Page 27 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

27

Right when Wyer was about to stab her, a wave of fire shot in his direction. He released her and raised his hands, a shield of shadows protecting him. Zhi Ruo stumbled back as the dragon continued breathing flames at Wyer. She scrambled backward, putting more distance between them, as the relentless heat slammed into him. It singed the hair on her arms, and her face grew hot and cold at the same time. Her heart pounded, the blood rushing to her ears.

He’d almost killed her .

She willed her magic forward, but she couldn’t remember how to use it outside of rageful moments; it was only instinctively that she used it, and now that panic was rising, she couldn’t even remember how to call it.

Wyer growled, and shadow whips rose from the ground and wrapped around the dragon. Zhi Ruo raised her hands, trying to send her own magic to seize Wyer, but she was too slow. The dragon screamed as the shadows threw him to the side. He rolled on the ground several times before slamming into a heap of cargo, where he lay motionless.

“No!” Zhi Ruo screamed, taking a step toward him, but Wyer shifted his attention back to her in that same second. A black ribbon smashed right into her, sending her hurtling back. Pain exploded in her abdomen and her vision darkened as she spun on the ground rapidly. She blinked back, tasting blood in her mouth. She had rolled onto the packed snow, her face inches away from a hunk of charcoal that had likely been a body at some point, before the dragon had incinerated it, and a fresh, pulpy stain on the snow.

Her body felt numb, cold, and painful. She realized she had to get up and fight, but her body wouldn’t move. Her eyelids fluttered, nausea and fear clawing up her throat. She didn’t even know what had hit her. Was it his new, ghoulish, shadow magic? She felt weak from the attack, like it had leeched her magic. Was this similar to Feng Mian’s cursed magic? Her mind was becoming a jumbled, sluggish mess.

She needed to channel her hatred of the world into her body, into her magic; it was the only way she could protect herself, the only way she could fight off Wyer. But the more she tried to think of how unfair everything was, the more she was reminded of Feng Mian, his tender kisses, his gentle touch, and their beautiful moments together. It was hard to hate the world when she had him.

Wyer kicked her, hard, and she rolled onto her back with a sputtering, bloody cough. The sky was a gloomy, ashen, grayish blue. In seconds, Wyer’s cruel eyes came into view. Half of his face was covered in red blisters from the dragon’s fire, and he had lost his sword at some point.

He kicked her face, and her vision grew dark once more. He continued stomping, kicking, and shouting. Bursts of shadows followed his movements, strengthening him. She curled into a ball as his brutal kicks continued. She should have been dead. The attacks should have broken every bone in her body, but her magic seemed to be taking the brunt of it.

She didn’t understand anything. Why was her magic protecting her, and yet refusing to listen to her? Why couldn’t she go into a dark frenzy like she had last time? When she had killed dozens and dozens of soldiers and freed herself? Why wasn’t her magic working ?

“ Zhi Ruo !” Feng Mian’s roar broke through her frantic thoughts. She peeled her eyes open—only to realize one of them was swollen shut—to find her beloved tackling Wyer to the ground, blackish shadows clashing with one another. They both fought each other violently, their magic flaring loudly with every strike.

She pushed herself up to her knees; her stomach lurched and she wanted to vomit. Blood and spit threaded from her mouth to the scarlet-tainted snow beneath her. She wiped her split lip with a trembling, numb hand. She could barely focus on Feng Mian and Wyer, who exchanged blows so fast she almost didn’t see them—or maybe that was because her world was spinning too fast for her to make sense of it all.

The dragon was still crumpled on the ground where he had fallen, but the slow twitching of his arms and legs told her that he was still alive, albeit injured. Her heart swelled for him, and then for the other Huo soldiers, more than half of whom struggled in battle.

She didn’t want to fight anymore. She wanted to lie back on the snow, close her eyes, and will everything away. She wanted to go back to the moments prior to this, when she was worried about other things, not about dying in battle against half-ghouls.

Feng Mian grunted as a green beam blasted him in the chest and sent him reeling back a few feet. Pain wracked over his face even as he threw up a shimmery barrier, which shoved Wyer away from him and put a distance between the two. It gave Feng Mian time to keel over and cough up thick globs of blood and spittle and vomit.

A shock rippled over her. She couldn’t allow her mind to wander. She had to assist Feng Mian in battle. She wasn’t a powerless princess anymore; she had tapped into her magic, had fought off dozens of Kadians, and had cursed energy within herself—she could fight off Wyer, too.

