Page 69 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Right.Zhi. That was her new name here.

She turned her head toward his voice, and noticed him further away, coming up to a few soldiers. Even in the night, his white hair seemed to glow. He spoke to them in hushed tones. Her chest pulled with guilt at the sight of him. Even though she was here, he had no clue it was her. He couldn’t see her, and most likely, the presences of everyone in this camp overwhelmed him. There was probably no way for him to pinpoint her location.

If she wanted to, she could slip out of here. Nobody would even care. She could trek through the frozen forests and try to find her way to a town. And then … she could maybe just disappear forever. Maybe it was better that way. To not be a princess. To just join the common folk.

She shook her head. She didn’t even know what she would do if she was out in the streets. Someone was bound to see her royaltattoo, and then she would be brought to the False Emperor, killed, and then that would be the end of it.

Without hesitating, she crossed the distance to Feng Mian.

“She’s my wife,” he gritted out. “I don’t know what the fuck she looks like.”

“Oh, come on, no need to be so sour,” one of them said. “There’s gotta be something about her that we can use to find her. Height? Size?”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, I know you can’t see, but …” One of them cackled. “How do you not know what your wife at leastfeelslike? Is she big breasted, small, long-legged? Surely you’ve fu?—”

“Keep talking and I’ll cut your tongue out of your mouth,” Feng Mian snarled, grabbing the soldier by the collar of his shirt and lifting him off his feet. His eyes glowed maliciously. “You’re forgetting who I am. A few weeks away and you forget your place?”

The man coughed, grasping Feng Mian’s arm.

Zhi Ruo paused to watch the interaction. The man’s face was growing blue as he struggled. She walked up to them slowly, and Feng Mian finally released him. The man collapsed at his feet.

“I’m here,” she said, shivering in the cold.

A look of relief calmed the storm of anger on his face, and he shoved the soldiers aside as he came to stand in front of her. He reached forward to take her hands, but she stepped back before he could, her expression pinched together.

“Just take me to the tent,” she snapped.

He hesitated, concern washing over his face. “Are you bleeding? I smell blood.”

She instinctively brought her injured arm closer to her body. She hated that he sounded so genuine, so concerned. “Why do you care? Let’s just go?—”

Feng Mian grabbed her arm and she yelped in pain. His look of rage returned, and his mouth curled back. “What happened?” he demanded. “Who did this?”

“No one.” She snatched her hand back, noticing the way the soldiers were staring at them. “Anyway, let’s go.”

The muscles of his jaw tightened. “Tell me.”

“No.”

He blinked, as if not expecting that, and then begrudgingly began heading to the left. She trailed behind him, being sure to keep at least a foot of distance between them. His fists clenched together and the moonlight painted him in hues of silver.

“Prin—Zhi,” he corrected, voice tight like he was barely able to control the rage simmering beneath the surface. “Tell me who did it to you. I know you didn’t do it yourself.”

For some reason, she wanted to keep the dragon-child a secret, especially considering Chanming was clearly imprisoning him, and seeing as how Feng Mian wasbest friendswith the cruel man, she wasn’t sure if it would do the child any good. He had injured her, after all, and even though Feng Mian didn’t love her—a statement that still stung—he was protective of her, for some reason.

“I have no reason to tell you,” she said when they stopped at a familiar tent. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a tendril of black magic threaded in the fabric of the tent. She could feel the magic thrumming from it. “Is this your magic?”

His eyebrows pulled together and she could tell it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “Yes. It’s so I can find the tent among the others.”

“Ah.” Zhi Ruo ran her finger over the thread and it shifted from black to gray to black again, reminding her of smoke. “Why don’t you ever put this on me? So you can keep track of where I am?”

“Most people don’t like it.”

“But it is easier for you, yes?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “It is.”

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