Page 44 of Dynasty of the Wicked

She blinked up at him; the cascade of snow fluttering through the wind, and the backdrop of moonlight-drenched trees and sparkling silver ice clinging to barren branches made him appear all the more ethereal. His gleaming white hair, his silver eyes, and gray lashes looking like winter personified. She was, once again, utterly struck with how beautiful he was.

“You’re on top of me,” she breathed, all too aware that one of his hands was gripping her wrist, pinning it to the ground. More ice-slush seeped into the back of her dress. Her legs were tangled with the skirt of her torn dress and his legs.

“I’m aware.”

He didn’t move, only exhaled deeply, his breath fogging in front of them both.

“Are you planning on staying there?” Zhi Ruo asked. She had meant for it to come out in a teasing manner, except she sounded breathless, and her cheeks flamed in response.

He tightened his hold on her, leaning closer until his warm breath tickled her cheeks. “Would you like me to?”

Yes.

Zhi Ruo laughed softly, but it came out strangled. “No.”

“Liar.”

He released her wrist and slowly traced the column of her neck with the back of his knuckles. He closed his silver eyes, his skin cold to the touch. He trailed his hand up to the sides of her face, and then cupped her cheeks with both hands. Feng Mian’s unseeing eyes filled her vision, and she forgot how to breathe.

His lips crashed with hers, the kiss long and hard and void of gentleness. There was onlyneed. Something feral and fervent sparked between the both of them, something that could only happen here—in the middle of the night, alone, and without the company of their oppressors. They were free here, with nobody to interrupt them. Nobody to tower over them. Nobody to witness as she kissed him harder, as her breaths came in quick gasps, as she gripped the front of his tunic and ran her hands over his broad chest.

In that moment, Zhi Ruo wanted him more than she wanted anything else. She was in love with him, she knew that, and she craved his touch. His attention.Him.

He pulled back from the kiss and she finally noticed black veins clawing up his neck. That was enough to snap her out of her reverie. Horror washed over her, and she pushed herself into a sitting position, her fingers brushing along the skin of his shadowed, bruised throat.

“Feng Mian.” She laid her hand on the pulsing black writhing beneath his flesh; she could feel the power coming from him, dark and lethal. He flinched back at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “When did …” She searched his face. “When did this happen? The curse is spreading.”

He didn’t answer, his expression shuttering. Zhi Ruo’s throat closed up and she quickly scanned her own skin, yanking her sleeves up to see if there were any shadows wriggling within her, and yet the more she examined herself, the more her horror mounted. There was nothing on her to signal that she had used his dark magic.

“Did you take my curse?” she whispered, eyes widening as the words came out. A howling of the wind nearly drowned them, but she knew he’d heard by the way he stiffened. The way he quickly turned away, his silver-white hair falling over one side of his face.

“Feng Mian.” She reached forward to grab him, but he jerked away from her, peeling himself off her in the next second.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Zhi Ruo clambered up to her feet, the blood rush causing her to stumble forward on trembling, weak legs. Feng Mian grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her upright and she grasped the front of his tunic with one hand, her gaze flicking up to his moonlit face. “Why would you do something like that? Won’t you die once your curse spreads to your whole body?”

And it had spread so much. The night canopied the worst of it, but she could see it on his neck, and even on his wrists. How much worse did it look in daylight? She shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

Feng Mian’s body grew taut, his face tight. “It doesn’t matter, Princess. I’m not meant to live long, anyway.”

“You’re not—what? Do you hear yourself right now?” She swayed on her feet, grateful that he was still holding her, because she surely would have keeled over. “Feng Mian, I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m a warrior.” His words hardened and he turned his face toward the night sky. The moon bathed his beautiful face in shimmering silver. “I have no plans of living long.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn toward me.” She placed gentle hands on his face and forced him to stare down at her. “Let my words reach you better, then, because I don’t think you’re understanding a thing I’m saying. And truthfully, I don’t understand you, either.” The wind chilled her cool body and she shuddered as another blast of wind knocked at them, sending her skirts to whip around her legs. “Why do you speak like you are happy with dying, Feng Mian? I want you to live.”

Feng Mian’s lips flattened into a firm line. “And do what, Princess? Live in a fairytale land where we both are accepted? What will we do after this?”

“We will live?—”

“Where? And do what?” He laughed harshly, silver eyes darkening in the shadowy night. “Will we run from your father’s court and live like paupers in the streets? Who will ever want to hire me? If not for my magic, I have no use in anything. I cannot read. I cannot write. I cannot work. I cannot do anything of value other thankill. Murder, magic, mayhem—that is all I am capable of.”

“I don’t know what we will do, but we will find a way?—”

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