One week later, Mongolia

The loud music playing outside was festive, mixed with the sounds of cheerful laughter and feet stomping in a dance to the music. Whoops of delight went up as men, likely drunk, spun around each other in circles around the large bonfire that had been set for the wedding feast. Inside the marriage tent, Feiyan let out a soft sigh as she waited for Yixing to come. The large red veil covering her face blocked mostly everything from view, and per custom, she wasn’t allowed to move from her position on the bed until the groom arrived.

“Is he coming or not…” She muttered, feeling bored. She heard the sound of the tent flap moving, and straightened up quickly.

“Wife.” A familiar voice spoke, strained and sounding like it took all possible willpower to say that single word. Feiyan swallowed hard.

“Highness.” She replied, folding her hands in her lap. Feiyan heard a deep sigh emanate from Yixing’s direction, and the soft pad of footsteps came closer until his fingers snagged the edge of the red cloth and pulled it away. She raised her eyes and looked into the stormy dark eyes of her new husband. Yixing’s face was a cold mask as he held out his hand to Feiyan. She hesitated, then slipped her hand into his before gracefully rising from the bed. Yixing’s hand was warm, calloused from years of battle practice and experience. Given other circumstances, his grasp would have been comforting. But now, it took all of Feiyan’s willpower to keep from pulling her hand away and run from the marriage tent into the night forever. Still, her hand trembled slightly as they exchanged marriage wine, which didn’t escape Yixing’s notice.

“You’re scared of me?” He asked, looking slightly amused. Feiyan huffed and placed her cup onto the table with as much decorum as she could manage.

“No.” She replied simply, and rose from the table to walk away. She shrieked as Yixing came from behind her and picked her up easily before striding across the room and depositing her onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” Feiyan demanded as she pushed futilely at Yixing hovering over her.

“Is this what you’re afraid of?” Yixing asked coolly, his hands pressing on her shoulders to keep her from moving.

“I’m not afraid of anything.” Feiyan huffed stubbornly, turning her face away from him.

“Liar.” Yixing scoffed as he roughly pulled her back to look at him and leaned close to her face, “All of you are liars. I will never trust what someone of the Ming people say.” Feiyan steadied her gaze and narrowed her eyes.

“And I will never trust what a Mongol says.” She snapped, “Don’t make it sound like I wanted to come here.” To her surprise, Yixing laughed and pulled away.

“Good.” He said, “At least we have a sense of mutual understanding. I don’t want a unwanted wife clinging to me all the time anyway.” Feiyan flinched at being called unwanted, but swallowed and walked over to the dresser to pull out a dagger instead. Yixing frowned as she walked back over to the bed.

“What are you doing?” He demanded. Feiyan pulled up her sleeve and drew the length of the blade across the smooth skin of her upper arm, cutting it enough to cause blood to flow through the cut. Then, she held out her arm and let the blood drip onto the bedsheets below.

“Now you won’t be obligated to do anything tonight.” She replied simply as she replaced the dagger into the dresser. Yixing looked from the bed to Feiyan and back again, then burst out laughing again.

“What’s so funny?” Feiyan asked as she sat down at the table. Yixing rose from the bed and walked over to lean close to Feiyan.

“Princess, sometimes I really don’t know if I should be impressed by your intellect or disgusted by the fact that I have to marry a person like you as my Crown Princess.” He said, a smirk on his lips. Feiyan felt her cheeks flush at the indirect insult and shoved him away.

“Neither.” She replied hotly. Yixing chuckled and turned away from Feiyan.

“I will never consummate our marriage, Princess Feiyan.” He said coldly, “Don’t expect to gain anything from me. I would rather die childless than have children with a Ming princess like you.”  Feiyan lifted her chin and returned the cold glare.

“I would never even dream of it.” She swore.

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Morning

Feiyan looked down in distaste at the new set of clothes spread out on the bed in front of her. The colors were deep and rich, unlike the smooth light hues that had decorated her clothes in the Ming palace. The style was completely different, with the skirt short to allow for freedom of movement, and her usual slippers replaced by a pair of knee high socks and boots. Feiyan sighed and waved at her maids to take the clothes away.

“You’re not going to wear it?” Feiyan stiffened as she heard Yixing’s voice from behind her. She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face before turning around. Her husband stood in the entrance of the tent, likely returning from morning court with the Khan. His tall frame stood outlined in the bright morning light, the rays of the sun lightening his dark hair to a creamy brown color. His clothes fitted his body perfectly, outlining the muscles toned from military training. Feiyan swallowed hard as her heart skipped a beat.

Stop it! He may be handsome, but that’s all he’s got!

“I see no need to wear Mongolian clothing.” She replied as she tilted her chin up confidently, “I find my own clothes much more comfortable.” Yixing blew out his breath slowly and walked over to her.

“You still speak as if Mongolia and you are separate entities.” He said as he looked down at her. Feiyan swallowed hard again, steeling herself against his domineering stature and gaze.

“Because we are separate entities.” She replied coolly, “I didn’t marry of my own free will, and hence I can keep my identity separate from you barbarians if I’d like.” Yixing’s face darkened at the derogatory comment, and Feiyan’s breath caught in as he grabbed her by the chin and leaned close.

“Well unfortunately for you Princess, whether or not you like it here, you’ve become one of us.” He sneered, “I suppose that makes you a barbarian too. So start getting used to our barbaric ways and wearing our barbaric clothing. I’d rather not have an embarrassing Crown Princess.”  Feiyan pulled herself free from his grasp and glared at the prince.

“Make me.” She challenged, “I’d like to see you try. But before you do, I’d advise you to remember whose lineage is the one ultimately in charge.” Feiyan knew she had won when she saw Yixing’s expression change, and she smirked at him defiantly before lifting her skirts and leaving their tent.

______________________________________________________________________________

Yixing

Yixing felt rage build up in his chest as Feiyan shot him a defiant smirk before rendering him speechless with one insulting comment after another.

“This is why I don’t trust people from Ming!” He growled as he slammed his fist down onto the table. The royalty were by far the worst, taught to view the Mongolian people as lower in status and fully under Ming control. All of which was, of course, true to a certain extent. But there was no need for Feiyan to put it the way she had, and all over a set of clothes! With her long skirts, she’d trip and fall flat on her face in no time. When that happened, not only would she look bad, but he’d look bad for being unable to culture his own wife! With so many people looking to pull him down from his position, that was the last thing Yixing wanted to happen. A loud shriek came from outside, and Yixing looked out of the tent entrance to see his wife sprawled in the arms of another man.