Prologue

Leaning over the beauty asleep, Phillip looks up. "If this works, we don't tell her anything." He seems to hesitate. "At least not right away."

The mail over her face may as well be a prison instead of protection; everything she wants to say, every word she's plucked painfully from deep inside her ribcage, dies away as she watches Phillip lean in and kiss his princess.

The magic is powerful, cutting through her like a sharp wind. And with the princess's first breath, Mulan feels her love take its last.

"On guard—fight!" shouted Mulan.

Her brothers launched into the fight with gusto, their makeshift staffs clacking against one another, and she couldn't help clapping with delight. Despite the two-year difference between them, Bohai and Jian were equally matched in skill, and Mulan couldn't have enjoyed refereeing more.

"Ow!" howled Jian as the bigger boy's staff whacked him in the side of the head. "Foul!"

"That's not a foul, that's a head shot," said Bohai disgustedly, crossing his arms lazily. "Sore loser."

"You said you'd only do up to the neck today, Bo," Mulan reminded him, biting her lip.

He shot her a look. "Regular little ref, aren't you?"

She shrugged, but secretly she couldn't help feeling a little bit pleased. For the last few weeks, her brothers had bypassed their father and asked Mulan to watch their fights instead. Part of it was obviously because they wanted to be able to show off rather than be critiqued; still, she knew it was partly because they trusted her, and that was what made her chest swell with pride.

"Bo," she asked, still lost in thought, "d'you think I could give it a go? With one of you?"

Both her brothers gave her a long look, and she saw Jian glance at Bohai. Her heart sunk, and suddenly she wished she hadn't asked. Of course they wouldn't let her fight. She'd had no training, and besides, she wasn't supposed to—so her parents said.

"Nevermind. On guard," she said again, her voice a little strangled this time. With mirroring unease, her brothers settled into position once more. This time she drew out the silence, glancing over the sticks, her brothers' expressions of deep concentration, feeling a strange little knot twist in her chest. "Fight!"

Phillip bounced up to the doorway, two guards on his heels. He'd asked them not to come along, but they had insisted.

"I'm sorry, Prince Phillip," one of them had said, inclining his head. "It's your father's command."

My father. Sometimes thinking of his father made Phillip want to hit something. They usually got along well enough, but the king had always been protective, controlling even. He'd already gotten Phillip betrothed, to Princess Aurora—Phillip only knew the name, not the girl. Still, he thought, eighteen was still a long way away from ten. He had time.

Shaking his head to clear it, Phillip knocked sharply. Within a few moments, a tall, slender woman answered, her shiny black hair pulled up into an elaborate knot. She smiled gently at Phillip. "Hello, Phillip." She was one of the few people besides his parents who could call him by his first name.

"Hello, Lady Fa," he said cheerfully. "Are Bohai and Jian home?"

"They're in the garden practicing. You know the shortcut," she added, gesturing to the neat garden path that wound around the side of the house. "I'll call you in for lunch later."

"Thank you." Phillip bowed—the movement more one of respect than obligation in Lady Fa's case—and then, in a burst of speed, ran around to the side of the house. He couldn't hold back a laugh as he dashed down the path. See how the guards like that. The garden was, as Phillip had learned, actually laid out much more intricately than one would think, and it would take them a while to find him. Enough time for some fun.

He slowed at the end of the path, panting. He'd never admit it—his father would call it unmanly–but he liked the Fas' garden, the flower in all different shades, some of which he'd never seen anywhere else. He liked the way the willows dipped over him as he moved through the rows, following the faint sounds of blows and yells.

Finally he came upon his friends, exchanging parries and circling around each other. Their little sister—Mulan, if Philip remembered right—sat on a stone wall separating a few rows nearby. She seemed to be watching intently, not yelling or giggling like he'd expect a little girl to do.

"Got room for one more?" he called, grinning.

The boys stopped fighting and turned around, initial surprise taken over by grins of their own.

"Not with your fancy sword, Prince," replied Bohai, gesturing to the midsize scabbard hanging at Phillip's belt.

Phillip shrugged. "I'll take a stick, then."

Jian came forward, holding out his staff with a shake of the head. "Here. I need a rest anyway."

"Quitter," Bohai threw at him, but the insult was backed by a good-natured smirk. He looked around slowly, seeming thoughtful, and when he smiled, Phillip couldn't help feeling defensive.

"What?"

"How about a warmup, Phil?" asked Bohai.

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "What sort of warmup?"

Bohai smiled wider and, to Phillip's surprise, turned to his sister, who'd been watching them from the wall all this time. "Hey, Flower. You want to take over for me?"

Mulan's face seemed to light up, and she slid off the wall eagerly enough; but it seemed that as soon as she touched the ground, her features settled into a wariness Phillip recognized more easily. "Phillip's a prince." It was funny; she said it so simply, as if she were saying something like, "Bo's my brother."

Bohai shrugged. "So?"

"So he's had training like you. Better than you."

