Page 28 of Dynasty of the Wicked

“But you can smell me.” Her voice was barely a squeak and she could feel her blush extending up her throat and over her face.

“Are you worried about that?” He inhaled against her neck and she froze. “You smell …divine. Even beneath all that filth, I can smellyou.”

She swallowed.

“Like lavender, and spice, and … a tinge of sweetness.” His nose crinkled and he grasped the fur collar of the cloak she wore, a shadow darkening his face. “Minus this bastard’s scent all over you, I love your smell.”

Love.

That word snapped her out of her reverie, her back straightening and her body going still. As she stared at him—at his ethereal beauty, his silver-touched white hair, his long lashes that framed his equally silver eyes—a slow and gradual coldness seeped down into her bones. The scars on her back felt like frostbitten flesh.

She couldn’t get too caught up in whatever he was saying; the more she was pushed into this … complicated web of his feelings, the more she would get tangled and lost within it. He didn’t love her—nobody truly loved her—and she couldn’t let this weaken her resolve to escape.

Feng Mian seemed to notice her shift, because he tilted his head to the side, long hair spilling over his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?—”

“Let’s get back on track,” Zhi Ruo said with a tightlipped smile, her hands pressing against her thighs to keep from touching him. She didn’t need her feelings to get too thorny here. She couldn’t fall for his words. He was a prisoner here with no woman around but her—of course he’d be a little bit interested in her. It didn’t mean anything, and she couldn’t allow her heart to think that it did. Once they were free from this Kadian prison, she was sure he’d look for someone closer to his match—someone who could equal his beauty, someone who was just as alluring, someone who wasn’ther.

Because Zhi Ruo wasn’t extraordinary in anything. Not her looks, not her figure, not her personality. She was lukewarm in every sense.

And he … wasn’t.

She couldn’t get too caught up in all of that. When she went back to the palace, she would go back to her normal life. She’d be carted off to be married to Lord Chen who Father had chosen, and she would live her life quietly …

Feng Mian touched her chin. “Are you … crying?”

“No.” The back of her eyes stung, but she had no tears to shed. Not when they were trapped here in this prison. She grabbed his wrist in her hand gently and pushed it away from herself. “Let’s get back on track, Feng Mian. We don’t know how long it will take for the old man to come back, and then we can’t practice, because I know he will alert the guards. And then … well, I don’t need to explain the rest.”

Something akin to disappointment flickered over his face, but it was gone in the next moment, too fast for her to ponder about it. “Ah, yes. Very well.” He motioned for her to turn around and when she repositioned herself so her back was pressed against his chest, he grasped her hand until it was palm up.

“I’m going to open your magic,” he murmured into her ear, sending another shiver to ripple over her body. “Everyone’s magic stems from their heart. I … will have to touch yours. Is that all right?”

“You didn’t ask permission when you pulled me onto your lap.”

“Yes, but this …” His voice lowered. “This is moreintimate.”

She was sure her face was a patchwork of blotchy red skin. She slowly nodded, then said with a cough, “Um, all right. You can do what you need to.”

Feng Mian placed a hand over her left breast and stiffened. “You … are not wearing much clothing.”

“Another reason I choose to wear this insufferable cloak,” she said between mortified breaths. She stared at her hand harder,trying to ignore the feeling of his calloused fingers cupping her. “My dress was torn badly at the front and the material is already so thin …” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I don’t think it poses a problem, right? So we should hurry.”

“Err, yes.” She didn’t miss the hoarseness in his voice, nor the way he shifted his legs to sit more comfortably. “Focus on your hand and imagine a fire.”

“Yes.”

Zhi Ruo stared at her fingers, imagining sparks flying from them and forming a ball of smokeless fire. But even though she tried to focus on the fire, the magic, and the “opening” of her gates, she could only think about how close Feng Mian was. How she was perched on his lap. How his warm breath fogged over the nape of her neck. How goosebumps rose along her body. How his fingers felt on her heart.

All of a sudden, a jolt ran through her body and she inhaled sharply, her head tipping back in shock and a strange, overwhelming feeling bursting from her chest. She tried jumping forward, away from him and away from the feeling of something writhing within herself, but Feng Mian quickly clamped his arm around her waist and hugged her body to him.

“Relax, it’ll be over soon,” he said to her ear as she thrashed against him.

She couldn’t stop convulsing; her teeth ground so tightly she was sure they’d crack. She could feel her energy, her magic, bursting through her veins, completely overrunning her body. It felt as though her muscles were cramping and shivering, and yet they were also on fire, but also freezing. So many different, conflicting, overwhelming sensations poured over her.

Sweat ran down the side of her face, her breaths coming in quick gasps.

What was happening?

She wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or not, but Feng Mian’s voice washed over her the next second. “Your magic is too much for your body to handle. It’s very powerful, very abundant, and … it’s been dormant for so long within you that your body isn’t processing it well. It will pass in a moment or two.”

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