Page 8 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

8

Zhi Ruo and Feng Mian weren’t able to practice magic that day, because they both were hauled to their feet, and once again forced into the back of a wagon. This time, however, they were together and Zhi Ruo wasn’t stuffed inside a cage that was too small for her. Unfortunately, however, the old prisoner from earlier was cooped up in the same wagon as them.

They all sat on a bed of rough hay and horse feed, their hands and feet bound behind their backs. The front of Zhi Ruo’s cloak was undone and loose over her chest, and she noticed the Kadian soldiers glancing over at her full cleavage that was on display despite her best efforts to hide herself. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

The old man stared at her breasts unashamedly, a thin, sleazy grin curving his lips.

Zhi Ruo angled her body away from him. “Stop looking,” she snapped.

“It’s not my fault you’re dressed like a whore,” he said with a short cackle, his rotting, blackened teeth glinting in the harsh, bitter light. “It’s good for morale, don’t you think?”

“What are you even saying?” Zhi Ruo said in disgust. “Do you have no shame?”

“It’s not my fault,” he repeated, but then a darker look passed over him, something cruel glimmering in his beady, hooded eyes. “Besides, you should blame yourself. If you knew what was best for you, you would have killed yourself to preserve your dignity, and the dignity of your father and this empire! But you’re too proud and wicked to do such a selfless thing. Instead, you’d rather whore yourself out to these Kadians!”

The color drained from her face and she reeled back until she hit the edge of the wagon. It was true that most women might have done such a thing to keep their honor intact, but it was nothing she had ever considered.

The thundering sound of the wagon wheels crashing over ice, snow, rocks, and pebbles was almost deafening. One tumble and she’d be fatally injured.

Was … was Father expecting her to do the same? The thought sent another tremble over her body.

“Stop looking at her,” Feng Mian snapped, glaring in the old man’s direction. “Keep talking and?—”

“You’ll what? Toss me off the wagon?” The old man chortled loudly. “Good luck with that! Bound as we are, you can’t do anything to me!”

Harsh winds blew against them and Feng Mian’s silvery-white hair brushed over Zhi Ruo’s face for a moment, distracting her from the old man.

A muscle on Feng Mian’s jaw ticked.

“Oh, poor boy,” he continued. “I feel almost bad for you. You can’t see how marvelous and full and voluptuous this whore of a princess looks. If I were not bound like this, I would take my?—”

Feng Mian lunged forward. The old man screamed, edging toward the back of the wagon while Feng Mian was atop of him in a second. A spray of blood gushed over the floor of the wagon, the yellowed hay soaking up the brilliant red. The surrounding soldiers shouted something, and when Feng Mian pulled back, Zhi Ruo watched in horror as he held a severed, mangled ear between his teeth. He spat it out, and it plopped onto the center of the wagon.

The old man writhed, blood rushing over his shoulders and staining his clothes.

Blood dribbled down Feng Mian’s soft mouth and trailed down his chin. Zhi Ruo remained frozen where she sat, heart pounding wildly to the tune of Feng Mian’s breaths.

“If you touch her, look at her, or so much as breathe in her direction, I will not hesitate to kill you,” Feng Mian’s words came out like a harsh whisper, stronger and more frigid than winter itself. “I promise you, old fucker, I’m going to kill you.”

For the next hour, the old prisoner didn’t bother her or Feng Mian, instead choosing to weep and sulk and cry out in pain, all of which was ignored by the Kadians, who only laughed when they saw his bloodied face and his severed ear on the floor. The entire time, Zhi Ruo’s chest swelled with confusing emotions and she couldn’t rip her gaze away from her blind, cursed husband .

It was such a strange concept to accept—that she was married .

That this beautiful man with blood running down his chin had protected her.

But she couldn’t let herself fall into a fit of giddiness, because she knew that this was temporary, and that anything he did for her didn’t matter. He would have done it for any woman, she reckoned. If it was Ying Yue here instead, he’d probably do even more. The bitter thought kept her emotions in check, kept her unloved mind from taking something trivial and running with it.