Especially if it meant saving Feng Mian. If it meant preserving a future for the both of them.

Those thoughts spurred her forward. Magic thrummed beneath the surface of her bruised skin, warming her down to her toes. She flexed her stiff fingers. Her knees wobbled against one another and her breathing was labored. Every breath made her aching ribs stab deeper into herself, and she wondered if they were cracked and spearing her flesh from within.

Her magic flared, dark and sinister, and she could feel Feng Mian’s cursed magic spreading over her chest, burrowing deep into her being. She didn’t have to look down to know that the curse was spreading over her. That those ugly, black veins were crawling over her wicked heart.

Dense, purplish-black waves burst from her hands and shot toward Wyer in writhing, dark ribbons across the snowy landscape. They met him in a split second, and he could barely turn toward them, his eyes wide in shock. They slammed into him, again and again, and Zhi Ruo made sure they cut into his flesh. She willed them to be colder than death itself, sharper than winter’s breath, and as merciless as sharp steel.

Wyer rose to his feet, his own magic blazing around him in swathes of shadows. Gashes formed in his black armor and he turned his hateful gaze to her.

“You think this will stop me?” he roared, raising his arms as more of his magic sprang around him. It fought her shadows, trying to dominate them. “I came back from the dead for you! Does that mean nothing to you? Do you think you can fight me with your mortal magic?”

Zhi Ruo could taste the iron in her mouth from when he had stomped on her face, and she wanted to spit on his face. “You are a pathetic human, Aemilius Wyer. Do you think being a half-ghoul changes anything? You were pathetic then, and now, and forevermore.”

The veins on his forehead pulsed and his sneer grew darker. Zhi Ruo’s magic slammed into him again like a tidal wave, drowning him completely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Feng Mian stumble toward her, and she resisted the urge to sprint to him. She couldn’t afford to let Wyer live right now, not when she was close to finishing him.

Blood dripped from her nose, but she didn’t pay it any heed. She allowed wave after wave of dark, twisting magic to roll over Wyer, to consume him, to rip his muscles apart. He tried, violently, to fight off against her shadows with his own, but hers were only multiplying, growing more than he could handle.

Her stomach caved in and so did her chest, something tightening over her heart, but she ignored it. Her body trembled, every muscle screaming at her to stop, and every fiber of her being pulling tauter.

It wasn’t enough.

Zhi Ruo let out a guttural scream, forcing all of her energy into tearing Wyer apart. He crashed to the ground, her shadows raking over his body and spilling fresh blood over the stamped snow. He shrieked as her magic ravenously attacked him, tearing out hair and muscles and sinew.

“Princess!” Feng Mian grabbed her arm, wrenching her to the side. “That’s enough!”

“No!” She tore away from his grip, her gaze never straying from Wyer’s. She wouldn’t be satisfied until he was dead— truly dead.

“He’s dying! It’s enough?—”

“No!”

“You’re cursing yourself! I can’t save you if it spreads too much!”

She already knew the curse was spreading rapidly over her chest; she could feel it with every beat of her heart. But didn’t matter at this point. It wasn’t enough to kill her, even though her body was reaching its limit.

Feng Mian released a frustrated growl and sprinted into the thicket of her shadowy magic. She opened her mouth to shout at him to stop, but her shadows didn’t attack him, as if they knew that he was hers, and that she could never hurt him. He passed through the thick fog of darkness until he stopped in front of Wyer’s thrashing body. She couldn’t help but follow behind him.

“Feng Mian—” Zhi Ruo began.

He drew his sword and glanced over in her direction, his silver hair billowing with the wintry winds and her own swelling magic.

“No!” Wyer shouted, ripping at the shadows wrapping over his limbs. His fingernails scoured deep into his skin, creating bloody gashes as he tried to rid himself of her darkness. “I came back from death for this! I am meant to conquer these lands! I am meant for greatness! I am not … I am not simply a peasant .” There was such vitriol in his voice, such arrogance, that it disgusted her.

“You are nothing more than scum,” Feng Mian snarled, leveling the blade at Wyer’s throat. “Your biggest mistake, stemming from your arrogance, was disrespecting my wife and thinking she is nothing more than a princess of this empire. She is much more than that, Wyer. She is truly meant for greatness, not someone as arrogant, thieving, and repulsive as you.”

