Page 9 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

9

Direct sunlight slipped through the tears in the cloth tent, casting strips of blinding white along the prison cage Zhi Ruo sat in. She hugged her knees to her chest. Feng Mian remained asleep on a pile of hay; in the light, she could make out the fading purple and yellow bruises on his skin. The old man was curled into a ball in the other corner of the cage, as far away from them as possible.

Zhi Ruo hugged her knees to her chest and stared at Feng Mian’s sleeping face. He was beautiful, and something in her heart squeezed tightly the more she stared. She was married to him, but she didn’t feel like a wife, or a partner, or anything, really, because they weren’t truly married. Not in the sense that they’d had a wedding, or a feast, or hundreds of guests to congratulate them. It was all a ruse.

Coupled with the fact that she had no idea when Wyer would whisk her out of this tent, force her to marry him, and then do whatever he pleased with her … she couldn’t sleep. So many people wanted to use her, even Feng Mian, to some extent.

Feng Mian had married her so she could use his magic to free them both.

Wyer wanted to marry her so he could have a legitimate claim to her father’s lands.

Father wanted to marry her off to Lord Chen to strengthen his ties to the Chen family.

She was nothing more than a pawn for men.

At least she had chosen to marry Feng Mian, she reasoned, tracing circles into the dirt and flurries of snow that had travelled to the bottom of the cage. At least he was … kind to her. At least they had some sort of connection, even if it was based on their united goal to free themselves. But after they were free, would he feel the same? Would he cast her aside like everyone else in her life? Would she be forced to marry Lord Chen when all of this was over?

Her mind was a raveled mess. Fear. Panic. Nausea. She hated everything. She hated her fate. She hated the Kadians, this war, everyone who had helped to make her life hell.

Tucking her chin against her knees, she tried to calm the apprehension building in the pit of her stomach.

“The false emperor will kill you all.”

She lifted her gaze to the old man in the corner of the cage. He was similarly curled into a ball, his beady black eyes latched onto her. His mangled ear was bandaged up, the bindings oozing with blood and yellow discharge.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Who?”

He glared at her. “The false emperor. The real emperor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He will find the dragon’s power and take over this empire for good.” The old man rocked forward and back; his cracked lips tightly pursed together until they were white. “He deserves the throne more than your cursed father does. He will rise to power.”

She stared at him a moment longer, uneasiness stirring in her chest. “Are you referring to Li Chanming?” she asked slowly.

Li Chanming was a traitor to the empire, a lord of some lands near the border who claimed to have a legitimate right to her father’s throne. Father had planned to kill the man, but then this war with Kadios had erupted and their forces were spread thin, and Father had reckoned it would be better to have the man killed by the Kadians instead, because as much as he abhorred the young lord, at least he fought the Kadians away from his lands. Eventually, he would be killed off, since he was in the thick of battle against the enemy kingdom.

The thought of him, the false emperor, as some called him, made her queasy all over again. “Do you work under Li Chanming?”

“I did.” The old man continued rocking. “But then these bastards caught me trying to flee. We were in battle and we … it doesn’t matter. He will rise to power.”

“He will die by the Kadians,” Zhi Ruo said slowly. “If it wasn’t for the war, he would have had his head cut off a long time ago, ever since he started spouting that he was the true heir to the throne. If he and his armies happen to survive the Kadian war, my father will apprehend him and have him killed either way. The man has a death sentence.”

“Your father can try all he wants, but no one can defeat a dragon.”

Dragons were powerful, mythical creatures that rarely meddled in human affairs. She doubted Li Chanming had a dragon on his side; they were arrogant, solitary beasts that would rather burn villages for fun rather than have anything to do with humans.

The old man began murmuring strange things to himself, about dragons and battle and how he had no choice but to run. Zhi Ruo inched closer to Feng Mian, unsure of what the prisoner would do to her without Feng Mian’s protection. She could fight him, she reasoned. He was just a single old man, after all.