Later that evening, the Kadians made camp in a forest clearing. They set up a tent in the center of it and locked the three of them inside of it. Thankfully, they freed them of their chains too, likely afraid that the cold metal would freeze their limbs. For some reason, they seemed to want them all in one piece—minus the old man, she assumed, since Feng Mian was never reprimanded for injuring him. She doubted they cared that much, anyway.

“Don’t leave me in here!” the old man shouted, his weathered hands curling over the frosted bars of the cage. He glanced back at Feng Mian, and then snapped his attention to the entrance of the tent. “Please! He’ll kill me!”

Zhi Ruo fastened the cloak around herself and watched the old man with a frown. Was he also someone important? Why else was he here with the two of them—her, a princess, and Feng Mian, the noble son and heir of a famed General?

Feng Mian sat cross-legged on the bed of hay one of the soldiers had, so graciously, allowed them to sleep on since the snow and ice was unbearably cold tonight. A circle of hot stones sat just outside their cage. It was still cold, though, and their breaths puffed out in front of them like misty white clouds.

The old man rattled the bars again. “Please! Come back!”

Finally, one of the soldiers, a baby-faced young man who couldn’t have been older than Zhi Ruo, poked his head through the flaps of the tent. “What do you want?” he snapped in rough Kadian.

“He’ll kill me if you leave me in here,” the old man said, pointing back at Feng Mian, and then motioning toward his bloodied missing ear. “See what he did to me? I can’t stay locked in here with him!”

The soldier frowned, staring at the wound, before shrugging. “Sorry. I can’t help?—”

“I need medical help! Can’t you at least take me to the physician?” The old man pressed himself against the bars, his voice cracking. “ Please !”

The soldier hesitated, and the old man seemed to catch onto that, because he continued, “It won’t take long. I just need to get a few stitches. I’m already feeling lightheaded because of all the blood loss. What if I die like this? I’m a valuable prisoner of war! It’ll be a shame if I die here while under your watch!”

Finally, the boy sighed and entered the tent. “Fine. I’ll take you to the physician, but I can’t separate the three of you for long.”

Zhi Ruo expected Feng Mian to jump at the boy-soldier when he opened the cage and dragged the old man out, but he did no such thing. And it wasn’t until the door to the cage swung shut and was locked that Zhi Ruo realized Feng Mian wasn’t going to do anything.

When it was just the two of them, she spoke. “Why didn’t you try to escape like last time? That soldier looked so young and easily manipulated. I think we could have taken him out.”

“Now that we’re planning to escape with magic, it would be a waste trying to get ourselves killed in a reckless, unplanned attack like that. We got rather lucky last time that Wyer didn’t cripple either of us.” He frowned and his silver eyes glowed amber in the orange firelight. “We have to get them to lower their guard so that when we do strike, they won’t expect it.”

Zhi Ruo nodded slowly. “You mean when I strike?”

“Yes.” The corner of his mouth curled. “When you strike, because you’ll be harnessing my magic.”

“This is perfect, then, isn’t it?” She waved toward the empty cage, but then remembered he couldn’t see, so she cleared her throat. “I mean, that we’re alone here. We can practice magic.”

A flicker of doubt passed over Feng Mian’s face, so suddenly that she almost thought she’d dreamed it. The nonchalant expression he now wore was like a mask snapping in place, hiding whatever he truly felt.

Zhi Ruo shivered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I …” He sighed and his breath fogged in front of him. He rolled his broad shoulders and shifted into a more comfortable position, but Zhi Ruo could read the discomfort in his posture from a mile away.

“What is it?” she repeated, hating the way her voice wobbled. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying me? I understand that I’m likely not someone you would have wanted to be with?—”

“No,” he snapped, and then winced at the loudness of it in the quiet tent. He continued, softer this time, “ No .”

In the distance, the wind howled and Zhi Ruo’s chest tightened uncomfortably. “Then why do you look so … guilty? So full of doubt?”

“Is that what you see?” He tilted his head to the side, then sighed again. “I didn’t mean to worry you, it’s just that … I fear you will be consumed by my magic.”

