Page 77 of Dynasty of the Wicked

Zhi Ruo didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths, her arms like a vise around the child. He curled against her, no longer hissing and snapping. Her arms still stung from where Chanming had burned him, and thus, her. She couldn’t imagine having that done to her.

“Zhi? Let go of that beast.” Chanming’s politeness melted away and he glared at her, his black eyes appearing like an abyss. “Feng Mian, take your wife and bring her to me.”

Feng Mian pursed his mouth together. She didn’t know what displeased him more, the fact that Chanming was ordering him around, that she had interrupted the dragon’s punishment, or the fact that she was in the middle of it all.

“Zhi. You need to come with us. Let go of the dragon.”

“No, he’ll hurt him,” she said, not ripping her gaze away from Chanming.

“He won’t.” Feng Mian’s voice softened. “You have my word. When you return, you can tend to him.”

Chanming didn’t seem to like the sound of that, but he didn’t say anything. Zhi Ruo narrowed her eyes at him. “But he’s hurt.”

“Dragons heal fast.”

She peered down at the shivering child. Tears were stuck to his damp, blood-streaked cheeks, and the skin on his arms were no longer blistered and red. But still, she could feel the fearthrumming off his small body. She hugged him tightly, her eyes stinging with tears. He reminded her too much of herself, but no one had come to save her.

“He is terrified.”

“Yes, he is, and if you don’t leave him,” Chanming snapped, “then once he comes to his senses, he’ll bite you too. Release my dragon,now.”

She hesitated, looking between him and Feng Mian. Both of them were tense, their shoulders pulled taut and their expressions grim.

“Do you think you are the first to try to show him kindness?” Chanming finally said, dark eyes narrowing to slits as he appraised her. He crossed his muscled arms over his chest, the black leathers rippling against his form. “You are not the first, nor the last, whose hand he has bitten. Do not think a beast has a heart, Zhi.” He glanced at Feng Mian when he said the last part, and then turned his sharpened gaze back at her. “You will only be hurt in the end.”

“Zhi, please step away from him.” Shadows swirled on Feng Mian’s hand. “Hewillhurt you.”

“Stop, Feng Mian.” Horror seeped into her tone.

“Zhi. Step away.”

“No.”

Tension filled the space between them, and Zhi Ruo’s magic continued to twirl protectively around herself. Feng Mian’s mouth pursed together into a firm line, and Chanming looked ready to blast them with another attack, his hands twitching in annoyance.

Finally, Chanming bit out, “Come here, Zhi. We have to discuss your future. You have my word that I will not harm the dragon-child. After we’re done talking, you may even … spend time with it. Is that a good compromise?”

She licked her lips. It sounded reasonable, but a part of her didn’t trust Chanming to keep his promise.

“Zhi.” It was Feng Mian, a pleading quality in his words.

She nodded slowly. “All right.”

He held his hand out to her. “Release him, now. Slowly, so you don’t startle him.”

Zhi Ruo didn’t want to leave him behind. Some sort of protective instinct had overtaken her senses, making her want to stay with him and soothe his healed wounds. Even if he wasn’t physically hurt anymore, she could tell the mental damage had taken a toll; how much longer would he stay within this war camp, hauled around like a prisoner, punished any time he lashed out?

It was unnatural, this connection she had with the child. Like she would die for him if it came down to it. She shivered at the cold realization; that was probably what prompted her to take Feng Mian’s hand and rise to her feet. The shock and confusion played on her face as she stared at the dragon-child, who curled up on the ground and sniveled softly.

There was a strange pull toward him. Her magic wanted to connect to him, to comfort him, and it disturbed her. Were these her true feelings, or was she … drawn to him through magic?

Zhi Ruo cast those thoughts away as Feng Mian lead her further away from the creature. It wasn’t until they were out of the dragon’s reach and marching through the snow toward one of the tents that Feng Mian’s shoulders eased. Tension thickened the air between the three of them.

Chanming entered the tent first, and Feng Mian hesitated at the entrance, his grip on her palm shifting. “Don’t anger him,” he murmured. “He is … unhappy.”

“I can see that.”

“You need to obey him while you’re here.” He winced as the words came out, probably realizing how terrible it sounded. Shewas a princess; she didn’t need to obey Chanming, but … her survival depended on it.

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