Page 51 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Her smile faded as he began scrubbing the clothes, magic bursting from his fingers and swirling over the material. Minutes passed as he meticulously cleaned them, tossed the water out the door, packed snow into the pot, heated it, and began cleaning again. He kept repeating the process until the water came out clear, and his clothes were mostly clean.

He was doing this to keep her mind off whatever had made her cry, she realized. Pulling the blanket up over her breasts, she curled into a ball and watched as white wisps twirled around the material in the pot. The fire in the hearth blazed brighter, hotter, and then dimmed. Feng Mian snapped the clothes in front of him and Zhi Ruo expected a spatter of water to spray out, but it didn’t. They were dry.

Jamming one leg into the pants, he balanced himself before sticking his other leg in. “Are you still watching?”

“No,” she lied, staring down at her toes. They barely peeked out of the edge of the blanket.

He tied the drawstrings of his pants, his fingers moving deftly. He didn’t meet her gaze—though, truly, he never did—but this time, it seemed like he was avoiding her. “Tell me the truth. Did I hurt you?”

She kept her chin on her knees, her voice soft. “No.”

“Princess.” He didn’t bother putting his tunic back on; the pants hung low to his hips, and she stared at his abdomen, his chest, and the bulging muscles filling out his tall frame. Scars, old and new, littered his pale body. They were mostly hidden bythe black streaks of the curse running over his flesh. She wanted to run her fingers over his chest once more, feel the excited thrill that ran through her own body. But his solemn tone brought her back to that moment, and she stared down at the floor again.

“Princess…”

“I didn’t think anyone would ever love me,” she finally blurted out. She hugged herself tighter, hating that she had admitted it out loud. “And I’m not saying that you do, but … but I think I was just overwhelmed with all of this. About how … you take care of me. About being stuck here, about … you witnessing …” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak.

He padded his way toward her and lowered himself until he was at her level. He rocked back on the balls of his feet, crouching low. His hair streamed down his shoulders and when he grasped her face, she flinched at the contact.

“Witnessingwhat?”

Zhi Ruo couldn’t speak. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Princess, I am blind, remember?” His silver eyes flashed with something lethal, and it reminded her of the look on his face before he had murdered those Kadians a few days ago. Or the feral expression before he had fought those men in their cell on their first meeting. But he seemed to keep it at bay, his voice softening. “You never need to feel ugly in front of me.”

Her throat constricted tightly and she heaved out a strangled breath that was a mixture of a sob, and a groan. She hated the shame that wound itself tightly in the core of her stomach.

“Princess.Zhi Ruo.” Feng Mian leaned over, pulled at the blanket draped over her, and brushed a gentle hand over the scars marring the flesh of her back.

She stiffened in response, the frigid air brushing against the crisscrossing marks.

“You mean this?” he asked.

She pressed her trembling lips together. “Yes.”

“I have scars, too. You must have felt and seen them. You know I would never care for such superficial things, yes?” Feng Mian wiped her tears with his thumb, cupping her face in the next second. There was a sudden shift in his expression, the calm and gentleness fading away to reveal a beast baring its fangs. “Someone hurt you.”

She nodded.

“Who?” A single word and she could read the promise behind it.

Zhi Ruo hesitated, unsure of whether or not she wanted to revisit the past. The messy, terrible feelings associated with her scars. Or the embarrassment of it all.

“Are you protecting them?” His white eyebrows pulled together.

“No,no.” She turned to him, horrified. “Of course not.”

“Give me a name and I will kill him,” he said quietly, though she didn’t miss the edge in his voice.

“There is not a single name.”

He canted his head to the side slowly.

Zhi Ruo hugged her arms to her body even tighter than before. She didn’t want to think about it, but the memories were already flooding her. She hated that they were ruining this beautiful moment between them both; she was supposed to be overcome with joy right now, not thinking of the brutality Father and his court had forced upon her.

“My father whipped me,” she finally said, the words coming out from a tight throat. Pain laced her tone and she tightened her grip on her elbows. The feel of the leather whip splitting against her flesh had her stiffening all over again, waiting for the phantom strike.

Feng Mian placed a warm hand on her back, and she flinched from the contact, only to be grounded once more. Reminded that he was here, and they weren’t.

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