Zhi Ruo’s eyebrows came together and she waited for him to elaborate, when he didn’t, she said, “But this is something I already considered, so what’s the problem?”

“You don’t understand the extent of my magic, Princess.” Feng Mian’s voice dropped to a whisper and his face turned toward her, as if seeking her out. “My magic thrives on evil, on dark thoughts, on violence, on wicked temptation. It corrupts me, it shortens my life with every use, and it will … do the same to you if you try to tap into it.”

It was something she had feared, but didn’t quite understand. A part of her hated that he had kept this from her, but she also knew that even if she knew the extent of it, she still would have chosen this path. “It’s better than becoming Wyer’s wife,” she said with a shudder, remembering the way he had pinned her to the floor and pressed himself against her. How he had threatened to assault her if she tried to escape again. “I will never be his plaything, his war prize.” She spat the word like it was poison. “Don’t start feeling guilty now. I knew your magic was cursed when I decided to marry you.”

Feng Mian grasped the end of his sleeve and slowly rolled it up. The wind blew against the thin walls of the tent, making it shudder and slap against the cage. Zhi Ruo jumped, glancing around the darkening room, and then turned back to Feng Mian. She had just opened his mouth to ask him something, but her thoughts came to a screeching halt and she gasped at the sight of his pale arm.

Black, raised, spidery veins pulsed along his arm, like writhing shadows beneath his flesh, the lines bulging. They faded the closer they got to his extremities, and it reminded her of something spreading .

“Is that …” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “Your curse?”

His face was made of dark shadows and harsh edges. “Yes. It stopped extending once I had these cuffs on, but eventually, it’ll completely consume me and corrode my soul and body. This is the price to pay for my magic.”

“You …” Zhi Ruo didn’t know if she should reach over and comfort him, or slap him as hard as she could. She bunched her fists together, her voice barely controlled. “You didn’t tell me any of this before we married each other.”

He lowered his head, a shuttered look passing over his beautiful features. “I know.”

She had known that his magic would curse her too, but seeing the manifestation of it, how harsh and painful it appeared, made her realize just how terrible it was. She had foolishly thought that it wouldn’t be that bad. That she would get a slap on the wrist and be done with it after they escaped. But this … this looked permanent.

“So it’s either marry a man who wants to use me as a pawn for his own selfish reasons, who will conquer me, rape me, and treat me like a slave …” She whispered the words out quickly in fear that she would burst into tears if she slowed down to feel the weight of them. Her voice wavered between panic and rage. “Or practice your magic and slowly die while looking like a hideous, black-veined monster .”

He flinched at her words.

She had just called him a monster, but she didn’t care. She tamped down those feelings and instead wielded her rage against him. She had to remind herself that he had wronged her by not disclosing everything to her, and that she couldn’t forgive him so easily. It was how she had gotten hurt before—when she had trusted someone she shouldn’t have. At the thought of it, the scars on her back prickled and itched. It was a reminder that she couldn’t be stupid enough to think of love or marriage .

Feng Mian at least had the courtesy to appear guilty, and she hated him for it. It would have been easier if he had never told her in the first place. Maybe then she could still look at him and see a beautiful, tortured man who would bite someone’s ear off for her.

But she couldn’t forget who she was. She was MuRong Zhi Ruo, the hated princess. The wicked one. She should have been used to such treatment. She would always be an afterthought.

“You didn’t mention it to me because you needed me to marry you. You didn’t care what happened to me,” she said quietly. “But now that it’s time to start using magic, you start acting like you care ? Don’t go soft on me now.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke faster than him, cutting him off before he could even start.

“Regardless, I would have still chosen to do this, though it would have been nicer to be told the full story of what would happen to me.”

An awkward quietness settled between them. The soft crackle of the waning fire and the wailing of the wind filled the quiet space. Finally, Feng Mian murmured, his face bathed in shadows, “You think I am a monster?”

“I know you are one.”

“Do I look like one?” He lifted his head, his silver eyes catching in the light like the sharpness of a readied blade.

