Page 2 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

2

Zhi Ruo hated feeling so small in a room filled with Father’s nobles. Everyone mingled within their small groups and conversed with one another. They ate at the tables clustered around the grand hall, their hands sticky with honeyed rice-cakes and powdery cookies. At the center of the hall, dozens of dancers dressed in red robes moved in unison, their bodies undulating to the sound of the music. They wove a tale together with their movements. Zhi Ruo hung to the back, alone and watching with barely concealed sorrow. She wanted to join the groups of people, wanted to talk to the giggling girls around her age who batted their lashes at the young nobles. But she could only glue herself to the wall, hoping nobody noticed her.

Up on the gold-plated dais, Father sat on a throne of emerald-green and silver silks—the colors of the MuRong dynasty. He wore bright royal purple robes with silver accents, his hair-crown glinting with gold and his lined, handsome face carved severely with his usual upturned scowl. He always appeared like that, like nothing could ever satisfy him.

Lady Ning, Ying Yue’s mother, and two of Father’s youngest and newest concubines, whose names Zhi Ruo couldn’t remember, sat on a velvet couch beside his throne. Lady Ning fanned herself with a bejeweled silk fan as she peered down at everyone with narrowed eyes. A pink tinge covered her cheeks, showing through her powdery white makeup.

When her eyes met Zhi Ruo’s through the crowd, her red-painted lips curled into a vicious sneer. Zhi Ruo quickly averted her gaze, her heart racing unexpectedly. She didn’t want to be a target today.

She slipped through the crowds of people, hoping to disappear within the numbers, and headed toward the balcony doors, but even as she drew close to it, she couldn’t shake Lady Ning’s pointed glare. She had just touched the dragon-shaped handle of the balcony doors when her brother’s harsh and cutting voice called for her.

“ Zhi Ruo .”

Her spine stiffened and she could feel the crisscross scars on her back prickle. Slowly, she turned to him in rigid, jerky movements. Crown Prince Wanqing walked toward her, the crowds of people clearing a path for him. His long scarlet robes fluttered behind him with every forceful step. Ying Yue clung to his arm, her ever-present grin spread over her blush-rouged lips. A tiny blood-red lotus was drawn between her brows.

“I heard you cut the hand off of a noble yesterday,” Wanqing said, stopping a foot away from her. His dark gaze flicked to her hand, and then to the glass balcony doors, his eyes narrowing. “Trying to escape?”

“Of course not.” Zhi Ruo dropped her grip from the door handle and lowered herself to a bow. “Good evening, brother.”

Her legs trembled as she remained bowed down. Did he realize she had stolen his dagger? Her heart raced even faster. She didn’t want to imagine what he would do—what kind of rage he would fly into—if he realized she had taken something that belonged to him. She was grateful she had decided not to bring it with her tonight; the last thing she needed was for him to have proof of her crime.

But Wanqing only looked down at her in disgust. Not in rage. Just … revulsion.

That was good—he didn’t know, then.

“How much longer will you tarnish our royal name with your wicked acts of insolence?” His tone grew harsher with each syllable. “Have we not told you several times already that you must behave ?”

Ying Yue’s grin sharpened. She seemed to enjoy seeing Zhi Ruo bowed low in front of her, though it wasn’t for Ying Yue she was forced to lower herself, but for their brother.

“Rise,” Wanqing snapped, seeming to grow tired of her silence. “And explain yourself.”

Zhi Ruo straightened and placed her suddenly clammy hands on her thighs to keep them from trembling. She could see people in her peripheral vision watching and chuckling to themselves, no doubt entertained.

“I didn’t cut off his hand,” she said, finding her voice. Her words were nearly drowned by the loud music and the chatter of everyone deeper in the room. She shifted on her feet as Wanqing tilted his head to the side, his silver hair-crown gleaming under the orangey torchlights. “I cut his finger?—”

Her brother laughed cruelly, his eyes darkening. “Ah, you didn’t cut his hand off, but his finger . Oh, how that makes the situation so much better, dear sister.” Sarcasm dripped from his words like venom. He stepped closer, and she shrank back. “Should I remind you of your place? How dare you lift your hand against a noble. Have you learned nothing from the past? I explicitly told you, yesterday, that you are to behave .”

