Ānníng stepped into his room and shut the door. On his way across the scuffed floor, he shed his sword belt and robes, leaving them scattered as his mind drifted. Dressed in only his black trousers and boots, he dragged himself to the table and poured his usual one cup of wine for the night.

 “You messed up, idiot,” he said to himself as he sat hard on the cushion.

 He took a sip from the small cup, then swirled it around as he thought about Mĕilì. She was a kind girl with a beautiful heart. He could see himself falling in love with her if the situation were different.

 Her age wouldn’t be a problem for most men. In fact, fifteen was the perfect age for a man to seek a wife to start a family. She would be sixteen soon, though it wouldn't feel any less troublesome. He supposed it bothered him in her case because she was Princess Bái Quán’s daughter, and he made a promise.

 Even before he met the girl and saw her neglected and emotionally unstable state, he wasn’t fond of the idea of marrying his friend’s only child. He knew Bái Quán’s thoughts on girls marrying at such a young age. She always said she would never allow it with her daughter. She often preached to him and Jūn about how they should treat the women they intended to marry and made them swear they wouldn’t marry what she referred to as a child.

 He always believed that as a woman, she would know better how a young girl would feel about marriage, children, and being in love. As a ten-year-old boy, he had eagerly made her that promise. Not only had he broken his promise but he had done so with her own daughter.

 He swallowed down the rest of the cup and stood to walk over to his bed. He pulled off his boots and removed the binding of his topknot, placing it on the bedside table. Pulling the blanket up, he lay on his back and stared at the wooden ceiling. His thoughts came back around to his young wife.

 Why had he told her he loved her? If he couldn’t find a way to truly feel it and she learned to love as he had promised her, it would break her heart.

 As things were at the moment, she was deeply wounded from her mother’s death, life at her father’s hands, and what had happened with the bandit. There was so much she had to overcome, he couldn’t imagine anyone calling himself a man taking advantage of her vulnerability.

 He thought of how she looked when she held the rabbit and stared at him with the eyes of a frightened child. She was so frail when she held onto his arm at the river and begged him not to hurt her, the scars and bruises almost glowing in his memory.

 He smiled a little when he recalled the cute way she tiptoed to him in her loose-fitting bedclothes and then hopped onto his lap holding her new tiger. The excitement she showed every time Chéng gave her a treat was anything but the reaction of a mature woman. Even when he returned from the market and she ran to him in tears, she behaved as a little girl who missed a parent.

 He tossed and turned and lay on his back again, kicking the blanket down to his feet and rubbing his bloodshot eyes in worry. There was no doubt he cared about her and she made his heart stir with compassion and concern. Love? He sighed loudly.

 “You’re an idiot,” he admonished himself again.

 The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her, but those hastily spoken words that escaped from some unknown part deep down inside could do just that if he wasn’t careful.

 Of course, there was always the possibility that once she learned what it meant to love, she wouldn’t feel it for him at all. He wouldn’t be anything more than her appointed rescuer, and she would go on to find and marry another man when his duty was over.

 He inhaled sharply as that possibility struck him with something odd, and he rubbed his chest to make it go away.

 He jumped up from the bed and hurried to the wine jug. He poured a second cup, drank it down, and poured another. He looked around the room and shook his head at what he swore to himself he wasn’t feeling. He quickly drank the third cup and returned to the bed.

 Loving her wasn’t a good idea. He knew it in his head but his heart suddenly didn’t seem to be listening.

 He lay on his back again and rested his arm over his forehead. He refused to take their current relationship any further. She was too fragile and he was absolutely adamant about not having children with her or anyone else. Not yet. He would never leave a widow and fatherless children if he died on the battlefield.

 He swore to himself that until this conflict with her father and his allies was over, he wouldn’t take her into his bed. If after all was said and done, she wanted to be released from this arranged marriage, she would still be able. His duty was so simple. So why was it starting to hurt?