Page 16 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

16

When they were done, their breaths came in labored, a sheen of sweat covering them both. He collapsed beside Zhi Ruo, one arm lazily wrapping over her stomach and yanking her close to him. He nuzzled the side of her head, his breath warming her neck.

She stared up at the ceiling, at the cracks of old age lining the wood. She tried to calm the racing of her own heart, but something seized her chest tightly, squeezing painfully. Pressure built in the back of her eyes. She exhaled slowly, letting her breaths shudder out of her in controlled paces; she didn’t want to cry. She couldn’t cry in front of him, even though … even though he had seen her cry before. Even though they had just been intimate. He had seen her vulnerable, before. Just now, too. But … But even as she tried to reason with herself, her face crumpled.

Calm down, calm down , she tried again. What will he think if he sees you crying? Stop it.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and began breathing through her nose, but that did little to ease the tension cording through her neck, tightening her chest. A strangled sob escaped from her mouth, and she bit down on her lips. Too late.

Feng Mian stilled beside her. “Princess?”

That only made her sob harder. She curled against his body.

“Did I hurt you?”

He touched her cheeks with warm, gentle hands, his fingers brushing over the tears. His eyebrows tugged together quizzically, a look of panic flashing over his face. He tried to sit upright, to examine her, perhaps, but she only huddled closer to him. She clawed onto his chest, hugging him closer to her shivering body.

“Princess? Why are you crying?”

“I … I don’t know,” she whisper-cried. The popping and cracking of the fire seemed louder to her, and she tried to focus on anything but him. “I just feel … I don’t even know.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry—” he started, but she clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t,” she said through the tears. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong, I just … I just feel overwhelmed.”

He held her tightly while she wept, until all her tears were dried and they both just laid there. Feng Mian wrapped the thin blanket over her body at some point, and she pressed herself closer to him. The howling winds sprayed snow against the window, the ambience steadily becoming cozy once more. Zhi Ruo closed her eyes. She was in love, she had already known that, but it was only now that she realized how deeply she had fallen.

Once her tears dried up and her body stopped convulsing with sobs, Feng Mian began tracing her back slowly, his nails grazing over her flesh sensually. She shuddered under his touch, closing her eyes. He probably didn’t even realize what he did to her—what every small action did to the pit of her stomach. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered what they had just done.

“Did I hurt you?” Feng Mian asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said, and it was the truth.

“Then …?”

She couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to answer.

She fiddled with the end of the threadbare blanket, her fingers looping around the frayed edges.

“Was it your first time?”

Zhi Ruo dropped the blanket onto her lap, her mouth parting and her eyes widening. If she had been intimate with anyone else before, Father would have punished her severely. She was a princess, and even someone disfavored like her was supposed to act accordingly. She was still a royal.

“I … Of course .” She clenched her teeth together, her cheeks blooming with color. “And you ?”

The corner of Feng Mian’s mouth curled and he raised his hands. “No need to be so angry, Princess. I was only asking.” He moved away from her and she admired the muscles rippling on his back and thighs. Even malnourished, he was massive. She could only imagine what he looked like when he was healthy.

He returned to her side with a wet rag. Wordlessly, he plucked the blanket off her body and cleaned the smear of blood on her thighs. She shivered at the sudden coldness of the dripping cloth.

“The water cooled,” he said, a hint of an apology lacing his words. When he was done, he tossed the cloth back into the pot of water. He grabbed his blood-stiffened, grimy pants and dunked them in the pot of chilled water. He tossed his tunic inside too, the water instantly turning murky and reddish brown.

Zhi Ruo watched, fascinated. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning these rags,” he said gruffly, crouching beneath it on his heels.

“Why?”

He smirked, and a shiver ran down her spine—though it wasn’t from the cold. “Would you rather I remain naked?”

Zhi Ruo rolled her eyes, and remembered that he couldn’t see it, so she muttered, “No.”

Her smile faded as he began scrubbing the clothes, magic bursting from his fingers and swirling over the material. Minutes passed as he meticulously cleaned them, tossed the water out the door, packed snow into the pot, heated it, and began cleaning again. He kept repeating the process until the water came out clear, and his clothes were mostly clean.