Zhi Ruo stared down at her feet, her cheeks blooming with heat as more people were drawn to this humiliating display.

“She doesn’t even hide it,” someone said with a short laugh. “What a terrible embarrassment.”

Ying Yue leaned her head against Wanqing’s shoulder. Two long, curling tendrils of hair framed her angelic face, and her red lips pulled back to reveal pearly teeth stained with hints of makeup. It reminded Zhi Ruo of blood, like the viper woman had drained someone’s life before choosing to hook her fangs into Zhi Ruo.

“Oh, come now, brother,” she murmured, her voice velvety and smooth. “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s already in for a shock tonight.”

Wanqing frowned, not seeming to like the idea of that.

Zhi Ruo raised her dark eyes to meet her half-sibling’s. Ying Yue smoothed down her pink skirts with her free hand, her small mouth only curving into a wider, nastier grin. It looked exactly like Lady Ning’s, and dread built in the pit of Zhi Ruo’s stomach.

“Father has decided who you will marry.” Ying Yue slowed her words, her smirk growing as Zhi Ruo inadvertently leaned forward to hear her answer. She was loving this, Zhi Ruo could tell. “Lord Chen.”

It was like a blow to the stomach. Zhi Ruo stumbled against the balcony doors, her hands splayed over the glass for support as she gasped. Lord Chen? The severely old, mean-spirited man? He already had two wives and countless concubines, all of whom sported bruises and broken bones every time Zhi Ruo came across them at parties. She didn’t want to associate with him at all, nor his horde of children, who behaved just as brutishly as he did.

She would marry him?

Her gaze cut over to the raised dais at the end of the grand hall, where Lady Ning and the other concubines sat. The cruel woman continued to fan her face, her wicked grin intact. So that was why she was so happy. She had likely had a hand in this, Zhi Ruo realized with a sinking heart.

Wanqing’s eyes turned to slits as he assessed Zhi Ruo. “You don’t look pleased, Zhi Ruo. This is a happy occasion and you should rejoice that Father chose a husband for you himself. If he had wanted to, he could have left you to rot in this palace, continuing to be a scourge within these royal walls.”

“I … I am happy, brother.” Her voice quivered with the lie. Her throat felt thick and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Don’t cry.

“Then don’t look so glum,” Ying Yue said in a singsong voice. “Be merry, and dance at this wondrous, virtuous occasion, dear sister.”

Her chest tightened and she found it hard to breathe. More people were staring at her, and she wasn’t sure if they were laughing at her. The faces morphed, their grinning, leering faces blending into one as Zhi Ruo stood against the balcony doors, her heart stuck in her throat.

“You will have to excuse me,” she found herself whispering as she pushed away from them. She heard her brother snap something from behind her, but she could barely hear it over her own beating heart. She wove her way through the crowds. She needed a way out of here. Somewhere where she could be alone and calm herself.

Lord Chen, of all people? Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep from sobbing in front of all these people. She had thought she would marry someone suitable. Someone who had little influence in court, but who she could make a quiet life with, at least.

But Lady Ning, Empress Fung, the other concubines, and Father would never grant her that, she realized with a start. Her whole world seemed to be spinning.

She bumped into something hard, and staggered back on leaden feet. She rubbed her nose and looked up to find General Zheng staring down at her with an impassive expression on his grim face. A jolt ran through her body and she quickly lowered her head in apology.

“I—I apologize, General. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The words came out rehearsed, detached from her true feelings, and void of emotion. She always had an apology ready for members of Father’s court who held high positions. General Zheng was Father’s most trusted vassal and the head of the influential, wealthy, and powerful Zheng family. She had always been wary around him; he was too serious and there was something nasty lingering within his dark, hateful eyes. It didn’t help that he usually gawked at her like she was less than dirt.

Even now, the corner of his lip bent into a half-sneer, before he composed himself to indifference.

“Careful, Your Highness ,” he muttered, gazing off at someone in the distance, and then back at her. “Excuse me.”