“You look …” Beautiful. Lethal. Charming . The most ethereal being she had ever come across. But her heart shuddered, and she whispered, “You look like you could ruin me.”

Another blast of wind made the tent shiver and ripple, a wave of cold bursting through the flaps. The fire almost extinguished itself, the small embers glowing and growing once the wind subsided.

Zhi Ruo sat straighter. “Let’s begin.”

“All right,” he said quietly. He waved her forward with one hand and patted the spot next to him with the other. “I know you will learn quickly, since you’re a royal, but do keep in mind that we are in a hurry, so I’ll push you beyond your limits.”

“How do you know that I will learn quickly?” she asked as she plopped down beside him. The hay prickled her bottom and she settled her skirt and the hem of the cloak around herself so her legs were covered.

“There are two energies within everyone, and the more balanced the two energies are within your body, the more powerful you are. The royal family is blessed with a perfect balance,” he said. “And I’m not just saying all of this to please you, but you are blessed with somewhat perfect magic. Or at least, the ability to become very powerful.”

“All right,” she said with a nod.

“Here.” He held his palm out toward her. “It will be easier if you hold onto me.”

“Why?” Zhi Ruo stared at his hand, and then up at his face, all too aware that they were close—too close. Her gaze strayed to his lips and then to his hands again—hands that, not too long ago, had cupped her face. She remembered the kiss, the way his mouth had moved against hers, the way he tasted . Her face began to warm.

“When you use your magic, it will be easier to ground yourself with mine.”

She reluctantly slipped her hand into his, her fingers brushing over the scabs and scars littering his flesh.

“I will not …” She hesitated as she thought of the black veins running over his flesh, and shuddered. “Look like …?”

Feng Mian seemed to know what she wanted to say, because his mouth pursed into a firm line, and he said through clenched teeth, “What is it, Princess? You fear that you will look like a hideous, black-veined monster? Well, fear not. So long as you don’t practice my cursed magic, you will not be affected by my curse.”

Zhi Ruo flinched and averted her gaze. Guilt borrowed deep in her chest at his words.

“You will know the difference between cursed magic and regular magic,” he continued. “Cursed magic will want to consume you. It wishes to destroy, to corrode. It is also very volatile. All powerful, destructive magic hurts the user in some way—whether by fatiguing their body, draining their energy, shortening their life—but cursed magic is usually more potent, ugly, and evil, and as a result, curses your body and soul.”

She wrung her wrists together. “Okay, I … understand. So long as I avoid your cursed magic, I will be spared?”

“Yes.”

She breathed out in relief. “Oh. Okay.”

“But you might have to use it at some point.”

“Why?”

“It is hard to not be tempted,” he murmured. “When you have a sharp weapon, and you have people you want to kill, is it not easier to use all the tools at your disposal?”

She liked to think that she was different than him; that she wouldn’t be tempted to use cursed magic, but she could make no promises, because she imagined herself back at Father’s court. She thought of how powerless she was, and how if she had even an ounce of power … she would want to utilize it. She hated being weak.

Feng Mian’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Hold your other hand out, and think of a fire lighting in your hand. Think about the way it burns, the heat licking your flesh, the way it rises and flickers.”

Zhi Ruo did as she was told. She stared at the small fire just outside their cage and imagined it was on the palm of her hand, growing and glimmering and feasting on her energy. Her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. She imagined the heat that radiated from the fire, the way it would sting her hand, but no matter how hard she glared at her fingers, no fire appeared.

“Well?” she said, a wedge forming between her brows. “What now?”

“Reach within yourself to find your source of magic.”

“How?”

“Imagine it.”

She tried again, this time tapping into herself and imagining the flames bursting from her fingertips. No matter how hard she tried, though, nothing appeared. She almost felt silly imagining magic within herself. All of it seemed so illusory, like he would pull back and laugh that she had stupidly thought she could wield magic.

“I … I can’t.” Zhi Ruo’s shoulders dropped, frustration lacing through her heated words. “I keep trying to imagine some sort of energy within me, but I can’t. All I feel is … nothing. Just stupid.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t feel it? It feels like a mass in your chest that ebbs and flows throughout your body. Like a sun spreading heat to your extremities. Or like … a deep coldness extending over everywhere.”

