Page 34 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Feng Mian pushed Frethirik’s sword, his breathing heavy. He appeared too lethargic, while Frethirik was full of energy. They circled each other like wolves, and Frethirik jumped at him, aiming at his injured arm. Feng Mian seemed to anticipate that, because he moved in a split second and smashed his stick against Frethirik’s hand, disarming him.

The sword flew to the ground, but Frethirik took that moment to punch Feng Mian squarely in the jaw, before grabbing his injured arm and twisting it behind his back. He then kicked behind Feng Mian’s knees and shoved him to the ground while holding his injured arm. The sleeve of his worn uniform bloomed with more scarlet.

“No!” Zhi Ruo’s knees weakened.

Feng Mian couldn’t fall like that. He had to get up. He couldn’t let that man win. He had to keep fighting.

“Get up!” she half-sobbed, half-shouted. “Don’t lose!Please.”

But the masses drowned her words as they turned to the archer. The archer nocked an arrow and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Zhi Ruo turned her face away from the scene; she couldn’t bear to watch the end result.

The army erupted in noise; Zhi Ruo tentatively turned her attention to the old man and wished she hadn’t. The arrow was stuck between his eyebrows. Blood spurted from the wound, drowning his eyes in a sea of red.

She bit her bottom lip, her gaze swaying over to Feng Mian, who remained on the ground, his clothes blooming with blood.

The general turned to Zhi Ruo, his smile venomous. “Did you enjoy that display, Princess?” he whispered so only she could hear. “If you weren’t so valuable to me, I would have strung you up there instead of him,naked.”

Zhi Ruo bit the inside of her mouth, hating the way fear slithered deep in her bones, nearly freezing her in place. Her only hope in this den of vipers was the dark magic swirling beneath her flesh, waiting to attack.

Soon, she told herself. Soon, she’d learn how to wield it. And then, nobody would be laughing.

10

The army continuedto entertain themselves, dance, and play their vicious tournament-style game with the rest of the prisoners of war—Zhi Ruo hadn’t even realized there were others. The Huo soldiers must have been newer prisoners, because they didn’t appear emaciated or as dirty as her or Feng Mian. Thankfully, since Feng Mian was injured, they didn’t force him to fight anymore. She figured he was too valuable as a prisoner.

By the end of the spectacle, all the other prisoners were dead, either from the arrows lodged in their bodies or from fighting the Kadians with flimsy sticks.

Zhi Ruo and Feng Mian were tossed back in their cages for the night. Feng Mian groaned, his body slumped over the barred wall of the cage. His entire sleeve was drenched in scarlet.

A single lantern sat in the center of the tent just outside their cage, casting orange flickering light across the threadbare walls. Zhi Ruo rose up to her feet to go over to Feng Mian, but she flinched back when he snarled, “Don’t look at me.”

She hesitated, watching him with worried eyes. Was he angry that the Kadians had killed the old man instead of him?

His head fell forward and his long, silvery-white hair obscured his face, but he made no move to push it back.

Zhi Ruo slowly sank onto the floor. “Feng Mian, are you … angry with me?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Just … just leave me alone.” He passed a hand over his face, cursing loudly.

She ran her fingers over the frayed skirts of her dress and outlined the lotus embroidery etched into the fabric. For a moment, they both sat there, unmoving and silent, but then Feng Mian’s breathing grew shallower and he moaned in pain again. This time, Zhi Ruo crawled over to him. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and he hissed in pain, eyes snapping open.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry—” Zhi Ruo snatched her hand away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, the light dancing over half his face, while the other half was covered in shadows. Zhi Ruo hesitated, torn between trying to help him and keeping her distance.

Finally, she rested her hands on her lap. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

“No.”

“You need?—”

“Medical attention?” He barked a mirthless laugh. “You think these bastards care about that?”

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