Page 4 of Dynasty of the Wicked

“She doesn’t even hide it,” someone said with a short laugh. “What a terrible embarrassment.”

Ying Yue leaned her head against Wanqing’s shoulder. Two long, curling tendrils of hair framed her angelic face, and her red lips pulled back to reveal pearly teeth stained with hints of makeup. It reminded Zhi Ruo of blood, like the viper woman had drained someone’s life before choosing to hook her fangs into Zhi Ruo.

“Oh, come now, brother,” she murmured, her voice velvety and smooth. “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s already in for a shock tonight.”

Wanqing frowned, not seeming to like the idea of that.

Zhi Ruo raised her dark eyes to meet her half-sibling’s. Ying Yue smoothed down her pink skirts with her free hand, her small mouth only curving into a wider, nastier grin. It looked exactly like Lady Ning’s, and dread built in the pit of Zhi Ruo’s stomach.

“Father has decided who you will marry.” Ying Yue slowed her words, her smirk growing as Zhi Ruo inadvertently leaned forward to hear her answer. She was loving this, Zhi Ruo could tell. “Lord Chen.”

It was like a blow to the stomach. Zhi Ruo stumbled against the balcony doors, her hands splayed over the glass for support as she gasped. Lord Chen? The severely old, mean-spirited man? He already had two wives and countless concubines, all of whom sported bruises and broken bones every time Zhi Ruo came across them at parties. She didn’t want to associate with him at all, nor his horde of children, who behaved just as brutishly as he did.

She would marry him?

Her gaze cut over to the raised dais at the end of the grand hall, where Lady Ning and the other concubines sat. The cruel woman continued to fan her face, her wicked grin intact. So thatwas why she was so happy. She had likely had a hand in this, Zhi Ruo realized with a sinking heart.

Wanqing’s eyes turned to slits as he assessed Zhi Ruo. “You don’t look pleased, Zhi Ruo. This is a happy occasion and you should rejoice that Father chose a husband for you himself. If he had wanted to, he could have left you to rot in this palace, continuing to be a scourge within these royal walls.”

“I … I am happy, brother.” Her voice quivered with the lie. Her throat felt thick and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Don’t cry.

“Then don’t look so glum,” Ying Yue said in a singsong voice. “Be merry, and dance at this wondrous, virtuous occasion, dear sister.”

Her chest tightened and she found it hard to breathe. More people were staring at her, and she wasn’t sure if they were laughing at her. The faces morphed, their grinning, leering faces blending into one as Zhi Ruo stood against the balcony doors, her heart stuck in her throat.

“You will have to excuse me,” she found herself whispering as she pushed away from them. She heard her brother snap something from behind her, but she could barely hear it over her own beating heart. She wove her way through the crowds. She needed a way out of here. Somewhere where she could be alone and calm herself.

Lord Chen, of all people? Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep from sobbing in front of all these people. She had thought she would marry someone suitable. Someone who had little influence in court, but who she could make a quiet life with, at least.

But Lady Ning, Empress Fung, the other concubines, and Father would never grant her that, she realized with a start. Her whole world seemed to be spinning.

She bumped into something hard, and staggered back on leaden feet. She rubbed her nose and looked up to find General Zheng staring down at her with an impassive expression on his grim face. A jolt ran through her body and she quickly lowered her head in apology.

“I—I apologize, General. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The words came out rehearsed, detached from her true feelings, and void of emotion. She always had an apology ready for members of Father’s court who held high positions. General Zheng was Father’s most trusted vassal and the head of the influential, wealthy, and powerful Zheng family. She had always been wary around him; he was too serious and there was something nasty lingering within his dark, hateful eyes. It didn’t help that he usually gawked at her like she was less than dirt.

Even now, the corner of his lip bent into a half-sneer, before he composed himself to indifference.

“Careful,Your Highness,” he muttered, gazing off at someone in the distance, and then back at her. “Excuse me.”

She hated how he always spoke like he was mocking her. It wasn’t just him, but everyone seemed to speak to her like that. A simpleYour HighnessorPrincessmorphed into a taunt. There was no respect when they spoke her title. Only ridicule.

General Zheng brushed passed her and she was left feeling utterly pathetic once more. She bunched her hands over her bright yellow dress, the material crinkling under her vise-like grip, and pursed her lips together into a firm line to keep from bursting into tears. The stares prickled under her skin, and she swore she heard people laughing beneath their breaths.

An eruption of cheers jostled her from her thoughts and she snapped her head toward the noise. In the center of the hall, the performance had ended. The dancers’ chests heaved up and down, a sheen of sweat coating their skin as they all lowered themselves to the floor in front of her father.

Zhi Ruo exhaled shakily. She was grateful to not be in the spotlight anymore. Truthfully, she was done with this whole night, especially since she now knew she was going to marry. There was no other reason to stay here tonight. But she couldn’t just leave without greeting the emperor and empress, so she headed toward the platform where her father and his slew of women were seated.

She hated events like this. She hated how everyone made her feel. And she certainly hated the way people looked at her. In disgust. In derision. In entertainment.

The scars on her back began to prickle, a reminder of her naivety.

A reminder that she could never trust these vipers.

Her nails bit into the palms of her hands and she stopped short from the platform. There were two other nobles in front of her offering their greetings. She hung back, her head feeling heavy with the ornaments Liena had woven through her hair. She wore her long hair up in a tight style, with jade and gold-accented hairpins interwoven into a medium bun on the back of her head. A few strands framed her face, and she suddenly wished she could make her hair into a curtain so people would stop staring.

Her palms began to throb from how tightly she was pressing her nails into them, so she slowly flexed her fingers from behind the two nobles. They were speaking to her father, praising him and saying long-winded prayers about his wellbeing and his health. She tapped her feet impatiently, glancing over her shoulder at the throngs of people mingling in the dimly lit hall.

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