“I don’t feel anything.” Embarrassment flooded her at the admission. Maybe she wasn’t blessed with magic, despite being of royal blood. Maybe this was just another reminder that even though she was a MuRong, she was a great disappointment.

Feng Mian frowned. “I have always felt it my whole life, so I find it strange that you do not. Perhaps it is because you’ve never practiced your magic before? I have heard others describe the first time they used magic akin to the opening of a gate.”

“Maybe my gates are rusted shut,” she half-joked to alleviate her stinging disappointment.

“It’s impossible. You’re a MuRong.”

“But—”

“Sit here.” He motioned toward his lap, and she froze, a blush staining her cheeks.

“W-what? Why?”

“I will manually open your energy. I can’t use my magic, but I can manipulate yours to some degree, especially more so now that we are bound to one another.”

She smoothed down her greasy hair with one hand while pressing against her crinkled skirt with the other. She was a mess and the thought of sitting so close to him— on him—mortified her. She was dirty, smelly, and unappealing in every way as she was now.

“And that requires me to sit on you?” Her voice rose incredulously, mostly due to her own embarrassment.

An apologetic expression passed over him. “The more of your body that touches mine, the more I can release the energy trapped in yours. It is either that, or you lie on top of me, and I figured this would be … more pleasant for you.”

“It … it isn’t pleasant for me.” Her face burned hotter.

He lifted a silvery white eyebrow. “Would you rather lie on me?”

“ No .” She coughed and slowly raised herself into a crouch. Hesitating, she inched closer to him. “Very well, I shall … sit on you. But be warned that I am not in any state that?—”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off when he grasped her wrist and yanked her down on him. She suppressed a yelp as her face crashed against his chest, her legs splaying on either sides of his thigh and her hands reflexively grasping his shoulders. She tried pulling herself back, but his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her even closer, his warm breath tickling over her neck.

“W-What are you doing?” she asked, trying to sit upright, her bottom precariously balanced on his thigh. When she peered up at him, a wicked grin spread over his soft mouth. His chest rumbled with a short laugh.

“You were too slow,” he said. “And I didn’t want to hear you blabber on about how insecure you are to be near me.”

She tried wrenching away again, embarrassment rushing over her flaming cheeks, but he kept her in place, pulling her tighter against his chest. Her hands splayed over his broad, hard chest and she found it hard to breathe so close to him, with their mouths inches away from each others’ and the memory of their shared kiss replaying in her mind.

“You don’t have to worry about your appearance, Princess,” he said, leaning closer so his lips grazed her ear. “I am blind, remember? I can’t see what you look like.”

A shiver ran down her spine and a warmth spread throughout her core, despite the wintry chill around them.

“But you can smell me.” Her voice was barely a squeak and she could feel her blush extending up her throat and over her face.

“Are you worried about that?” He inhaled against her neck and she froze. “You smell … divine . Even beneath all that filth, I can smell you .”

She swallowed.

“Like lavender, and spice, and … a tinge of sweetness.” His nose crinkled and he grasped the fur collar of the cloak she wore, a shadow darkening his face. “Minus this bastard’s scent all over you, I love your smell.”

Love .

That word snapped her out of her reverie, her back straightening and her body going still. As she stared at him—at his ethereal beauty, his silver-touched white hair, his long lashes that framed his equally silver eyes—a slow and gradual coldness seeped down into her bones. The scars on her back felt like frostbitten flesh.

She couldn’t get too caught up in whatever he was saying; the more she was pushed into this … complicated web of his feelings, the more she would get tangled and lost within it. He didn’t love her—nobody truly loved her—and she couldn’t let this weaken her resolve to escape.

Feng Mian seemed to notice her shift, because he tilted his head to the side, long hair spilling over his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?—”

“Let’s get back on track,” Zhi Ruo said with a tightlipped smile, her hands pressing against her thighs to keep from touching him. She didn’t need her feelings to get too thorny here. She couldn’t fall for his words. He was a prisoner here with no woman around but her—of course he’d be a little bit interested in her. It didn’t mean anything, and she couldn’t allow her heart to think that it did. Once they were free from this Kadian prison, she was sure he’d look for someone closer to his match—someone who could equal his beauty, someone who was just as alluring, someone who wasn’t her .

