"How dare you drink when I come?" The Emperor's voice sliced the incense haze. His hand clamped over the porcelain cup before my fingers could lift it. The touch burned with the same cold that had taken my throne. I let my fingers rest against his wrist for one measured second. "Your Majesty," I said. My voice did not tremble. The attendees stopped breathing and the bell of the hall stopped ringing. Only the candle flames moved. He turned the cup so the tea sloshed against the rim. "You have been gathering tea from the West Pavilion. You always preferred bitter leaves." He smiled the small smile that ruined men and women. "You should have asked me first." "You speak of taste and you take my cup," I said. "You did not storm into a Dowager's private chamber to praise my choice." "Then tell me you missed me," he said, and his thumb tapped the rim as if proving his claim. "Tell me you missed me enough to stay awake." "Tell me you missed being the Emperor enough to stop pretending you are a lover," I answered. He laughed. The sound was a knife sharpened on silk. It traveled the hall and the attendants stepped closer, drawn like moths to a sudden flame. "Do not speak to me of pretenses," he said. He let the cup go, but did not pick it up. He crushed it against the incense stand so hard the porcelain cracked. Tea spilled like