Page 50 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Calm down, calm down, she tried again.What will he think if he sees you crying? Stop it.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and began breathing through her nose, but that did little to ease the tension cording through her neck, tightening her chest. Astrangled sob escaped from her mouth, and she bit down on her lips. Too late.

Feng Mian stilled beside her. “Princess?”

That only made her sob harder. She curled against his body.

“Did I hurt you?”

He touched her cheeks with warm, gentle hands, his fingers brushing over the tears. His eyebrows tugged together quizzically, a look of panic flashing over his face. He tried to sit upright, to examine her, perhaps, but she only huddled closer to him. She clawed onto his chest, hugging him closer to her shivering body.

“Princess? Why are you crying?”

“I … I don’t know,” she whisper-cried. The popping and cracking of the fire seemed louder to her, and she tried to focus on anything but him. “I just feel … I don’t even know.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry—” he started, but she clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t,” she said through the tears. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong, I just … I just feel overwhelmed.”

He held her tightly while she wept, until all her tears were dried and they both just laid there. Feng Mian wrapped the thin blanket over her body at some point, and she pressed herself closer to him. The howling winds sprayed snow against the window, the ambience steadily becoming cozy once more. Zhi Ruo closed her eyes. She was in love, she had already known that, but it was only now that she realized how deeply she had fallen.

Once her tears dried up and her body stopped convulsing with sobs, Feng Mian began tracing her back slowly, his nails grazing over her flesh sensually. She shuddered under his touch, closing her eyes. He probably didn’t even realize what he did toher—what every small action did to the pit of her stomach. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered what they had just done.

“Did I hurt you?” Feng Mian asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said, and it was the truth.

“Then …?”

She couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to answer.

She fiddled with the end of the threadbare blanket, her fingers looping around the frayed edges.

“Was it your first time?”

Zhi Ruo dropped the blanket onto her lap, her mouth parting and her eyes widening. If she had been intimate with anyone else before, Father would have punished her severely. She was a princess, and even someone disfavored like her was supposed to act accordingly. She was still a royal.

“I …Of course.” She clenched her teeth together, her cheeks blooming with color. “Andyou?”

The corner of Feng Mian’s mouth curled and he raised his hands. “No need to be so angry, Princess. I was only asking.” He moved away from her and she admired the muscles rippling on his back and thighs. Even malnourished, he was massive. She could only imagine what he looked like when he was healthy.

He returned to her side with a wet rag. Wordlessly, he plucked the blanket off her body and cleaned the smear of blood on her thighs. She shivered at the sudden coldness of the dripping cloth.

“The water cooled,” he said, a hint of an apology lacing his words. When he was done, he tossed the cloth back into the pot of water. He grabbed his blood-stiffened, grimy pants and dunked them in the pot of chilled water. He tossed his tunic inside too, the water instantly turning murky and reddish brown.

Zhi Ruo watched, fascinated. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning these rags,” he said gruffly, crouching beneath it on his heels.

“Why?”

He smirked, and a shiver ran down her spine—though it wasn’t from the cold. “Would you rather I remain naked?”

Zhi Ruo rolled her eyes, and remembered that he couldn’t see it, so she muttered, “No.”

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