Page 21 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Finally, on the fifth or so day of traveling, one of the Kadians unlocked her cage and dragged her by the arm through the camp they had set up. She didn’t even try fighting; she was worndown, her injuries partially healed, and her weary body sapped of energy.

She kept tripping over her leaden feet. Snow, ice, and slush seeped through her silk shoes, and her breath fogged in front of her like white clouds. She could barely feel her face in the winter chill. If it wasn’t for Wyer’s cloak, she was sure she’d freeze. He had forced her to wear it all this time, and the smell of his sweat and something sickly sweet filled her nostrils whenever she pulled it closer to her shivering body.

The Kadian man hauled her over to one of the tents. “Don’t even think about running this time,” he sneered as he pushed back the flap.

A cage loomed in the center of the tent and lying in it was Feng Mian. His body was curled over, his face buried against the floor, and his silvery-white hair spilled around him like a wreath.

Zhi Ruo’s chest tightened.

He was alive.

The soldier jammed a key into the cage, unlocked it, and shoved her inside. She half-expected Feng Mian to lurch to his feet, tackle the soldier, and try escaping like last time, but he didn’t budge, not even when the door swung shut and the soldier stomped out of the room.

Zhi Ruo dragged herself over to Feng Mian, her hands quivering as she looked over his battered body. His clothes were far dirtier than she remembered. His hair was tinged red near his scalp, likely from a blow to the head, and some sections were crusted together with blood.

Was he dying? Was he actually dead?

“Feng Mian?” She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

“Feng Mian?” Her stomach twisted and she fought the urge to vomit. “Feng Mian!”

He groaned and moved his head to the side, his eyebrows pulling together and his expression stricken. A knot in Zhi Ruo’s chest eased and she released a shuddered breath. The backs of her eyes burned and she hated how thick her throat felt, like she had drunk syrup and could barely speak through it. Blinking away the stinging, she wove her fingers together tightly to keep from touching him and inspecting his injuries.

“Princess?” he murmured, eyes fluttering open.

“It’s me,” she whispered back. “I thought they—” Her lower lip wobbled and she clamped her mouth shut.

“They can’t kill me that easily.” He pushed himself into a sitting position and then froze, his nose crinkling and a dark look passing over his face. “Why do you smell likehim?” he hissed, snapping his head in her direction.

Zhi Ruo grasped the front of her cloak—Wyer’scloak. Shame built in the pit of her stomach, swirling there with the rest of her confusing emotions. She shouldn’t have continued to wear it, but she was cold, and despite it being the enemy’s, she had thought … that it was better this way.

“I … He forced me to wear his cloak.” Her words came out like a weak protest.

“That bastard,” Feng Mian spat. “Don’t trust anything he says or does. He probably wants something from you.” He leaned against the bars of the cell and stretched his legs out in front of him with a hiss of pain. His crinkled clothes looked even more disarrayed this way; the front lapel of his cross-collared tunic was blotched with bright vermillion stains, soot, and dirt.

“He does want something from me.” Her voice quivered and she clenched her hands together to keep them from fidgeting. She turned her attention to other parts of the room: to the beige, threadbare walls of the tent, to the sunlight slipping through the thinner sections of the tented roof and splaying against thesnow-packed floor, to the dried blood crusting the bottom of their cage. Anything to stop her from staring at Feng Mian.

When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “What does he want?”

“He … wants to marry me.” Saying the words out loud sent a shiver down her spine. She was just a pawn for marriage, whether for Father to marry her off to someone with little influence, or for a Kadian commander to marry in order to better conquer Huo lands. Her existence didn’t matter much, just her title as the princess. “But he thinks I’m Ying Yue. What will he do once he realizes I’m not the favored princess, but the princess everyone hates?” Tears budded in her eyes and now that she was saying the words aloud, they seemed more real, more concrete, more twined with fate. “Will he kill me once he realizes I’m not as valuable?”

Feng Mian’s lips twisted into a dark frown. “He won’t kill you for that. All he needs is a Huo princess to make his claim to the empire, whether that be you or your sister. And that’s onlyifthe Kadians succeed in conquering our lands, which I highly doubt. We’re not even close to losing this war.”

The war between Kadios and Huo had already been ongoing for a little over a year, neither side relenting to the other. How much longer would it take to push Kadios back into their barren lands? What if Wyer married her and she was stuck with him for many years to come?

A cold chill settled over her bones. He would never have her.

The fear and panic she had felt the past few days dissolved into pure, unadulteratedrage.

“He called me his war prize,” she said through gritted teeth. Her fingers turned white with pressure as she clenched them tighter on her lap. “I will never be his war prize, or his bride, or his little pawn.”

Feng Mian tilted his head to the side, his silver eyes straying in her direction. He almost looked like he was staring straight at her. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, and her heart raced at his beauty.

“Good,” he said. “I would never let that bastard have you, anyway.”

Sitting here in daylight, he looked even more enchanting than he had down in the dungeon. Here, she could make out the pure whiteness of his hair, the shimmer of his lashes, the symmetry of his handsome face.

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