Page 47 of Dynasty of the Wicked

“You aren’t a monster, Feng Mian,” Zhi Ruo finally said.

“Even your lies are too sweet,” he murmured.

“Feng Mian …” She wanted to argue with him, but found she was too exhausted. Her wet dress clung to her body uncomfortably, and her quivering muscles and skin felt rough against the freezing winds. She closed her eyes and rested the side of her face on his chest. “You will never be a monster to me, and I don’t want to argue with you about it either.”

He chuckled softly. “Are you telling me to be quiet?”

“Yes.” She pulled back to stare up at him; even in the dark, his hair and eyes shone silver. “We need to treat your injuries.”

“We have to move first.” His expression turned grim and he pursed his lips together, his head turning toward the bodies. “If they were able to find us this easily, then Wyer is close by.”

“The snow is getting worse.” Tension knotted in the pit of her stomach as she tipped her head back to stare at the misty sky, heavy with fluttering snow. She could imagine being trapped in a snowstorm, unable to escape the frost and hail.

“We can use that to our advantage. If we are unable to advance, then so is Wyer.” He pointed in the direction they were headed. “I feel in the distance that there is a small … building, or shed, of some sorts, in that direction. Maybe one mile away? We will have to brave through this weather to reach it. It will only worsen.”

They stood like that for a moment, holding onto each other tightly, as if they would lose each other—or part from one another too soon. But eventually, they stripped the corpses of their heavy furs, clothes, and boots, slipping on the apparel of the dead. And then, they headed out into the blustering winds and thickening snow.

15

Later that night,they found the building Feng Mian had sensed—an abandoned cabin that must have been someone’s home not too long ago. There were still baskets of rice, potatoes, and onions stored away in the lower level. The inhabitants must have left a week ago with only what they could carry in their hands, probably due to the war pushing this far into Huo territory.

Feng Mian sat by the hearth, which he had lit with his magic, the hungry flames licking at the melted snow by his boots. They had thrown together rice, potatoes, and onions into one of the three-legged pots they had found, cooked it with some melted snow until it became a thick sludge, and scarfed it down hungrily. It tasted terrible, but considering they had survived off bread and water for the past few weeks, Zhi Ruo was grateful for the food.

“Don’t you think they’ll find us because of the smoke?” Zhi Ruo asked, going through one of the small trunks shoved up against the wall. There wasn’t much stuff in the cabin; only a trunk, a few seating mats, a padded sleeping mat, and miscellaneous kitchen items strewn about.

Feng Mian spread his stiff, blood-cracked fingers over the fire again. “I put a thin haze of magic over this place; it’ll be harder for them to see us from afar. It will only deter them for a day or two, but I’m sure the storm is helping us too.”

Zhi Ruo glanced over at the single window in the house; it was a sea of white out there, the snow blasting over the glass panes, which were bordered with frost and ice. She turned back to Feng Mian; his bowl was mostly clean, with only a few grains of mushy rice stuck to the uneven, wooden rim.

She shifted her attention back to the trunk, flicking through threadbare blankets and old dresses. “There’s a dress or two in here,” she commented, pulling out a pale, grayish-blue dress with a faded red belt. She found some men’s clothing too, but they were too small for Feng Mian. “These won’t fit you.”

“The dresses?” He lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt they would.”

She stifled a laugh. “No, I meant there are men’s clothes in here.”

“Are they too small?” He stretched out his legs, wincing at the small movement. “Most standard sized clothes are too small for me.”

“I figured as much,” she murmured, eyeing his injuries. He had ripped the broken arrow out of his shoulder when they had first arrived here, but he hadn’t tried to treat his wounds yet. “When do you want me to take a look at your injuries?”

“Later.”

“Why are you prolonging it?” She placed the clothes back in the trunk and smoothed down her damp skirt.

He grimaced, and she wasn’t sure if it was from pain or something else. “I don’t want to do it right now.”

“Butwhy?” she pressed. “The longer we take?—”

“Princess, I don’t want to. Stop asking.”

An awkward silence fell between them. She didn’t understand why he didn’t want her to take a look at his injuries.If he caught a fever or infection from the wound, wouldn’t that make it so much harder to survive out here? Did he not want her to see the curse? She could still remember their conversation earlier, where he had told her their relationship was doomed and that he had no plans of living past the battlefield.

Tension continued to build in the pit of her stomach, twisting and coiling until she wanted to vomit everything she had eaten.

When she couldn’t handle it anymore, she blurted out, “Are you scared of showing weakness to me now that we’re not prisoners anymore?”

Feng Mian stiffened. “I told you to drop it.”

“I will notdropanything,” she started, anger rising. “There are very few people who can order me around, and you are not one of them.”

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