"I've beat Phil," piped up Jian with a scoff, giving Mulan a look. "How d'you know till you try?"

Phillip thought it a bit cruel of his friends to get their sister's hopes up; true, both brothers had beat him, but it was always because of some slip-up, something unexpected. And she was right: he'd had training, a lot of it, certainly more than her.

Still, a warmup was a warmup.

Almost at the same time Phillip made up his mind, Mulan reached for Bohai's staff. He relinquished it to her almost lazily, stepping back to allow her to face Phillip. He only had a few moments to look at her—small, dark, gripping the staff firmly—before Bohai interrupted.

"On guard!"

"Fight!"

Phillip lunged much more quickly than Mulan expected, forcing her to throw herself back. Focus, focus. She brought the staff up across her front like she'd seen Jian do, meeting Phillip's with a louder crack then she expected—she flinched at the sound without meaning to. She heard one of her brothers snigger, and embarrassment hardened into determination.

Phillip was fast, it was true, but his strikes were light, not meant to touch; he moved with too much flourish. Furiously blocking, having to step back nearly into her mother's bed of dragon lilies, Mulan squinted, trying to gauge the pattern in the prince's movements.

And in a split-second that seemed to stretch into forever, she saw it. An opening.

She blocked his staff, pulling it to the side with her own, and thrust it toward his belly.

The blow took him by surprise, that much was obvious; she couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself as he staggered backward. He recovered quickly enough, but by then Mulan had advanced, and the two of them were equal again.

"Hard right," she muttered to herself under her breath. "Left. Double block. Parry." She was helping herself through the motions, recalling her brothers' moves, adding her own where she thought they might work—even if they didn't always.

She could see Phillip was surprised—the easy grin he'd had at the beginning of the match had given way to deep focus like her brothers', the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly.

"Think you're fancy, don't you?" he said irritably, blocking faster and faster. Mulan only smiled; he was getting impatient, and her father always said impatience in a fight was the first step toward defeat.

So it was: another few moves—left, outside block, right swing—and she had another opening. She spun and whacked the staff clear across Phillip's chest. He collapsed to the ground and lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily.

Mulan took the sight in: the end of her staff was pointed right at his Adam's apple, his chin lifted to avoid knocking it against the wood. Finally she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"I win," she said quietly, but with a note of glee she couldn't hope to hide.

There was quiet in the garden except for a few rustles—then two royal guards burst through the nearby greenery. Startled, Mulan jerked her staff away, stepping away from Phillip.

"Your Highness!" One of them rushed to Phillip's side, quickly bracing an arm under his back to help lift him to a sitting position. The guard looked up, narrowing his eyes at each of the Fa children in turn. "All right, which of you little rats did this?"

The other guard came forward, snatching the staff from Mulan's hand. "The girl, eh? This is your prince, not some jousting jockey!"

She felt her face scrunch, the way it did before she started to scream. And then—

"Leave her alone."

Mulan whirled around; the voice was commanding, sure, and not at all what she'd expected from Phillip.

"It's all right." Phillip was holding out a calming hand, holding his chest with the other, still panting as he looked between Mulan and the guard. "We were practicing. I tripped over my own boot." He made a face. "Clumsy."

Mulan stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. Why was he bothering? He was prince, he could very well have her thrown in the dungeons her brothers had told her about.

The guard leveled another look at Mulan, this one doubtful, before nodding at his fellow, who helped the prince to his feet. The first guard held the staff out to Mulan, who took it quickly, gripping it tightly to her chest. Not only were the guards tall, but she really didn't like the sharp shoulder studs in their armor. It made her shudder to think what would happen if one of them were to throw her over their shoulder.

"…but please, your Highness," the guard was saying when she tuned back in, "don't just—run off like that. Your father said—"

"I know, I know," said Phillip, with the first real flash of annoyance Mulan had seen from him. "I'm fine, though, aren't I? I know this garden."

"Yes, well… we'll be nearby," said the other guard gruffly, and the two of them retreated, settling on a low stone wall about ten yards away, their eyes still on the children.

Silence fell over the four of them again, until Bohai cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Right. Well, I'll just take that, then."

Mulan didn't fight, letting the staff go easily. She felt torn, halfway between triumph at her victory over Phillip and guilt because he'd covered for her. Involuntarily, she glanced at him, and felt a little jolt go through her chest when she saw he was looking at her too.

"That was good," said Phillip finally, with a nod in her direction. She couldn't help the burst of satisfaction she felt; he was a prince, after all, a well-trained one.

And then he turned away, toward Bohai, and the two of them sunk into defensive stances.

"On guard!" yelled Jian, eyes swiveling between the two bigger boys. "Fight!"

Mulan went back to the wall, climbing up easily, a strange feeling in her chest. She'd had her one brilliant moment, standing and grinning down at Phillip, who'd looked so surprised—but that was over. She was just the little sister again, just another obstacle. A warmup.

As she watched Phillip and her brother exchange blows, she felt some part of her resolve harden, she thought: That's going to change.