A blood-red bridal gown wrapped around a heart steeped in poison. The flames of war consumed a forbidden love in a chaotic age.
On the day Prince Jing of Great Zhou, Xiao Lin, was married, Shen Zhihua, the illegitimate daughter of the Grand Tutor’s household, clutched a silver needle as she climbed into the bridal sedan. Everyone thought she was a pawn, a stand-in bride sent in at the last minute because her legitimate elder sister was gravely ill. None knew that beneath the crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck lay the bloodline of the Northern Di’s Saintess, destined to burn the world to ash.
On their wedding night, he killed her maid to establish his authority; she hid poison-tipped needles in her sleeve. He mocked her as a lowly stand-in; she laughed at him for being poisoned. When an assassin’s blood stained the bridal chamber, she stabbed herself beneath the collarbone and put on a show of weakness. But the old bite mark on his arm scorched her eyes with pain. The mighty War God Prince who ruled the land was the boy she had risked her life to protect in a mass grave twelve years ago.
The flames of war beyond the frontier revealed their double identities: she was the missing vessel of the Northern Di’s Holy Temple, meant to house its Gu King; he was the Emperor’s God-Slaying Blade, force-fed the deadly Qianji poison. When the poison flared, he branded her shoulder with a bloody kiss. She cut open her heart and offered her blood to keep him alive, only to find thousands of arrows aimed at her chest outside the military tent.
“The Princess Consort’s tears are colder than the snow of the northern deserts.” He crushed the Northern Di’s peace treaty and pressed a dagger against her swollen belly.
“The Prince’s heartbeat is warmer than a ruined temple on a rainy night in Jiangnan.” She smiled as she grasped the blade, letting the blood from her palm soak the scar over his heart.
When the seal on their memories came crashing down, the children who once clung to each other in a temple became blades crossing on the battlefield before thousands of soldiers. In this reckless wager, with the realm itself as the betrothal gift, how much delusion must they stake? The saintess’s silver chain, which binds her collarbone? Or the decree of marriage that would burn away all his lifelong achievements?
This is my first time writing a book. Give yourself some encouragement. Everyone is welcome to review it.