?" she asked softly.

  Yun dropped his brush. "What?"

  “Why won’t you let me read your poetry?” she asked.

  Because it is about you, he thought but could not say. Because it's not good enough. And it never would be. Yun stammered an excuse, but she didn't seem to be listening. She just regarded him, dark eyes deep with thoughts she did not share.

  His thoughts whispered unbidden:

  My love is a mystery

  I long to uncover

  Wrapping her in my arms

  She chooses me as her lover.

  Her voice was soft, tentative, like she feared to frighten him. “One day, I would like to read it." Her dark eyes reflected her sincerity, but they also implored.

  By the ancestors, when she looked at him like that, he could deny her nothing. “Then you will be the first,” he promised. Trying to remember the words of those last few lines, Yun lifted his brush. To his dismay, the ink had smeared across the page, leaving most of it unreadable.

  He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and dipped the brush into the ink once more. The smooth strokes of the brush were almost hypnotic as he wrote the words out again, before adding the final lines. He blew on the page gently to dry it, not willing to bury his precious poem in sand.

  It also gave him an excuse to delay showing her. Would she like it, or think him a fool? He wasn't a poet, not truly. He only had to pull out a single scroll bearing the immortal words of Li Yu – perhaps his poem about the Heavenly Woman. Li's words conjured her up perfectly, with the love he felt for his empress, for he was both wise emperor and skilled poet.

  Neither of which Yun would ever be.

  Yun sighed. The ink was dry – he could delay no longer. Holding the scroll before him as his shield, he turned to face Ava. Let her think of him as she would.

  Her glossy hair shimmered like a cloud on the pillow, drawing his attention to the feathers of her dark lashes against her cheek as she slept. He didn't want to wake her. Not for something as inconsequential as his poem.

  Yet he couldn't resist approaching for a closer look at his sleeping wife. Heedless of where he stepped, Yun brushed against her shed clothes, sending them sliding to the floor. He bent to retrieve them, and was struck by the wondrous fragrance emanating from the silk. He buried his face in the fabric and inhaled like a drowning man drawing his first gasping breath.

  Ava. If her clothes smelled so lovely, what bliss it would be to feel her silken skin against his, instead of just her discarded garments? Stronger, more heady, and much harder to resist, he was certain.

  He forced himself to stay back, keeping his distance from the bed where she slept. He gripped the screen by the wall, the silvery pearl-shell smooth under his fingers. Would she feel this smooth? Only not so hard and cold. Softer and warmer and…

  The folding screen clacked shut, nearly making him fall over.

  Yun swore. If Ava opened her eyes now, she would see him as he truly was – a bumbling fool.

  Luckily, her eyes remained fast shut. One day, perhaps they would regard him with love.

  In the meantime, he would attempt to write something better. Poor poetry was hardly likely to win this lady's heart.

  Twenty-Four

  When her maids were done dressing her the following day, Ava asked to see Lagle again. The palace was too quiet for her sister to have recovered, and she worried about what would happen to her if Lagle died. The Queen had a long reach, and Ava shivered at the thought of what the Queen might do to her here.

  After considerable hesitation, the girls led her back to the room where she’d first seen Lagle, only to find it empty.

  Ava stared down at the thin pallet, hope rising in her breast. “So she is recovered, and she has been moved to a better chamber?” she asked eagerly.

  The maids held a whispered conference.

  Finally, one ventured, “We do not know, mistress.”

  “Find out, then,” Ava snapped, startling herself with her imperious tone. She opened her mouth to apologise for the curt order.

  “Yes, mistress,” the maids chorused.

  One of them added, “Would you like to go to the gardens now, mistress?”

  Ava agreed – what else did she have to do here? – and followed them to the spot where she’d spent most of the previous day.

  Today, she was restless, with no desire to sit around all day long until Yun came to frighten all the other wives and fetch her again. Besides, she’d only seen two of them yesterday – with seven other sons, that made at least five more wives she hadn’t yet met. They couldn’t all be quivering wrecks.

  So Ava strolled through the gardens, listening to her maids relate the goings-on inside the palace as Ava tried to spot the other wives. One of them was asleep on a bench, while one of her attendants fanned flying insects away from her face. Another had actually climbed partway up a tree, so that she sat on a broad branch above Ava’s head. Her attendants knelt on the grass below their mistress’s tree, quietly sewing.

  None of the princesses looked up as Ava passed, though their attendants shot her a curious glance or two. It was like being invisible.

  “Why won’t they look at me?” Ava blurted out, until realisation dawned. “Never mind, I know.”

  She was the newest wife of the youngest son. A nobody. The lowest ranking woman in the harem, just as she had been at home. Bianca was wrong. Nothing ever changed for Ava.

  “I beg your pardon, mistress. What did you say?” a maid asked.

  “Nothing,” Ava replied, waving away her initial concerns. “I answered my own question. The other wives won’t look at me or speak to me because I am beneath them. I am the wife of the youngest son.”

  The maids gasped.

  “Oh, no, mistress,” one of them said. “They were high ranking ladies in the court before they married and became the princes’ wives. You were born a princess. They lower their gazes in respect for your high rank. They would not dare speak first to a princess of royal blood. It is a wonder that Prince Gang did not set aside Lan so that he might marry you instead. If Prince Yun hadn’t taken a fancy to you and insisted on marrying you immediately…but the Empress is fond of her youngest son. Perhaps the Emperor chose to honour him to please the
Empress when he gave you to him.”

  Ava opened her mouth to say she was no prize, but words failed her. Perhaps things were different at this foreign court, after all.

  Twenty-Five

  "Is there good news, sir?"

  Yun dragged his thoughts away from his search for the right words to describe Ava's voice. "Hmm?"

  The guardsman coughed. "Beg pardon, Your Highness. But seeing as you're whistling so cheerfully and all, I thought you might have heard some good news."

  He'd been whistling? Yun couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. But he couldn't think of any news, except… "I have a new wife," Yun said. He supposed that was news.

  "I'd heard, sir. Congratulations. We heard she was some sort of barbarian princess. One of the Horse People." Though only his eyes were visible, his expression was uncomfortable. "Is it true that she's a witch, sir?"

  She'd bewitched him, in ways Yun hadn't thought possible. Yet he found himself shaking his head. "She is the loveliest woman I ever beheld. Sweet and obedient and…" And what? He knew very little about her, aside from her courage in the face of her fears. But fearlessness was not something a man normally praised in his wife. The clouds shifted, pouring sunlight down on the battlements. It warmed him like…like her request to see his poetry, though he had yet to show her. He'd managed to avoid it so far, but perhaps tonight... "She can make sunlight sing," he finished.

  The guardsman coughed again. "I've never heard it sing. Sounds like magic to me, sir, if you don't mind me saying."

  But it wasn't. It was just…Ava. "Are you married?"

  "No, sir."

  "Ever been in love?"

  "I love my mother and my father, and my family, sir."

  Yun laughed softly. "I mean with a girl. So in love with a girl, your heart would burst if she married another man?"

  "I don't think so, sir."

  Yun clapped the man on the shoulder. "Then consider yourself fortunate. For love can create magic so powerful, I don't believe even a witch could break the spell. When such a spell is cast on you, then we can raise a drink together and toast the magic of love."

  "It would be an honour, Your Highness."