She hated how he always spoke like he was mocking her. It wasn’t just him, but everyone seemed to speak to her like that. A simple Your Highness or Princess morphed into a taunt. There was no respect when they spoke her title. Only ridicule.

General Zheng brushed passed her and she was left feeling utterly pathetic once more. She bunched her hands over her bright yellow dress, the material crinkling under her vise-like grip, and pursed her lips together into a firm line to keep from bursting into tears. The stares prickled under her skin, and she swore she heard people laughing beneath their breaths.

An eruption of cheers jostled her from her thoughts and she snapped her head toward the noise. In the center of the hall, the performance had ended. The dancers’ chests heaved up and down, a sheen of sweat coating their skin as they all lowered themselves to the floor in front of her father.

Zhi Ruo exhaled shakily. She was grateful to not be in the spotlight anymore. Truthfully, she was done with this whole night, especially since she now knew she was going to marry. There was no other reason to stay here tonight. But she couldn’t just leave without greeting the emperor and empress, so she headed toward the platform where her father and his slew of women were seated.

She hated events like this. She hated how everyone made her feel. And she certainly hated the way people looked at her. In disgust. In derision. In entertainment.

The scars on her back began to prickle, a reminder of her naivety.

A reminder that she could never trust these vipers.

Her nails bit into the palms of her hands and she stopped short from the platform. There were two other nobles in front of her offering their greetings. She hung back, her head feeling heavy with the ornaments Liena had woven through her hair. She wore her long hair up in a tight style, with jade and gold-accented hairpins interwoven into a medium bun on the back of her head. A few strands framed her face, and she suddenly wished she could make her hair into a curtain so people would stop staring.

Her palms began to throb from how tightly she was pressing her nails into them, so she slowly flexed her fingers from behind the two nobles. They were speaking to her father, praising him and saying long-winded prayers about his wellbeing and his health. She tapped her feet impatiently, glancing over her shoulder at the throngs of people mingling in the dimly lit hall.

The smell of aromatic, garlicky food, burning incense, and woodsmoke pervaded the air. Her stomach grumbled and she breathed through her nose. She would have to ask Liena to send food to her room later tonight.

“Your Majesty, this is a wonderful display of—” one of the nobles rambled, bowing in front of her father once more.

Zhi Ruo tuned out the rest of his words and wished he would hurry up. Nobles always loved to flatter her father and it was actually expected of them to keep singing praises of him. All the false commendations and saccharine lies were thinly veiled behind hand rubbing, tight-lipped smiles, and crinkled, greedy eyes. She wondered, momentarily, if Father enjoyed the praise or he ever grew bored of it. Judging by his nonchalant expression, the stiffness of his face, and the perpetual sneer curling his lips, she assumed the latter.

She would never like to have people bowing down to her while speaking like that.

Finally, the two nobles lowered their heads again and shuffled out of the way. Zhi Ruo’s stomach twisted with apprehension like it always did whenever she was in her father’s presence and she stepped forward, nearly tripping on her skirt. She quickly dropped down to a bow, hoping nobody witnessed yet another embarrassing moment.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” Zhi Ruo said.

She could feel Father’s disinterested gaze linger on her for a moment, before shifting elsewhere. Bored, already.

Zhi Ruo tentatively raised her head, only to find Lady Ning fanning herself with her bejeweled fan and staring at her intently. The iridescent gems glowed in different shades of purple, orange, and yellow in the dim lighting.

“Zhi Ruo,” Lady Ning purred. “A pleasure and a surprise to see you here among all these festivities. A shame that you couldn’t behave for even one night. I heard, you know, what happened yesterday.” She clicked the fan shut and leaned forward, her bosom heaving in her skintight dress. The fabric fluttered down her legs in shades of silver and blue, like rippling water. “An awful shame for that poor, poor noble.” She clucked her tongue.

Lady Ning was Father’s favorite concubine and had been for the past twenty years. Zhi Ruo had heard rumors that Lady Ning was the one who had poisoned her mother when she was pregnant with her, and then again a decade later. She had succeeded the second time.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

Zhi Ruo ducked her chin close to her chest and let the loose strands of hair fall over her face. Her hands grew sweaty and her legs numb in the uncomfortable crouching position. “No, Lady Ning,” she all but whispered.

