Page 26 of Dynasty of the Wicked

She had just called him a monster, but she didn’t care. She tamped down those feelings and instead wielded her rage against him. She had to remind herself that he had wronged her by not disclosing everything to her, and that she couldn’t forgive him so easily. It was how she had gotten hurt before—when she had trusted someone she shouldn’t have. At the thought of it, the scars on her back prickled and itched. It was a reminder that she couldn’t be stupid enough to think ofloveormarriage.

Feng Mian at least had the courtesy to appear guilty, and she hated him for it. It would have been easier if he had never told her in the first place. Maybe then she could still look at him and see a beautiful, tortured man who would bite someone’s ear off for her.

But she couldn’t forget who she was. She was MuRong Zhi Ruo, the hated princess. The wicked one. She should have been used to such treatment. She would always be an afterthought.

“You didn’t mention it to me because you needed me to marry you. You didn’t care what happened to me,” she said quietly. “But now that it’s time to start using magic, you start acting like youcare? Don’t go soft on me now.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke faster than him, cutting him off before he could even start.

“Regardless, I would have still chosen to do this, though it would have been nicer to be told the full story of what would happen to me.”

An awkward quietness settled between them. The soft crackle of the waning fire and the wailing of the wind filled the quiet space. Finally, Feng Mian murmured, his face bathed in shadows, “You think I am a monster?”

“I know you are one.”

“Do I look like one?” He lifted his head, his silver eyes catching in the light like the sharpness of a readied blade.

“You look …”Beautiful. Lethal. Charming. The most ethereal being she had ever come across. But her heart shuddered, and she whispered, “You look like you could ruin me.”

Another blast of wind made the tent shiver and ripple, a wave of cold bursting through the flaps. The fire almost extinguished itself, the small embers glowing and growing once the wind subsided.

Zhi Ruo sat straighter. “Let’s begin.”

“All right,” he said quietly. He waved her forward with one hand and patted the spot next to him with the other. “I know you will learn quickly, since you’re a royal, but do keep in mind that we are in a hurry, so I’ll push you beyond your limits.”

“How do you know that I will learn quickly?” she asked as she plopped down beside him. The hay prickled her bottom and she settled her skirt and the hem of the cloak around herself so her legs were covered.

“There are two energies within everyone, and the more balanced the two energies are within your body, the more powerful you are. The royal family is blessed with a perfect balance,” he said. “And I’m not just saying all of this to please you, but youareblessed with somewhat perfect magic. Or at least, the ability to become very powerful.”

“All right,” she said with a nod.

“Here.” He held his palm out toward her. “It will be easier if you hold onto me.”

“Why?” Zhi Ruo stared at his hand, and then up at his face, all too aware that they were close—too close. Her gaze strayed to his lips and then to his hands again—hands that, not too long ago, had cupped her face. She remembered the kiss, the way his mouth had moved against hers, the way hetasted. Her face began to warm.

“When you use your magic, it will be easier to ground yourself with mine.”

She reluctantly slipped her hand into his, her fingers brushing over the scabs and scars littering his flesh.

“I will not …” She hesitated as she thought of the black veins running over his flesh, and shuddered. “Look like …?”

Feng Mian seemed to know what she wanted to say, because his mouth pursed into a firm line, and he said through clenched teeth, “What is it, Princess? You fear that you will look like a hideous, black-veined monster? Well, fear not. So long as you don’t practice my cursed magic, you will not be affected by my curse.”

Zhi Ruo flinched and averted her gaze. Guilt borrowed deep in her chest at his words.

“You will know the difference between cursed magic and regular magic,” he continued. “Cursed magic will want to consume you. It wishes to destroy, to corrode. It is also very volatile. All powerful, destructive magic hurts the user in some way—whether by fatiguing their body, draining their energy, shortening their life—but cursed magic is usually more potent, ugly, and evil, and as a result, curses your body and soul.”

She wrung her wrists together. “Okay, I … understand. So long as I avoid your cursed magic, I will be spared?”

“Yes.”

She breathed out in relief. “Oh. Okay.”

“But you might have to use it at some point.”

“Why?”

“It is hard to not be tempted,” he murmured. “When you have a sharp weapon, and you have people you want to kill, is it not easier to use all the tools at your disposal?”

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