He was doing this to keep her mind off whatever had made her cry, she realized. Pulling the blanket up over her breasts, she curled into a ball and watched as white wisps twirled around the material in the pot. The fire in the hearth blazed brighter, hotter, and then dimmed. Feng Mian snapped the clothes in front of him and Zhi Ruo expected a spatter of water to spray out, but it didn’t. They were dry.

Jamming one leg into the pants, he balanced himself before sticking his other leg in. “Are you still watching?”

“No,” she lied, staring down at her toes. They barely peeked out of the edge of the blanket.

He tied the drawstrings of his pants, his fingers moving deftly. He didn’t meet her gaze—though, truly, he never did—but this time, it seemed like he was avoiding her. “Tell me the truth. Did I hurt you?”

She kept her chin on her knees, her voice soft. “No.”

“Princess.” He didn’t bother putting his tunic back on; the pants hung low to his hips, and she stared at his abdomen, his chest, and the bulging muscles filling out his tall frame. Scars, old and new, littered his pale body. They were mostly hidden by the black streaks of the curse running over his flesh. She wanted to run her fingers over his chest once more, feel the excited thrill that ran through her own body. But his solemn tone brought her back to that moment, and she stared down at the floor again.

“ Princess …”

“I didn’t think anyone would ever love me,” she finally blurted out. She hugged herself tighter, hating that she had admitted it out loud. “And I’m not saying that you do, but … but I think I was just overwhelmed with all of this. About how … you take care of me. About being stuck here, about … you witnessing …” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak.

He padded his way toward her and lowered himself until he was at her level. He rocked back on the balls of his feet, crouching low. His hair streamed down his shoulders and when he grasped her face, she flinched at the contact.

“Witnessing what ?”

Zhi Ruo couldn’t speak. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Princess, I am blind, remember?” His silver eyes flashed with something lethal, and it reminded her of the look on his face before he had murdered those Kadians a few days ago. Or the feral expression before he had fought those men in their cell on their first meeting. But he seemed to keep it at bay, his voice softening. “You never need to feel ugly in front of me.”

Her throat constricted tightly and she heaved out a strangled breath that was a mixture of a sob, and a groan. She hated the shame that wound itself tightly in the core of her stomach.

“Princess. Zhi Ruo .” Feng Mian leaned over, pulled at the blanket draped over her, and brushed a gentle hand over the scars marring the flesh of her back.

She stiffened in response, the frigid air brushing against the crisscrossing marks.

“You mean this?” he asked.

She pressed her trembling lips together. “Yes.”

“I have scars, too. You must have felt and seen them. You know I would never care for such superficial things, yes?” Feng Mian wiped her tears with his thumb, cupping her face in the next second. There was a sudden shift in his expression, the calm and gentleness fading away to reveal a beast baring its fangs. “Someone hurt you.”

She nodded.

“Who?” A single word and she could read the promise behind it.

Zhi Ruo hesitated, unsure of whether or not she wanted to revisit the past. The messy, terrible feelings associated with her scars. Or the embarrassment of it all.

“Are you protecting them?” His white eyebrows pulled together.

“No, no .” She turned to him, horrified. “Of course not.”

“Give me a name and I will kill him,” he said quietly, though she didn’t miss the edge in his voice.

“There is not a single name.”

He canted his head to the side slowly.

Zhi Ruo hugged her arms to her body even tighter than before. She didn’t want to think about it, but the memories were already flooding her. She hated that they were ruining this beautiful moment between them both; she was supposed to be overcome with joy right now, not thinking of the brutality Father and his court had forced upon her.

“My father whipped me,” she finally said, the words coming out from a tight throat. Pain laced her tone and she tightened her grip on her elbows. The feel of the leather whip splitting against her flesh had her stiffening all over again, waiting for the phantom strike.

Feng Mian placed a warm hand on her back, and she flinched from the contact, only to be grounded once more. Reminded that he was here, and they weren’t.

“He didn’t do it himself, of course. He had someone to do it to me, in front of … his entire court.”

Nausea curdled her stomach and she squeezed her eyes shut. The words streamed out of her distantly, like she wasn’t the one saying them. Like it was a story that didn’t belong to her.

