Page 92 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Her eyebrows came together. “What?”

“My father is here.”

“Your … General Zheng?”

“He will protect you. I sent for him.”

“Feng Mian, what are you saying?”

“I love you, Zhi Ruo. I will never stop loving you.” Feng Mian leaned forward and crashed his lips against hers. She stared up at him, wide eyed, and slowly kissed him back, relishing the moment. She pulled him tighter into her embrace. Their kiss waslong and passionate, like it would be their last. Confusion played in the back of her mind at his words.

His father was here? Where? How? When?

Feng Mian wove his fingers through her hair, tilting her head up toward him. He kissed her hungrily, and she tasted blood on his lips. His other hand pressed against her breast—over her heart. In a split second, she could feel the dark energy pulling away from her and into him.

Her eyes grew wider.

He was absorbing her curse.

“S-Stop!” Zhi Ruo yanked back, slamming her head on the snow, but it was too late. Feng Mian removed his trembling hand. The curse coursed up his black veined arm, spreading up to his face in seconds. His pale flesh became more shadowed with darkness, the lines pulsing angrily. Blood spurted from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes, dripping down his cheeks like tears. He coughed wetly.

“No, no, no, no! What have you done?” she screamed, grasping his face tightly. Blood slipped through her fingers, hot and sticky. “Feng Mian! What have you done?”

“I was going to die soon, anyway.” He coughed again, the shadows surrounding them fading as his strength receded. He smiled down at her, blood splattering against her face. “At least … I can free you of this curse.”

“No! Feng Mian! Feng Mian!”

“Live a long life,” he murmured, his arms giving out on him as his body slammed into hers. “I love you, Princess Zhi Ruo.”

“Feng Mian! Feng Mian!” She screamed to the sky, clutching him tightly. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

“You are the light …” he whispered, “the light … of my dark … world, my love.”

“Feng Mian!”

She wept loudly, screaming at him to come back, but his body grew limp in her arms. He couldn’t be gone. He was probably unconscious. She couldn’t fathom a world where he was dead. She couldn’t imagine being without him. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. Hecouldn’t.

Someone grabbed Feng Mian’s shoulders and pulled him off her body. She shouted, snatching at his body, but someone was hauling her to her feet. Her gaze was trained on Feng Mian as she fought against the man holding her. She continued screaming as Feng Mian’s body was laid on the snow. His silver eyes were shut, and the curse writhed beneath his pale skin. He was beautiful, in every way.

She continued to scream and cry and shout, struggling to release herself from whoever was grasping her. Finally, someone slapped her, hard, and her face whipped to the side. Pain jolted over her, but she barely registered it.

“Get a hold of yourself, Your Highness.”

Zhi Ruo shakily lifted her head to find General Zheng standing in front of her. He was just as she remembered him. Dark haired, dark eyed, and with a permanent frown on his stoic face. A few feet away from him, Chanming laid unconscious on the ground. She blinked over at him, blearily, and then to the rest of the soldiers, who were fighting the Kadians and winning. It was like Feng Mian had said—the reinforcements had come.

But she didn’t care.

“Feng Mian,” she whimpered. “I need him?—”

“He is dead,” General Zheng said with a grimace, turning toward his son’s body. For a moment, she wondered if he was saddened by that, but her confusion quickly morphed into anger.

“You—You came too late!” Her voice came out shrill. “Save him! He … He can still be saved!”

He turned to her slowly, his expression hard. “Calm yourself, Your Highness.”

“Save him! You need to save?—”

He slapped her again and this time, she tasted blood. Her head hung low and the world spun again. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear open her chest so it would stop beating so loudly, so terribly.

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