Because Zhi Ruo wasn’t extraordinary in anything. Not her looks, not her figure, not her personality. She was lukewarm in every sense.

And he … wasn’t.

She couldn’t get too caught up in all of that. When she went back to the palace, she would go back to her normal life. She’d be carted off to be married to Lord Chen who Father had chosen, and she would live her life quietly …

Feng Mian touched her chin. “Are you … crying?”

“No.” The back of her eyes stung, but she had no tears to shed. Not when they were trapped here in this prison. She grabbed his wrist in her hand gently and pushed it away from herself. “Let’s get back on track, Feng Mian. We don’t know how long it will take for the old man to come back, and then we can’t practice, because I know he will alert the guards. And then … well, I don’t need to explain the rest.”

Something akin to disappointment flickered over his face, but it was gone in the next moment, too fast for her to ponder about it. “Ah, yes. Very well.” He motioned for her to turn around and when she repositioned herself so her back was pressed against his chest, he grasped her hand until it was palm up.

“I’m going to open your magic,” he murmured into her ear, sending another shiver to ripple over her body. “Everyone’s magic stems from their heart. I … will have to touch yours. Is that all right?”

“You didn’t ask permission when you pulled me onto your lap.”

“Yes, but this …” His voice lowered. “This is more intimate .”

She was sure her face was a patchwork of blotchy red skin. She slowly nodded, then said with a cough, “Um, all right. You can do what you need to.”

Feng Mian placed a hand over her left breast and stiffened. “You … are not wearing much clothing.”

“Another reason I choose to wear this insufferable cloak,” she said between mortified breaths. She stared at her hand harder, trying to ignore the feeling of his calloused fingers cupping her. “My dress was torn badly at the front and the material is already so thin …” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I don’t think it poses a problem, right? So we should hurry.”

“Err, yes.” She didn’t miss the hoarseness in his voice, nor the way he shifted his legs to sit more comfortably. “Focus on your hand and imagine a fire.”

“Yes.”

Zhi Ruo stared at her fingers, imagining sparks flying from them and forming a ball of smokeless fire. But even though she tried to focus on the fire, the magic, and the “opening” of her gates, she could only think about how close Feng Mian was. How she was perched on his lap. How his warm breath fogged over the nape of her neck. How goosebumps rose along her body. How his fingers felt on her heart.

All of a sudden, a jolt ran through her body and she inhaled sharply, her head tipping back in shock and a strange, overwhelming feeling bursting from her chest. She tried jumping forward, away from him and away from the feeling of something writhing within herself, but Feng Mian quickly clamped his arm around her waist and hugged her body to him.

“Relax, it’ll be over soon,” he said to her ear as she thrashed against him.

She couldn’t stop convulsing; her teeth ground so tightly she was sure they’d crack. She could feel her energy, her magic, bursting through her veins, completely overrunning her body. It felt as though her muscles were cramping and shivering, and yet they were also on fire, but also freezing. So many different, conflicting, overwhelming sensations poured over her.

Sweat ran down the side of her face, her breaths coming in quick gasps.

What was happening?

She wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or not, but Feng Mian’s voice washed over her the next second. “Your magic is too much for your body to handle. It’s very powerful, very abundant, and … it’s been dormant for so long within you that your body isn’t processing it well. It will pass in a moment or two.”

Minutes passed and finally, finally, she stopped trembling and slumped in Feng Mian’s arms like a puddle. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she shut her eyes. Every ounce of energy in her body felt spent, which was counterproductive for what they needed.

“Try to use your magic now,” Feng Mian told her.

She lifted her hand, palm up, on her lap. She was too exhausted to keep it suspended in the air, and truthfully, she didn’t think she’d be able to summon any type of fire. Or any blast of magic, or however any of this worked.