“Six years ago, Father was having a party for Ying Yue. It was a huge celebration, as it is every year. She gave me some jewelry to wear in the pretense of wanting me to look like a princess alongside her. I … I was so very stupid, Feng Mian. I knew Ying Yue was a snake, and I knew she didn’t care for me at all, but a part of me wanted to be accepted by her. A part of me wanted to believe that she truly was turning another leaf and that maybe … just maybe, everyone could love me too. Maybe if I dressed nicely, or had nice jewelry, they would think I was just like her.

“But that’s not what happened. I wore the jewelry she gave me and, and it was stunning . Shiny gold, with clusters of jade along the headpiece, and matching hairpins. I looked beautiful, for once. And I felt it too. And … And then I arrived at the party, and everyone was staring at me. I thought that this is what it must feel like being the center of attention, feeling like Ying Yue. But I had no idea that everyone was … was waiting.”

Her lower lip trembled and she shivered. She was in that moment once again. Standing in Father’s hall, dressed in those heavy jewels, smiling at the guests. She still remembered their faces. Horrified, shocked, uneasy. She had mistaken it all for admiration and confusion over her makeover; she had thought they were surprised at how beautiful she could also look.

“Empress Fung walked over to me and slapped me,” Zhi Ruo said numbly. She tried to distract herself by staring into the fire, watching the flames curl and sputter, but her mind wasn’t here. It was there—in Father’s hall. “And then she started screaming at me, hitting me, kicking me, lashing out at me. I didn’t know what was happening. Nobody tried to stop her, they just watched. And then she started pulling my hair, yanking the jewelry out, and screamed that I was a thief.”

Ying Yue’s face flashed in her mind. The way she had giggled behind her hand-fan, how she had turned to her friends and pointed at her, all of them laughing.

“Apparently, it all belonged to the empress. Ying Yue had stolen them and gifted them to me, only for me to … make a fool out of myself. Everyone started calling me a thief, and Father … Father was so furious. I told them that Ying Yue had given the jewelry to me, but nobody believed me. They thought I was trying to push the blame onto someone innocent. And then Ying Yue started crying, and everyone was worried about her . Nobody cared—” Nobody cared about me . That was her life. She continued, “Father ordered his men to strip me down to my waist and?—”

She pressed her palms to her eyes, her breaths coming through serrated lungs. She couldn’t even feel Feng Mian’s arms go around her, not even when he pulled her into his lap and tucked her head against his chest. All she could hear and feel was the whip crackling the air and snapping over her flesh. The taste of her salty tears and snot washing over every part of her face. The humiliation was burned into her that night; she could remember their stares. The way the guards had laughed at her when they dragged her back to her room, her blood smearing against the polished floors. How the concubines had crinkled their noses at her. How Father’s cruel, black eyes had peered down at her like she was filth.

“Everyone started calling me wicked from that moment on. A liar and a thief. The worst of the worst,” she finished, hating the way her voice shook. “Father was too disgusted to look at me for months afterwards. He told me that … that if I wasn’t his blood, that he would have had me killed, and that I should be grateful that this was the only punishment I was receiving.”

She felt nauseous all over again, her body remembering the pain; she wasn’t sure what had been worse. The actual pain itself, the humiliation of being stripped down and tortured in front of Father’s court, or that fact that nobody had believed her. She continued to tremble, unable to shake the images from her mind.

Feng Mian cupped her cheeks with both hands, swiping the tears with his thumbs in slow motions. “Princess, do you plan to do anything?”

For a moment, confusion played over her face. Do something? She had just told him her most haunting memory, and he wanted her to do something? Do what? If she’d had the power to do something, then she would have done it a long time ago. She didn’t have a choice when it came to any of this. She wasn’t more powerful than Father, or Empress Fung, or Lady Ning, or Ying Yue, or anyone else in Father’s court.

“Feng Mian.” She resisted the urge to shove his hands away and curl into a ball. “What can I do against my father? Nothing, truly.”

“No, you can. Remember—you’re powerful.”

Her forehead crinkled. “No, I’m not?—”

“You are.” He held her face tighter, peering down at her like he could actually see her. “You are powerful .”

A shiver ran down her spine and she averted her gaze. It was treason to even think about being more powerful than the emperor; if Father heard about this … She didn’t want to think about what he would do with her. He already barely tolerated her presence. “I … I can’t.”

