Dragon's Fire Consort
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 3
Zhang Mei spent the rest of the day exploring her new quarters—officially the East Consort’s Chamber, according to Xiu, who couldn’t stop chattering about the honor.
The rooms were luxurious by any standard: silk screens, carved furniture, a bathing chamber with a bronze tub large enough for two. A wardrobe full of elaborate hanfu in jewel tones. Cosmetics and jewelry she had no idea how to use. Everything a noble consort could want.
Everything except useful intelligence or a way out.
She’d sent Xiu away after the girl had tried three times to help her with an evening bath. Zhang Mei needed privacy to think, to assess, to figure out what the hell she was going to do next.
The brooch was gone. She’d checked her palm obsessively, but the dragon-shaped scar was all that remained—proof she hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. The cave. The time displacement. Her old life, which felt both impossibly distant and sharply immediate.
She needed to find that brooch. It was her only link to 2025, her only potential way home. But where would it have gone? Had it traveled with her and been taken while she was fevered? Was it still in that cave, two thousand years in the future?
Her head hurt.
She was sitting by the window—real silk screens that let in moonlight—when she heard the footsteps.
Not Xiu’s light patter. These were heavier, purposeful. Military boots on stone.
Zhang Mei was on her feet instantly, her hand dropping to her boot. The knife slid free, familiar weight, comforting in its solidity.
The door opened without a knock.
Prince Liang entered, changed from his armor into dark silk robes that hung loose, casual. His hair was down, falling past his shoulders—longer than she’d realized. He looked younger this way, less formal.
He also looked like a man who’d come to a woman’s chamber at night for a specific purpose.
Zhang Mei’s grip on the knife tightened.
“Captain,” he said, smiling. “I thought we might discuss—”
“Stop right there.”
He stopped, his smile fading as he registered her stance, the knife in her hand. “Is there a problem?”
“That depends. Why are you here?”
His confusion seemed genuine. “It’s traditional. The consort selection ceremony will be tomorrow—just a formality now—but tonight...” He gestured vaguely. “We should become acquainted.”
“Acquainted.” Her voice was flat.
“Yes.” He stepped closer, and she could smell sandalwood and weapon oil, distinctly him. “We have an arrangement, but that doesn’t mean we can’t—”
She moved.
Not a killing strike—she wasn’t trying to hurt him, just establish a boundary he clearly hadn’t understood. One moment she was by the window. The next, she had his arm locked behind his back, using his own momentum against him.
“We had an agreement,” she said, her voice cold and professional. “I told you my conditions.”
“I thought—” He tried to turn, and she could feel him starting to assess how to break the hold. He was strong, well-trained. In a prolonged grapple, his size advantage would win.
So she didn’t give him time.
She pivoted, used his attempt to turn against him, and threw.
It wasn’t elegant. It was pure Krav Maga—brutal efficiency, using his weight and movement to send him stumbling backward through the open door to her private courtyard.
He tried to catch himself, failed, and went straight into the ornamental koi pond with a splash that sent water cascading over the stones.
Zhang Mei stood in the doorway, watching as he surfaced, sputtering. Water streamed from his hair. A bright orange koi darted past his shoulder.
“I wasn’t negotiating,” she said calmly. “My chambers are off-limits. My body is off-limits. You want a consort who’ll warm your bed? Choose someone else. You want a tactical advisor? Then respect my boundaries.”
For a long moment, Prince Liang just stared at her from the pond, water dripping down his face. Then, slowly, he started to laugh—a genuine, surprised sound that echoed off the courtyard walls.
“You actually did it,” he said, almost admiringly. “You threw a prince of Qin into a fish pond.”
“You gave me no choice.”
He pulled himself out, water sluicing off his silk robes. A koi had somehow ended up in his sleeve; he gently deposited it back in the pond. “Noted. Boundaries. Respect. Non-negotiable.”
“Correct.”
He squeezed water from his hair, still looking at her with that new assessment in his eyes. “The campaign preparations start tomorrow. Dawn. War room. I expect you there.”
“I’ll be there.”
He started toward his own quarters, then paused, glancing back. His robes clung to him, water still dripping. “Captain? You’re either going to be the best decision I ever made, or the death of me.”
“Possibly both.”
After he left, Zhang Mei stood in the center of her elaborate chamber and let herself breathe.
She’d established boundaries. Proved she could back up her words with action. Made it clear that her agreement was conditional on respect.
But she’d also just threatened the second son of the Emperor of China with a knife.
Either this was the start of something workable, or she’d just made a catastrophic enemy.
She looked down at her palm, at the dragon-shaped scar that pulsed faintly in the moonlight.
“What the hell did you get me into?” she whispered.
The scar didn’t answer.
Morning came too early, announced by Xiu’s horrified gasp when she saw the state of Zhang Mei’s chamber—weapons laid out on the table, maps she’d borrowed from Liang’s quarters spread across the floor, and Zhang Mei herself still dressed, having never gone to bed.
“My lady! You haven’t slept! You haven’t—the ceremony is in three hours!”
“What ceremony?”
“The official consort installation! The entire court will attend! You must bathe, dress properly, present yourself before the Emperor himself—”
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