In one fell swoop, he slid the sword over Wyer’s throat. Zhi Ruo watched as Wyer’s head rolled off his body, his pale eyes wide in horror and disbelief—like he truly couldn’t believe that he would ever be defeated. All at once, her shadows ripped at the remaining parts of his body. Without his resistance, the magic tore him to shreds in seconds, rendering him into thin ribbons that splashed over the snow in thick splatters.

With its target gone, her whirlwind of magic eased and disappeared altogether. She released a shuddered breath, all the energy leaving her body. Feng Mian rushed to her immediately, as if he knew she would collapse at any second. He grabbed her waist with one arm and she leaned into him, her body quaking.

“He’s dead,” she said with a sigh.

“The fight isn’t over.”

Zhi Ruo lifted her head to stare at their camp. He was right. Even though Wyer was dead, the Kadians and half-ghouls were still fighting just as relentlessly as before. Her heart sank; she had, rather foolishly, hoped that killing him would render them useless. That they would suddenly lose purpose.

“Stay close to me and let me take care of it,” he continued, his hold on her tightening. “I don’t want to lose you, and I know you’re at your limit.”

“I can still fight—” Her words were swallowed away by her sharp inhale. Feng Mian’s curse had spread up to his cheeks and thin, spidery veins covered his eyelid and stretched toward his forehead. “ No .”

He smiled slowly, sadly. “It’s all right. We’ll be fine.”

“No, no .” Zhi Ruo gripped the front of his armor, her chest rising and falling. Everything else drowned away as those ugly, raised black veins overtook her vision. The curse had spread too much; how much more magic did he have left in him before it completely consumed him? If she had to guess, maybe one or two attacks left. “Feng Mian, you can’t?—”

“We have to fight.” He grasped her cheek with one hand, his silver eyes softening. “I will protect you. Always .”

“No!” Her fingers clumsily spread over his. “Teach me how to absorb the curse like you did with me. Teach me!”

“No.” He gently pried her hands off his. “I could never do such a thing.”

“I can’t lose you,” she begged. “Please, Feng Mian?—”

“We don’t have time.” As if on cue, he raised a barrier as a half-ghoul flew above them and crashed into the shied. It screeched loudly, clawing at the magic, just as Feng Mian shoved it away with a beam of white light.

A strangled sob escaped her mouth and she squeezed her hands over his. The half-ghouls and Kadians were becoming more frenzied, as if killing their leader had prompted them to attack even more fiercely, and it only made her heart break—because it meant that Feng Mian would fight them to the end.

She couldn’t let that happen.

She would have to take them all on, she decided as she turned to her enemies.

She would rather dirty her own hands, have her own curse spread and corrupt her body, than lose Feng Mian.

An explosion behind them caught their attention and they both whirled around. Zhi Ruo could feel the pull of her dark magic in the pit of her stomach; her body ached and groaned, but her determination was steely. She raised her hands as bright, bluish light burst from the ground and slashed the Kadians in half. She blinked as Chanming shoved his way through the thickening half-ghouls. He wielded a sword made of blue light, appearing like glistening water as he hacked away at their enemies with ease. Blood caked half of his face, and there was a feral, lethal look about him.

“Feng Mian!” Chanming dug his sword into the chest of one of the half-ghouls, planted his foot on the writhing soldier’s chest, and yanked it out in one fluid motion. “Reinforcements are coming! Stay your ground and don’t use your cursed magic!”

When his eyes connected with hers, they widened, and a jolt of panic ran through her body in a split second. Her royal mark was visible since Wyer had ripped her sleeve. She quickly covered it with one hand, but it was too late. He had seen it.

Chanming ripped his gaze away from her and violently severed the head of a Kadian soldier. Her breath caught in her throat.

He knew .

Feng Mian cut down a half-ghoul Kadian that drew close to them, his sword cleaving the man’s dented armor. Zhi Ruo willed her magic forward, but her body trembled weakly and the edges of her vision darkened. She blinked away the fatigue, stumbling forward.

No. Not now .

She had to fight. She had to protect Feng Mian.

But even as she tried to pull magic from deep within herself, it was useless. A tremor ran through her limbs, and her arms were number than before. Every broken bone, bruise, and gash stung, ached, and throbbed at once. Nausea rolled over her body, and she wondered if the adrenaline rush was wearing off and she was now feeling the effects of battle.

She still had to fight. And even if they managed to survive this all, she had to deal with Chanming, because he knew who she was .

“Feng Mian!” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “He?—”

Something struck her on her stomach, and she flew back several feet, her surroundings becoming a blur of white and blue, and crashed onto the ground. Her head cracked against something hard, and she tasted iron. She could barely crack her eyes open. She doubled over on the ground, spewing vomit and blood, her breathing erratic. She could barely hear anything for a moment, a static numbness overcoming her senses.