“Hm?” Lady Ning leaned forward even more, a delightful craze in her doe-like brown eyes—a trait she shared with her daughter, Ying Yue.

“I have nothing to say, Lady Ning.”

“You never have anything interesting to say, do you?” Lady Ning tsked loudly and snapped her hand fan open again. She was beautiful, with hair as black as midnight, skin as clear and pale as snow, and eyes as light as honey—but it was shocking how her features twisted harshly whenever she targeted Zhi Ruo.

The two other concubines sitting beside her giggled as they peered down at her from their position so high up.

“A beautiful dress choice,” one of the concubines said with another giggle. “It suits you.”

“How gaudy,” the other whisper-shouted to the other, pretending to be demure about it. They both sniggered again.

Zhi Ruo’s cheeks bloomed with heat and she kept her head low. In truth, she hadn’t decided on her wardrobe; all of her dresses were picked by Lady Ning and Empress Fung. The two ladies despised each other, but they seemed to have the same taste when it concerned Zhi Ruo, because they only dressed her in overly garish dresses that were ridiculously ornamental and had clashing colors. Lime greens and yellows, fuchsias and vermilions, bright oranges and browns—whatever combination was the most hideous, they ensured she received.

“How much longer are you going to stall?” Father snapped, finally turning to her. His mouth bowed into another scowl, this time deeper than usual, and the lines around his lips and cheeks pulled taut in displeasure.

“Apologies, Father,” she said quickly, bowing again.

She could hear the nobles lined up behind her tut their tongues and murmur; she didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that they were rolling their eyes or showing their impatience. She made way to leave, but Father’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Ah, wait.”

She jerkily turned to face him again. What now?

“I have found a suitable match for you. Lord Chen.” He reached forward and took a drink from a servant who stooped low in front of him with a platter of tea, assorted nuts, and fresh fruits. He sipped the drink, not even bothering to watch her. “He’ll marry you in a week’s time. Behave yourself until then.”

Zhi Ruo’s stomach coiled into a tighter knot and her limbs grew loose as she lowered her head. Hearing him say it out loud further cemented her fate; a fate twisted in misery and despair. She didn’t want to fall into the arms of an old, decrepit, heartless man.

“Rejoice, dear!” Lady Ning flashed a toothy grin. “We’ve found use for you yet!”

A chorus of laughter bubbled around the dais, and even Father snorted a chuckle at that. The servant shuffled over to Lady Ning and the concubines and offered them the platter, which they took the drinks from without even glancing at him.

Zhi Ruo bit her bottom lip to keep her strangled sob at bay. The pressure in the back of her eyes built, but she refused to cry in front of these people. She refused to let them see how much they beat down on her.

She had just spun on her heels to leave when a shrill, earsplitting shriek erupted in the hall. She whipped her head in the direction of it, only for another scream to break out. Soon, a cacophony of screams filled the hall.

Movement exploded all around her. Men garbed in black with gleaming swords crowded the hall in seconds, their faces masked, and their movements quick as they wove through the masses. Nobles pushed and shoved, trying desperately to escape. Blasts of green fire shot overhead, burning the MuRong banners and ribbons.

Father jumped to his feet; all the color drained from his face, and he shouted, “G-Guards! My guards, in formation, now !”

Zhi Ruo froze in place, her gaze skating from the veiled intruders to the burning banners and then to the chaos surrounding her. This couldn’t be real. Intruders within the palace? There was no way people could infiltrate this deep. There was no way?—

Someone shoved into her shoulder as they ran, and she staggered to the floor, her knees buckling over the cold polished wood. It snapped her out of her reverie. She pushed herself up to her feet, but another person barreled into her, spinning her back to the floor. Her heart raced, her body trembling.

Where were her guards?

She raised her head in time to see Ying Yue and Wanqing huddled close together, two guards circling them protectively as they fought off three masked intruders. Wanqing clutched his arm; blood bloomed over his torn robes. She had never seen such frightened expressions on her siblings’ faces.

