Page 55 of Empire's Curse

Muyang tossed his drink to the side and it clattered off the dais and into the formation of soldiers. His lips curled back in disgust as he spat, “You used magic last night, princeling. Did you think I wouldn’t smell it on you?”

All the color drained from Daiyu’s face and her knees weakened. Yat-sen stammered something, but no clear words came out from him. Indeed, he had used magic. To helpher. To make it so she could see what had happened to her family. And now … the emperor was suspicious of him.

“I … I …” Yat-sen shook harder. “I didn’t mean to, Your Maj?—”

“Are you a traitor just like the rat before your feet? Did you conspire with that lowlife to throw me off my throne?” Muyang rose to his feet again and this time, fire roared in the sconces around the room, illuminating the space in ominous shades of fiery reds and orange. “What did you use your magic for, Prince?”

Yat-sen raised his head, and Daiyu could hear the tears from his voice. “P-Please! I didn’t do anything bad! It was a mistake!”

Daiyu’s head spun and she felt the urge to vomit right then and there. The flashing fire all around them made her clothes feel sticky against her skin, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

“A mistake? You know you’re toneveruse magic.” Muyang stopped a foot away from the prince and stared down at him with merciless, cold eyes. The gaze of a man who had done this many times before. “You dare defy me?”

“No, Your Majesty! I don’t?—”

“Silence.” A strangled sob escaped from Yat-sen as Muyang grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and yanked him to his feet in one swoop. He leaned closer, his words echoing throughout the room. “You know what happens to those who disappoint me, Yat-sen.”

Daiyu gasped when Muyang flung Yat-sen off the dais, where he slammed onto the floor beside the dead body of the prisoner. Yat-sen cried as he tried to sit up, his hands slipping on the blood and his expression horrified as he stared up at the emperor. Dark magic radiated from Muyang’s hands and a blustering sound came from the writhing shadowy whips swarming around his arm. It was like it had a life of its own, the shadows snapping and screaming like loud winds. Muyang pointed at Yat-sen and all at once, the magic show moved forward and consumed him. The youth screamed, twisting on the floor as the tendrils attacked him like a hound of dogs.

“S-stop,” Daiyu whispered, the words barely audible over Yat-sen’s terrified and painful shrieks.

Guilt and nausea weighed heavily on her chest and the room began to spin. The flickering fire seemed to mature and brighten, nearly blinding her while the shadowy magic sent wafts of chilly air. She wanted to puke. She wanted to faint. And she wanted to flee from everything.

But she couldn’t. Not when the youth was suffering. Because of her.

“Stop!” she finally shouted.

The soldiers next to her turned to her slowly, and even Muyang, who had been watching Yat-sen expressionlessly, lifted his black, void-like eyes to search the crowds. Daiyu was unsteady on her feet and her breathing hitched in her throat as moresoldiers turned to her. The ones nearby inched away as if they didn’t want any association with her.

Finally, Muyang’s gaze found hers and whatever determination she had seemed to wither at the wrathful sight of his anger. She swallowed down the nausea building within her and pushed her way through the swarm of soldiers until she was in the clearing leading to the dais. She gripped the sides of her dress tightly and avoided the emperor’s eyes.

Yat-sen continued to thrash on the floor, his limbs flailing to fight off the onslaught of shadowy magic. Daiyu stared at the floor and spotted the severed head of the prisoner a few feet away from her. Her stomach heaved and she bit her bottom lip to keep from gagging at the sight of its unseeing eyes, the gaping mouth, and the bones poking through the bottom.

“Please stop this, Your Majesty,” Daiyu said, her voice wavering as she approached the dais. She lowered herself into a bow, and the prisoner’s blood stained her dark purple and blue skirts. “Prince Yat-sen used his magic to help me.”

“What doyouthink you’re doing here?” Muyang breathed, and she flinched, unable to look at him.

“Your Majesty, please spare him!” She placed her hands on the floor, her fingers brushing over the drying blood caking the polished wood, and she lowered her head. “Please! He was only trying to help me!”

Time slowed, and Daiyu squeezed her eyes shut to erase the image of the detached head mere feet away from her and Yat-sen’s pained cries. Muyang didn’t speak, but she could feel his dark gaze boring holes into her. Contemplating on whether or not he should punish her. Or maybe he would kill her right then and there? Chop her head off just like the traitor?

Before she knew it, he was in front of her. He grasped her shoulders and yanked her up to her feet. She barely had time to gasp as she peered up at him. There was something dark and ferocious lingering on his face, and she wanted to squirm inwardly at his expression.

“Your—”

Their surroundings shifted in a split second. One moment they were standing in the hall, and the next she was inside the bedroom she had come from. She blinked back rapidly as Muyang released her. She reeled backward, her stomach heaving and her eyes adjusting to the new sights—the framed bed, the paneled walls, the caisson ceiling. Her nose crinkled, almost confused at the rush of new smells—of jasmine and incense, replacing the metallic blood and sweat scent that had lingered in the hall. She had warped before with Feiyu, but this felt more unnatural than before. Like she had been ripped from one place and shoved into another—and that’s exactly what had happened.

“What—” she began, but she could barely get the word out before her mouth filled with salty water and her stomach heaved. She leaned forward and violently vomited on the floor a foot away from the emperor. A bitter, bile taste filled her mouth and she gasped sharply, her stomach continuing to empty itself. She hadn’t felt this discombobulated when Feiyu had warped her.

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she raised her head to meet Muyang’s glare.

“What have you done?” There was a deep warning in his tone, and Daiyu wondered for a moment if this was when she would die—alone, covered in blood and vomit, and at the hands of the terrifying, wicked emperor.

20

Daiyu’s mouthdried up and she gaped like a fish, unable to come up with anything. Muyang was breathing heavy and labored, like he had run all the way here instead of warping, and he staggered forward and grabbed the wooden frame of the bed for support. She instinctively moved toward him. “A-are you okay?”

“Daiyu.” His black eyes were on her again, and this time, they were harder than before, flashing with anger. She shrank back, biting her tongue for even suggesting that he needed help. “What have you done?”

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