Early autumn, same year
The palace classes moved to evening drills so cadets could study tactics by day.
Lanterns were lit at dusk; moths beat against paper like tiny fists.
Yue, now fourteen, had grown two finger-widths over summer—legs longer, wrists still too slim for Shen's heavy bow, though she practiced daily.
The Envoy's Request
One week earlier the northern Wolf King had sent gifts: silver pelts, salt-stones, and a matched pair of white gyrfalcons.
Tradition demanded the birds be manned by two royal hands—one imperial, one guard—then flown together at the Harvest Moon to seal the treaty anew.
The Dowager chose Zhao Shen for crown, and—after murmured counsel—Lan Yue for guard.
Official reason: best archer, light weight for the bird.
Unofficial: a public sign that the palace trusted its northern-born cadet.
Morning – Mew Yard
Falcon master Gu explained the ritual: hood removed at moonrise, both fists must stay steady while three hundred paces of silk ribbon are unwound between birds.
If either falcon bates, the omen is broken peace.
Yue swallowed. One nervous twitch and half the realm imagines war.
Shen arrived in dark green riding coat, eyes calm.
"Ready, cadet?"
"As ready as feathers allow, Your Highness."
He almost smiled. "Remember—they feel your pulse through the glove. Breathe slow."
Afternoon – Quiet Garden
Training began: perches, lures, hooding drills.
The female falcon, Snow-mark, accepted Shen instantly—royal assurance perhaps.
The male, Storm-breath, weighed more than Yue's forearm and stared yellow hatred.
When she slipped the hood his wings hammered air; her wrist bowed.
Shen's hand shot out, steadying her elbow—warm, firm, public but instinctive.
"Lean your weight back, not up. Let him lift you, not drop you."
For an hour they stood wrist-to-wrist while birds flapped into balance.
Servants pretended not to notice the prince touching a guard-cadet; cadets pretended not to whisper.
Yue's ears burned, but the gyrfalon finally settled, talons lightening.
When Gu declared, "Enough—birds calm," Shen released her arm as though nothing had happened.
Yuan, watching from peony walk, tossed Yue a fig. "Reward for surviving royal talons—and falcon ones."
Evening – Library Roof
Yuan found her oiling gloves.
"Storm-breath giving trouble?"
"A little," she admitted.
He sat beside, legs dangling over gutter.
"Brother seems… attentive lately."
She kept eyes on leather. "He's protective of treaty symbols."
"Symbols wear white robes and shoot tens at fair?"
She elbowed him. "Stop."
He caught her wrist—gentle, surprised himself.
Voice softened: "If ever the falcon's too heavy, I can take your place. Asked Father already."
Her pulse jumped—kindness, but also a line crossed.
"Thank you," she said carefully, "but the Dowager chose me. I won't step back."
He let go, smiled lopsided. "Didn't think so. Just—offering shoulders. Human ones, not falcon."
Night before Harvest Moon – East Storehouse
Final rehearsal under torchlight.
Shen and Yue walked the three-hundred-pace ribbon, birds hooded.
Gu reminded: "At moonrise, remove hoods together, keep fists level, let ribbon drift. When silk touches ground, release. Flight must mirror."
They practiced timing—silent count to five, hoods off, ribbon unspooling like liquid moon.
On the third try a sudden gust snapped the ribbon; Storm-breath shifted, talons squeezing.
Pain shot through Yue's wrist—she gasped, fist wavered.
In a breath Shen's free hand covered hers, sharing weight.
"Steady. I've got you."
The bird settled; pain eased.
Gu nodded approval. "Good pair. Trust holds."
Harvest Moon – Marble Terrace
Court gathered in silver robes; northern envoys watched from gallery.
Drums hushed; moon climbed, round as a jade coin.
Shen and Yue stepped onto white marble, gloves gleaming.
Between them the silk ribbon stretched—three hundred paces of fate.
She felt every heartbeat in her ears, but also Shen's calm beside her—an anchor in the sky's current.
At the gong they lifted hoods—together, perfect.
Falcons blinked, shook, then locked eyes on ribbon as though understanding omen.
Silk drifted downward, touched stone—soft clap.
Shen murmured, "Now."
They cast arms upward; wings thundered, white bodies climbing like twin stars against the moon.
Ribbon lifted, fluttered, followed—never breaking alignment.
Higher, higher—until birds stooped together, landing simultaneously on the royal perch.
Gasps turned to cheers; envoys bowed.
Dowager smiled. "Peace mirrored."
After-ceremony – Lantern Court
Lamps floated across water carrying wishes.
Shen and Yue stood away from crowd, wrists aching, birds returned to masters.
He spoke first: "You carried half the sky tonight."
She exhaled shakily. "Falcon carried me."
He turned, expression open—prince mask set aside.
"Yue… when I steady your arm, I forget rank. Tell me if ever that troubles you."
Moonlight on his face showed earnestness, maybe fear of overstep.
She swallowed. "It doesn't trouble me. It… steadies me too."
A breath held between them; neither moved closer, neither stepped away.
Nearby splash—Yuan releasing a lantern, eyes reflecting fire.
He raised a cup in salute, smile bright but edges brittle.
Shen nodded acknowledgment; Yue lifted hand—small wave, apology, thanks—she wasn't sure.
The lantern bobbed into darkness, carrying unwritten words.
Later – Empty Corridor
Yuan caught her sleeve.
"Falcon flew true. So did you."
"Your shoulder helped," she said.
He shrugged. "I'll keep offering—whenever storms rise."
Before she could answer he walked away, boots echoing—a lantern drifting beyond reach.
She touched the rail, feeling the ghost weight of two birds, two princes, two promises—all lighter than armour yet heavier than jade.
Above, the full moon began its slow descent, mirrored in every still pond of the palace, multiplying the single lamp into a thousand wavering lights—and she wondered which one she would eventually follow home.