Page 62 of Empire's Curse

“It hurts—it hurts so bad,” she whispered, pursing her lips together to keep from screaming in agony. Tears burned the back of her eyes. “Why does it hurt so much now?”

“It’s because you’re not panicking as much anymore, because you’re safe now.” He continued to brush back her hair and cradle her in his arms. “You know that everything will be fine now, so your body is reacting to the pain.”

“It hurts,” she repeated through the tears. She didn’t even care that he was holding her so tenderly, or that he was brushing back her hair like a lover would. None of that mattered, not when she looked into his black, black eyes and saw nothing but her own pained reflection.

“I know, I know.” He held her tighter and winced when she took hold of his injured shoulder. “It will only last a few more minutes.”

She held on to him tighter, her fingers slick with her blood—and his. “Make it stop.”

“Shh.” Muyang’s hand hovered over the arrow.

“Wait—” Before she could tell him to stop, he yanked the arrow out from her wound. Her vision doubled and blackened, and she screamed piercingly. The wound, which had begun clotting just a bit, felt as though he ripped through the flesh all over again. Her dress quickly became drenched in fresh, warm blood, and she convulsed in his arms, her limbs flailing as she cried in torment. He held her the whole time, whispering soothing words she couldn’t understand.

Finally, when she thought she would break, tranquility fell upon her that was unmatched for the circumstance. Her hazy, blotchy vision righted itself and the pain abated until her thigh only stung. Her erratic breathing calmed and she opened her eyes to stare up at the misty, gloomy, gray sky. Tiny snowflakes cascaded on her and every inhale filled her lungs with a wintry frost.

Muyang’s breath streamed out of his mouth in white clouds. His skin was paler than before, and sweat dotted his creased forehead. It took her a second to realize his palm was covering her wound and that a golden light was emitting from his hands directly onto her.

“What are you doing?” Daiyu said, blinking up at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

“What does it feel like, little rabbit?”

She closed her eyes and groaned as the pain lessened further. “I hate that—” she mumbled.

“You hate that I’m healing you?”

“No, no, notthat.” She stared up at him and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel absolutely terrified to be looking at him so unabashedly. Maybe it was the shock or the effects of his magic that made her feel loopy, but she felt … safe here. “I hate being called alittlerabbit. It feels so … condescending? Like you’re the monster and I’m the prey? I just hate it. I hate being a weak littlething.”

“And what do you think would be more appropriate?” Muyang’s fingers caressed her thigh slowly, and pulses of tingling magic seeped into her flesh, pulling the fibers together. “From what I remember, I truly am a monster, aren’t I? And you, the innocent maiden who fell into my wicked trap.”

Warmth pooled in her stomach and she tried to stop the blush from spreading up her face. “That’s not … I didn’t mean to call you a monster.”

“You didn’t mean to? I recall you accusing me atleastthree times.”

“It was atmostthree times,” she said with a cough.

“Well then, little fiend, what should I call you instead?”

She didn’t have a nickname to tell him, or even something elegant. Truthfully, she didn’t know what alternative to little rabbit there was, but surely it was better than to be called that. “I don’t know,” she managed, resting her head against his chest. The smell of irony blood, jasmine, and musk mingled together in the leather clothes he wore, and her cheek felt cold against him. “Something fiercer, maybe.”

Muyang exhaled deeply, his breaths short. “Maybelittle dragonis more fitting.”

“Littleanything doesn’t inspire much fear or courage,” she whispered, peering up at him. “Little bird, little mouse, little rabbit, little dragon, little wolf … it’s all—” She finally noticed that he had his eyes closed and was breathing more raggedly than before. His skin matched the graying clouds above and there was a bone-weariness about him that made her shiver in anxiety. He was still holding her thigh gently, the magic spilling from his hands in thick streams like honey.

“Your Majesty?” She hesitated to touch his face, but when her hand finally pressed against his cheek, his eyes flew open. Ubiquitous black reflected back at her, so dark and rich and void-like that she almost lost herself in them.

“You wish to be feared?” he asked, blinking as if trying to re-immerse himself in their conversation.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Daiyu found herself saying, but her attention was honed in on him. The way he appeared exhausted, how he too was injured, and yet was healing her. She eyed his bloodied shoulder but couldn’t tell if he had healed himself already or not. “Are you well?”

“I should be asking you that.” Muyang pulled his hand back, now stained scarlet, and inspected the wound over her thigh. He peeled back the shredded, blood-soaked sections of her skirt to reveal the smooth, pink scar beneath. It was still muddied with blood, some fresh and some crusted, but it was undeniably healed.

Daiyu gasped. “You healed me?”

He didn’t bother answering her question and instead furrowed his eyebrows. A flash of something sinister crossed his face. “Forgive me, I was unable to hide the damage. You’ll be left with a scar for the rest of your life.” There was something sorrowful and furious about the way he said it—the two emotions seeming to war for dominance. When he met her gaze, there was only sympathy in them. “I’m not as skilled in the art of healing as I am with destruction.”

She understood the weight of what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying—but her mind stuttered over the fact that theemperorwas apologizing to her. Scars on her body meant she was marred, no longer desirable for many men. Some would even turn their noses at her if they knew. Others would pity her.

Would Muyang discard her because of this hideous, large imperfection on her body? For a moment, her mind wandered to that thought—and she realized with growing horror how terrible that idea made her—but she became aware of another, less bewildering, thought: didn’t shewantthat? Wasn’t the whole reason she was caught up in this messbecauseshe was trying to flee from him and her tumultuous fate with him?

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