Slowly, her surroundings came to her, as did the shouting.

“—what have you done?”

“You knew who she was!”

“She is my wife!”

“She is our enemy!”

She blinked up at the sky; one of her eyes was still swollen shut, but now the other was barely open and twitching too. She swallowed down the bile clawing up her throat. Everything hurt. Her stomach throbbed and she already knew there were welts across her flesh now, given how everything burned, but whatever had struck her had also electrified her whole body. Her limbs ached and the blast seemed to exacerbate every gash, bruise, and broken bone.

She had used up too much magic against Wyer, and now she was suffering the price of it.

“You dare raise your sword at me?”

“I won’t let you kill her.”

“We don’t have time for this, Feng Mian.” There was a warning in Chanming’s growling voice. “Lower your weapon.”

“I refuse.”

Zhi Ruo tried turning with great difficult, moaning in pain as ink-like blotches filled her vision. She nearly vomited when she finally managed to roll to one side. Her shoulder screamed in pain and she nearly passed out from the effort. Sweat dotted her forehead and she forced herself to stare ahead, to see what was happening.

Feng Mian and Chanming fought each other swiftly. Feng Mian’s shadowy sword collided with Chanming’s blue-lighted one, and the blasts caused the ground to reverberate and shockwaves to disrupt the snow. Even the half-ghouls kept their distance. Feng Mian’s face was a patchwork of black lines, his silver eyes flashing with determination and pain.

Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. He wouldn’t last the battle; she knew it deep in her heart. Chanming would kill him, and then he would kill her, too.

“Stop,” she protested weakly. “ Please .”

Neither of them listened to her—or maybe they couldn’t even hear her. She sounded weak and broken even to her own ears.

Zhi Ruo fixed her hands on the frozen earth and pushed herself up. She gasped, her trembling arms giving out beneath her, and fell back onto the packed snow. Pain radiated over her body, so intense that she cried out. It hurt. It hurt so badly, but what hurt more was knowing that Feng Mian was fighting for her, and she could do nothing to save him.

She forced herself again, trying and failing to move. She choked back a strangled sob. Feng Mian and Chanming continued fighting, their attacks growing more furious, more lethal as they both seemed to realize they would fight to the death over this matter.

“Just … kill me instead,” she croaked, clawing at the snow in futile attempts to right herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with her blood. “Please … spare him. Please .”

A stir of magic from behind made her stiffen. She turned her head just in time to find the dragon crouching beside her. The front of his threadbare clothes was drenched in dried blood, and the holes in his shirt revealed his black and silver scaled body. Blood was smeared over his chin and down his neck, but she doubted it was his. He tilted his head at her, the dark horns catching in the light and appearing silvery.

“Drakkon,” she murmured through her tears. “You’re alive.”

He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping the tear with his blood-streaked hands. His eyebrows pulled together. His childish face appeared so young in that moment as concern washed over him.

“He’s going to die,” she whispered, inhaling sharply as the words came out. Her face crumpled and she bit down on her lip to keep from weeping loudly. “ He’s going to die .”

He stared at her and then over at the two men fighting.

“I don’t want him to die. I love him too much.”

If only she was stronger. If only she had enough strength to get up. To fight .

She had never felt so utterly useless until that moment. She wished she had preserved her energy instead of spending it all against Wyer. She wished she could protect Feng Mian. She wished his curse didn’t spread as much as it did. And she wished she could do something. Anything to save him.

“Mama.”

Zhi Ruo blinked through her confusion, momentarily distracted as the dragon peered down at her. His lower lip stuck out, like he wanted to cry, or maybe he was saddened to see her distressed. She didn’t know what to think.

“Mama,” he repeated.

“I … I …” Words failed her. This wasn’t the time, or place, to think about what his words meant, or why he thought of her as a motherly figure. It didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t parse her own feelings, or his.

The dragon touched her forehead with a single claw. All at once, a tiny rush of energy pulsed through her body. The pain searing through her body dulled enough that she could move her limbs, if just barely. The small boost of energy was all she needed to push herself onto her knees. Her thighs, arms, and core trembled violently. But it was enough for her.

“You—You helped me?” She turned to him.

He flashed her a toothy, sharp grin. Even with the blood of their enemies staining his clothes, speckling his arms and face, he was adorable. And she would have embraced him fiercely if she had time, but instead she pushed herself onto wobbly legs and patted his horned head.