“You can.” Feng Mian released her face and grasped a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers slowly. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it, silver eyes darkening with need. “I witnessed a glimpse of it at the Kadian camp. You unleashed so much power and killed all those people. I don’t think you realize how much raw energy it takes to do that.”

She shifted on his lap; the fire continued to sputter and flicker, and yet it did nothing to warm her chilled body. The blanket felt thin and flimsy all of a sudden, and she quickly pulled it up over her chest. “It’s only because I had your power,” she whispered. It was already taboo enough that she was wielding magic—something no woman was allowed to do—but hearing this … It was too much. She could already imagine what Wanqing would say to her, a sneer on her brother’s face.

You will always be a weak, pathetic thing .

She wasn’t sure if it was Wanqing’s voice or her own that said that to her, echoing louder and louder.

But Wanqing was dead, she reminded herself. With a dagger buried between his brows.

“My magic helped you, yes, but you could only have achieved that if you were already blessed with power. You could achieve what I could never.” Feng Mian tucked the strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her jawline. “My power costs me my life, because I lack talent. My body is not suited for magic. I cannot spread destruction without destroying myself, but you … your body is meant to hold power. You can unleash so much darkness into this world, Zhi Ruo.”

She tried to move away from him, uneasy with the turn of their conversation, but he pulled her closer to him. Their foreheads touched, and she was aware of his hands splayed on her bare hips.

“If you don’t kill them, I will,” he murmured, warm breath fanning over her face. “Each and every one who caused you pain—I will make them beg for mercy.”

“You—” Her mouth trembled. “You cannot speak of my father that way. He could have you killed for that. It’s—it’s treason .” Fear and panic twisted her belly and she quickly glanced around the room, as if Father could hear them this far away.

“I don’t care,” he snarled, eyes glowing like the sharpened edge of a silver blade. “Your father. Your sister. The entire court. I will murder them all.”

“ Feng Mian .” She placed her hands on his chest, the blanket slipping between them both. She shivered as a blast of howling wind sent a shudder over the door, the frigid air seeping through the cracks. “Please … don’t talk like that.”

He shifted her on his lap and pressed his soft mouth on her neck, breathing in her scent. “I will kill anyone who dares to hurt you, Princess.”

She swallowed down the apprehension clawing up her throat. She tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck, careful not to touch the padded wound on his shoulder. “Are you most comfortable when you think you are a loveless monster? Bred to kill and murder?”

Feng Mian lifted a brow. “Killing and murder is practically the same thing.”

She ignored the snarky comment and slapped his chest lightly. “You will kill all my enemies, but it is too much for you to live for me?”

His earlier words rang in her mind. I am a monster bred for battle, Princess. I would not make a good husband for you. Nor a good lover, nor a good … anything. He wanted to fight and kill, content with being a short-lived warrior. She hated that he felt that way; that his life had no meaning other than battle and war.

Feng Mian’s body went still under her, and his jaw locked together tightly. “Princess …”

“You speak like you are a monster, but you aren’t.” She exhaled, her gaze searching his face for any hint of vulnerability, of believing her, but there was only stout determination straightening his brow. “I will kill my own enemies, Feng Mian. I don’t need you to die for me.”

He tightened his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “You will be the death of me,” he murmured, eyes closing. This time, however, she wasn’t sure if he was listening to her words. “You want me to live, but that is not an easy task for a beast whose power is to corrode everything his magic touches. I was born for this—don’t you see? To fight, to kill—” He kissed her ear softly, inhaling her scent once more. “—and to fuck you.”

A flush spread over her body, her toes curling. “Feng Mian, I’m serious?—”

“And so am I.” His mouth found hers again, and whatever protest was on her lips died off. Whatever thoughts she had, too, vanished as she kissed him back, her hands pressing over his chest.

They would talk about this tomorrow, she told herself. When they were back on track to flee from Wyer, when they were allowed to fall into the routine of running, then she would talk to him. Right now, though, she wanted a reprieve from it all.

She bit back a moan. “ Feng Mian .”

Between his kisses, he murmured her name, over and over.

Tomorrow, she promised. Tomorrow .