Page 10 of Dynasty of the Wicked

She was used to people being rude to her, but not like this. Not so … bluntly. They usually hid it behind snide remarks, whispered insults, and nasty stares.

“I … Never mind,” she finally said. “Is there any way we can escape with that blade you stole? Maybe you can jostle the lock with the tip of it and?—”

“How?”

“I … I don’t know.” Zhi Ruo shifted on her sore legs. She swayed on her feet and grasped the grimy, moist wall for support. “I’ve read that thieves are able to lock pick padlocks with tiny needles and knives.” Even to her own ears, she sounded ridiculous, and she could feel the heat clawing up her cheeks.

Her cellmate’s eyebrows lifted, but she noticed he wasn’t staring at her, but a foot or so beside her head. “You think I am a thief?”

“Well … no.”

“Then?”

Her blush deepened. “I just thought, maybe, you were … able to do that?”

“Ah. I almost forgot I’m speaking to a pampered princess,” he said with a snort. He finally pushed away from the metal bars of the cell and strode over to her.

She hugged her back to the wall, her knees knocking into one another. Something stirred in the pit of her stomach and she swallowed down the strange feeling climbing her throat. She didn’t like how her body reacted to this beautiful, strange man. She almost didn’t register his words, not until he was standing a foot away from her.

“Are you accustomed to people doing everything for you?” He was a head taller than her, broad and muscled. He tilted his head to the side, and there was a cruelty to the quality of his voice. “You must be used to treating others like servants. Telling them to do this, or that, and expecting the world from them.”

Zhi Ruo’s shoulders immediately tensed at those words and she couldn’t stop her limbs from trembling—but this time, not from weakness or fear, but anger. How dare he assume she was like that?

“I don’t—” she began.

“I’ve heard rumors of you. Practically everyone in the empire has,” he continued harshly. “You’re a wicked woman who pleasures herself in beating her servants, lashing her guards, and treating everyone beneath you like they owe you something.”

She slapped him, hard—or at least, she would have, if he didn’t catch her hand midair.

Grunting, she tried again with her free hand, but he caught that too. All at once, he pinned her wrists above her head on the wall with one hand, and grasped her chin with the other. He drew closer to her as she struggled against him. His warm breath fanned over her face and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Release me,” she whispered.

“Will you attack me again?”

“That depends on how you act,” she snapped.

The corner of his mouth rose and her heart raced. She was all too aware of how close he was, how her breasts almost touched his chest, how his long hair brushed over her shoulders, and how their legs were tangled together at her attempts at kneeing him. She had never been touched like this by a man before; she had never been in a situation like this, so close to someone.

“You …” She searched his face. There was something off about him, about the way he wasn’t meeting her gaze, and then it struck her. “You’re blind?”

Suddenly, the man released her and stepped away. His body warmth disappeared, replaced by the chill in the cell, and she nearly slumped forward.

“I am correct, aren’t I?” She peered over at him through the darkness, and the old man in the next cell chuckled a laugh. She jumped at his sound—she had forgotten he was there.

“Yes, he is,” he said with delighted glee.

“I don’t need to see to be able to kill you,” the man replied, tilting his head toward the older man. The evidence was lyinga few feet away from him. “Come a little closer to the bars, traitorous bastard.”

The old prisoner cackled, but remained at the far end of his cell. Zhi Ruo looked between her cellmate, the old man, and then the bloody corpse. How was he able to move that fast, with that much accuracy, and kill the man so easily? And judging by his clothes, he was a soldier in the Huo army. There was no way a blind soldier could join the empire’s military.

“Are you of noble blood?” she finally asked.

It was the only way he’d be allowed in. Maybe he was a wealthy noble’s son, and had joined the military in name only, and was actually a reserve. It had happened many times before, where noble children pretended to be a part of the military for the prestige so their family could proudly boast that their child fought for the empire, while in reality they only served as reserve soldiers who never saw a battle in their life.

A muscle on the man’s jaw ticked. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t see how you can fight like that.”

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