“Thank you. I’ll … be right back,” she whispered.

Zhi Ruo staggered toward Feng Mian and Chanming. Their fight was growing more intense, with beams of light and shadows soaring into the sky and blasting nearby tents and trees. But of the two, Feng Mian was becoming wearier, his movements slowing and his magic weakening. He seemed to be using non-cursed attacks, but it was weaker than his usual magic, and it was telling.

They both leaped away from one another, circling each other with their magic ready to attack.

Zhi Ruo took that moment to lurch into the space between them. Her own magic surged as she raised her hands at Chanming.

“Stop!” she shouted.

Chanming, who was about to deliver a blast of sapphire flames at Feng Mian, hesitated, his narrowed eyes zeroing in on her shadowy magic.

“You want me, so fight me —not him!”

His lip curled back and a hatred she had never seen before burned in his black eyes. “I have no mercy for those who betray me.”

“Spare him and fight me instead,” she repeated.

“Zhi Ruo, stay back!” Feng Mian tightened his hold on his shadowed sword. “Run as far away as you can!”

“No, I refuse?—”

Chanming flicked his wrist and a wave of flames shot in their direction. In seconds, she raised up her own magic, but for whatever reason, her shadows dispersed the second the blue flames touched them. Time slowed. Her eyes widened in shock. Her magic was usually strong enough to deflect attacks, but she was too fatigued. Her small spurt of energy wasn’t enough to fight him.

“Zhi Ruo!” Feng Mian’s body slammed into hers as he twirled her around until his back was against the blow. It happened so fast she couldn’t react. One second, she was staring at Chanming, and the next, Feng Mian’s arms were around her. The blast rocked them onto the ground. They both collapsed onto the snow. Black shadows burst from Feng Mian, cocooning them against Chanming.

The shadows blocked most of the light, but she could make out his face. She blinked up at him. He was on top of her, protecting her, and his magic wrapped around them both, hiding them from the real world. But it wouldn’t last, she knew that.

He grimaced in pain, his handsome features distorting. She could feel the heat from his back, the armor bloodied and hot. She tentatively wrapped shaking arms around his body.

They would both die like this, she realized with tears stinging her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so?—”

“ Shh .” He pushed himself onto his elbows, hissing in pain. He tried smiling, but it came out strained. The black lines on his face appeared more severe up close. “It’s all right. I’ll protect you.”

“Feng Mian …” She cried. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Princess .” His lips wavered. “I have never loved anyone like I love you. You are the light of my dark, dark world, Princess, and I will do everything in my power to protect that light of yours. Even becoming darkness.” He gently stroked her face, his silver eyes glistening for a second until he blinked.

“Feng Mian.” Her voice thickened with emotion.

“Reinforcements have come,” he whispered.

Her eyebrows came together. “What?”

“My father is here.”

“Your … General Zheng?”

“He will protect you. I sent for him.”

“Feng Mian, what are you saying?”

“I love you, Zhi Ruo. I will never stop loving you.” Feng Mian leaned forward and crashed his lips against hers. She stared up at him, wide eyed, and slowly kissed him back, relishing the moment. She pulled him tighter into her embrace. Their kiss was long and passionate, like it would be their last. Confusion played in the back of her mind at his words.

His father was here? Where? How? When?

Feng Mian wove his fingers through her hair, tilting her head up toward him. He kissed her hungrily, and she tasted blood on his lips. His other hand pressed against her breast—over her heart. In a split second, she could feel the dark energy pulling away from her and into him.

Her eyes grew wider.

He was absorbing her curse.

“S-Stop!” Zhi Ruo yanked back, slamming her head on the snow, but it was too late. Feng Mian removed his trembling hand. The curse coursed up his black veined arm, spreading up to his face in seconds. His pale flesh became more shadowed with darkness, the lines pulsing angrily. Blood spurted from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes, dripping down his cheeks like tears. He coughed wetly.

“No, no, no, no! What have you done?” she screamed, grasping his face tightly. Blood slipped through her fingers, hot and sticky. “Feng Mian! What have you done?”

“I was going to die soon, anyway.” He coughed again, the shadows surrounding them fading as his strength receded. He smiled down at her, blood splattering against her face. “At least … I can free you of this curse.”

“No! Feng Mian! Feng Mian!”

“Live a long life,” he murmured, his arms giving out on him as his body slammed into hers. “I love you, Princess Zhi Ruo.”