“Magic is complex.” His words pushed her forward even though all she wanted to do was continue to lean on him and fall asleep. “There is healing magic, teleportation, visionary magic, defensive magic, all sorts of magic that is so complicated that if you mess up, you die . But the one magic that is destructive, volatile, and easy to mold to your liking, is magic that attacks. My cursed magic is that kind, but made much, much worse. Normal attack magics, while dangerous, are not that bad. They are also not as difficult to learn, but as a result will make you pay in other ways.”

“Like my life?”

“No. It will make you extremely fatigued, or maybe you will fall into a deep slumber for days if you’re not used to it. Curse magic is the type that drains your life. Normal attack magic does not.” He hesitated. “Cursed magic if oftentimes more powerful because of the price you pay for it. You don’t need to use it.”

“What is your magic like?”

“It leeches the life out of whatever I touch,” he murmured. “The price I pay is my own life. The more I use my cursed magic, the more my curse will spread.”

An ominous silence filled the space between them.

“But … ” A shudder ran through her body and she was all too aware that they were touching. “You are touching me.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling, and the soft, musical sound of his laughter resonating with her trembling bones. “My magic corrupts and corrodes the human body, but I direct it. It will destroy whoever I want. It is extremely violent, Princess.”

“Then …” She pursed her lips together, unable to think clearly. Not with the brain fog caused by opening her energy gates, and not with Feng Mian being so close. “How were you captured if you’re that powerful?”

He traced the column of her neck slowly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because my magic, while powerful, also incapacitates me. I will not live long because I use it so often. It is the price to pay for becoming a monster.”

Zhi Ruo went silent. She didn’t know what to feel about any of that.

“Test your magic, Princess.”

She held her hand out again, curling her fingers toward her palm for a second, and then flexing them out. She was just about to start practicing, when Feng Mian spoke again, this time, his voice clipped.

“I have to warn you, Princess, that no matter what you do, do not let Wyer know that you have magic. He too knows how to use magic, and if he learns about you, then I am sure he will lock your ability away somehow. Until we have a plan, don’t use it.”

“I haven’t even used magic yet—” Just as she was saying that, a spark flickered on her palm and she turned in fascination as fire erupted on the palm of her hand. It grew into a ball, swirling and sputtering embers around them both. “H-hey! I’m doing it?—”

One of the embers fell onto the hay and her eyes grew wide as tiny flames curled over the hay and flickered, growing into a steady flame. Feng Mian’s hand reached out and he stamped the fires quickly, nearly shoving her off his lap in the process.

Zhi Ruo jumped to her feet, holding out her hand in panic.

The fire in her hand shifted into a white hue and then blue, and then black. It didn’t burn her skin, but the heat warmed her face, nearly singeing her eyebrows.

“How do I make it stop?” Fear surged in her chest and she quickly glanced at the entrance of the tent. She prayed nobody smelled anything burning. Her heart pounded in her chest wildly. If they accidentally burned all the hay here … She didn’t want to think about it. “Feng Mian!”

“Just—Just think about stopping it,” he said between stamping out the small flickers of fires on the hay with his feet.

He cursed while she coiled her hands together. All at once, the fire died off like it was never there to begin with.

A few moments passed, both of them breathing heavily.

“Did I get all the fires?” Feng Mian said with a loud exhale. “I don’t feel any magic around anymore.”

“You did,” she said, leaning against the bars with a sigh. Now that the fires were all gone, and her panic had subsided, a soft laugh bubbled at her mouth. “Maybe practicing making a fire wasn’t the smartest choice given our circumstances.”

He surprised her by joining in with her laughter, an easy grin spreading over his face. “I think you’re right. Next time we should stick to something less … disastrous.”

Zhi Ruo giggled again, her chest feeling lighter than it had just moments ago. She’d done it. She had used magic. If Father could see her now, she was sure he’d slap her for her insolence. Who knew what sort of punishment she would receive? But it had felt exhilarating to feel the magic on her fingertips, to breathe in the taste of her own power.

Feng Mian’s prior words whispered into her ear.

“ You could become very powerful .”