One of the assassins threw something that flashed. One second Wanqing was standing beside Ying Yue, and the next he collapsed on the floor. The hilt of a dagger was buried in his forehead. Dark blood bathed his face in seconds, dripping down his head and pooling on the floor. The hem of Ying Yue’s soft pink skirt was immediately drenched in his blood.

Her sister’s mouth dropped into an O, her eyes staring at the corpse.

Wanqing … her brother … was now … dead ?

Zhi Ruo tried to rise again, but one of the screaming concubines jumped off the dais and tripped over her bent body. The woman stumbled, rolled, and tried scrambling to her feet, but one of the intruders was in front of her in a split second. Zhi Ruo watched in horror as the man sliced his sword through the air.

Zing .

The concubine’s head bounced on the floor, her mouth agape, tears still clinging to her lashes and streaks of blood following the wake of her rolling.

Zhi Ruo clamped over her mouth with trembling hands.

This couldn’t be happening .

The woman’s severed head landed a few feet away from Zhi Ruo’s feet. A scream released from her throat and she fell on her rear, scrambling backward on her hands. The woman’s eyes, which had been alight with glee ten minutes ago, were now glassy and transfixed on Zhi Ruo.

Her hands slipped on sticky, hot blood and her elbows gave out beneath her, causing her to fall flat on her back. On the ceiling, the banners of silver and emerald-green were up in flames, sparks and ash crumbling into the smoky, fogged room.

Zhi Ruo flipped on her stomach and pushed herself to her feet. The discord of screams continued to clash in the background. Her hair had fallen out of its elaborate updo.

“H-help!” she shouted, turning her head toward the royal guards who were pushing past guests. “Someone?—”

Her scream was stuck in her throat and time slowed as one of the intruders lurched onto the dais where Father was, a sword glinting silver in his hand, and sank the blade into his stomach. Father coughed, blood trickling down the sides of his mouth. Blood darkened his purple robes, making them appear black. The assassin yanked the blade back and was about to jab again, when a royal guard tackled him off the platform, landing a few feet away from Zhi Ruo.

Father crumpled on the stage, his fingers splayed over his stomach as blood gushed from the wound. Zhi Ruo turned jerkily to the royal guard and assassin rolling on the floor beside her. The guard jammed a short knife into the assassin’s throat and pulled back; blood sprayed immediately, and Zhi Ruo inhaled sharply as it splattered over her face.

Her legs buckled and she fell to the floor. Fear paralyzed her, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the numbing sensation spreading over her chest.

It was like a nightmare was unfolding around her, but no matter how many times she pinched her arm, she couldn’t wake.

The guard turned to her, then to her father, and then to Wanqing. His mouth hardened, something flickering in his gaze.

“Protect the princess!” he shouted at the other guards.

He lurched up to his feet. Through all the horror, a semblance of relief amalgamated in her chest and she tried standing again. It was the push she needed to jolt her into action. She would be protected; this guard and the other royal guards would defend her. She could somehow escape this macabre scene with their help.

But just as she was thinking that, the guard ran past her and all the other guards in the vicinity formed a semi-circle around Ying Yue. They all drew their swords, fighting off the blades of the assassins.

“Protect the princess!” one of the guards shouted again.

It was like a slap to the face. Zhi Ruo inhaled sharply, reeling backward. They weren’t protecting her at all, but were all up in arms for her perfect sister. Something cracked within her that moment, spreading all over her chest like spidery webs. The pain was too much, each inhale feeling like she was breathing fire.

She wasn’t going to die here.

She refused to die.

It was all she needed to spur her forward.

Nobody here would protect her. Nobody here would fight for her. So she needed to do it herself.

She had only taken a dozen steps before she came face to face with an assassin. The man’s sword rose high above his head and Zhi Ruo barely jerked to the side in time. She tripped over her clumsy, leaden legs, and buckled to the floor. The weapon bit into the wood beside her leg, catching the hem of her dress and tearing it.

A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat as she crawled on her hands and knees away from the man. Just then, a steel-toed boot connected with her temple and her face cracked against the floor. Her vision swam with inky blotches of darkness, flickering for a second, before her world was swamped in black.