“Feng Mian! Feng Mian!” She screamed to the sky, clutching him tightly. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

“You are the light …” he whispered, “the light … of my dark … world, my love.”

“Feng Mian!”

She wept loudly, screaming at him to come back, but his body grew limp in her arms. He couldn’t be gone. He was probably unconscious. She couldn’t fathom a world where he was dead. She couldn’t imagine being without him. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t .

Someone grabbed Feng Mian’s shoulders and pulled him off her body. She shouted, snatching at his body, but someone was hauling her to her feet. Her gaze was trained on Feng Mian as she fought against the man holding her. She continued screaming as Feng Mian’s body was laid on the snow. His silver eyes were shut, and the curse writhed beneath his pale skin. He was beautiful, in every way.

She continued to scream and cry and shout, struggling to release herself from whoever was grasping her. Finally, someone slapped her, hard, and her face whipped to the side. Pain jolted over her, but she barely registered it.

“Get a hold of yourself, Your Highness.”

Zhi Ruo shakily lifted her head to find General Zheng standing in front of her. He was just as she remembered him. Dark haired, dark eyed, and with a permanent frown on his stoic face. A few feet away from him, Chanming laid unconscious on the ground. She blinked over at him, blearily, and then to the rest of the soldiers, who were fighting the Kadians and winning. It was like Feng Mian had said—the reinforcements had come.

But she didn’t care.

“Feng Mian,” she whimpered. “I need him?—”

“He is dead,” General Zheng said with a grimace, turning toward his son’s body. For a moment, she wondered if he was saddened by that, but her confusion quickly morphed into anger.

“You—You came too late!” Her voice came out shrill. “Save him! He … He can still be saved!”

He turned to her slowly, his expression hard. “Calm yourself, Your Highness.”

“Save him! You need to save?—”

He slapped her again and this time, she tasted blood. Her head hung low and the world spun again. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear open her chest so it would stop beating so loudly, so terribly.

“We will spare Li Chanming,” he said, though she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the man holding her. “He is a great force here in the border and we need him to fight off these Kadian scum. This defeat will likely spur him to do better, to become stronger. We need that from him.”

“ Feng Mian .” She choked on her sobs, staring over at her beloved. He looked peaceful lying there, his silvery-white hair covering his handsome face like a wreath.

“We can always assassinate him if he becomes too much trouble.”

“ Feng Mian .” Zhi Ruo squeezed her eyes shut, tears dripping down her face.

“Your Highness.” General Zheng grasped her chin and forced her to stare up at him. He looked almost nothing like Feng Mian. His face was too square, his jawline wasn’t as pronounced, and he had a meanness in his brow that was unlike his son’s. He was all hard lines and brutal strength. He narrowed those dark eyes at her. “Listen to me. Get a grip.”

“No,” she seethed. “My husband is d-dead! I can’t—I can’t?—”

“You need to calm yourself.”

“He’s dead! How can I be calm? The love of my life?—”

He slapped her again and this time, she spat at him, her anger spurring her forward. He reeled back, his hand going to his face in shock. He was likely used to her being the quiet, wicked princess who never said a word against anyone. He didn’t know the real her. The one Feng Mian loved.

“Let go of me! I need to be with him! Let me go!”

“We’re taking you away,” he snarled, wiping her spittle from his face with a gloved hand. In the background, half-ghouls shrieked as magical attacks incinerated them, and the clash of steel against steel rang loudly. “To the palace.”

“I don’t want to go back! Let me stay with?—”

“We cannot.”

She struggled against the soldier holding her, trying with all her might to kick and scratch at him, but it was useless. He was too strong, and she was too exhausted from using her magic.

“You will return to the palace for your crowning.”

Zhi Ruo stopped thrashing. The words slammed into her like icy water, jolting her system. She ripped her gaze away from Feng Mian and stared at General Zheng.

“What did you say?”

“Your father is on his death bed. Your sister is missing. You are the only royal left,” he sneered, like he hated to admit it.

Her vision began to blur, her head growing heavy with those words.

“No … That … that can’t be.” Her eyebrows came together. There had to be a mistake. There was no way … there was no way he was saying what she thought he was saying.

General Zheng lowered himself into a half-bow, his dark eyes flitting up to her like he hated to be lowering himself in front of her like this. But formality seemed to overtake his desire. She could read it on his face—he hated the idea of the wicked princess being anything other than a nuisance.

His voice came out sharp.

“You, Princess MuRong Zhi Ruo, are the next Empress of the Huo Empire.”