Minutes passed, before Feng Mian began to stir and rub the side of his face. His unseeing silver eyes fluttered open and he stretched his long legs. In the lighting, his snow-like hair appeared enchanting, like the moon itself had blessed him.

He sat upright stiffly. “Someone’s coming.”

Suddenly, the flap of the tent ripped open and three men entered with chains in their hands. Zhi Ruo stiffened, her heart picking up in pace as they approached their cage. One of the men held a key, and the other two touched the hilts of their swords as they scowled at Feng Mian.

“Come on, time for some entertainment,” the one with the key sneered, jamming it into the padlock. “And don’t you dare try to run or attack us, blind bastard. We’ll sever your fingers if you try.”

Zhi Ruo shivered and gripped her elbows close to her body, hating the trembles that ran over her. Feng Main remained tense and didn’t lunge forward, even when the door to the cage swung open and one of the men entered. He didn’t even protest when the man yanked him up to his feet by the collar of his tunic, and began wrapping the chains over his wrists.

The other two soldiers filled the cage too, one of them going for the old man and the other walking toward Zhi Ruo. The soldier snapped his fingers forward and it took her a second too long to realize he wanted her hands; his hand shot toward her and he yanked her forearm forward, hard.

She cried out as he wrapped the heavy, cold chains on her wrists.

“Don’t touch her,” Feng Mian snapped in Kadian. His usually smooth and velvety voice sounded rough and guttural.

“Or what are you going to do about it?” the man taunted, pulling her chain forward so she slammed into the man’s heavy armor.

“Feng Mian, don’t,” Zhi Ruo said, trying to right herself on unsteady, trembling legs. She could see the tick in Feng Mian’s jaw, his shoulders tense and his body still as if he was ready to spring forward and attack. “I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.

He couldn’t fight everyone. Not when they had a plan to escape, a plan that hinged on their cooperation, on their ability to seem placate.

“Save that energy for what’s to come,” one of the soldiers said with a snort, shoving Feng Mian forward and out of the cage. One by one, each of them filed out, dragging the three prisoners by the chains.

Harsh lighting blinded her as they left the tent and it took a few seconds for her eyesight to adjust to the war camp. Zhi Ruo’s stomach twisted as the man holding her chain led them through the parting crowds of jeering Kadian soldiers. The breeze shifted her thin, mangled, dirtied dress over her legs. The whole camp seemed to have formed a group here for whatever entertainment Wyer had planned for them.

They finally stopped when they reached Wyer, who sat on an elevated chair that seemed completely out of place in the camp. Beside him stood a golden-haired man with cold, soulless eyes, who stared listlessly at the three of them.

The men silenced when Wyer raised his gloved hand. The wind howled over them, sending flurries of snow to frost their clothes. “Now, now, let’s be quiet and get on to the entertainment!” He gestured toward Zhi Ruo, his cloak—identical to the one she wore—rippling behind him as he spoke. “Everyone, please welcome Princess Ying Yue! My soon to be bride, and the woman who will rule this kingdom under me.”

Zhi Ruo braced herself as the men chuckled all around her. Her head felt light, but whether it was from starvation, dehydration, or pure fear, she wasn’t sure. The glaring sun wasn’t making her feel any better, and she swallowed down the panic and bile rising up her throat.

Everyone seemed to realize how much of a joke she was.

“We can’t exactly hurt the princess, now, can we?” Wyer drummed his fingers over the worn armrest of the wooden chair, and glanced at the warrior beside him. “Frethirik, what do you think? What is your opinion?”

Frethirik’s cold blue eyes flicked in her direction. “I do not know,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft. “But I think it would be tasteless to hurt your bride in front of everyone.”

The general pointed to a soldier from the crowd. “What about you? What do you think? Should we hurt the princess, or no?”

Zhi Ruo balled her bound, clammy hands together while the soldier seemed to think for a moment. She eyed the dense horde of sweaty bodies surrounding her. There wasn’t any escape route, and there were too many people here. Judging by the fields of grass and the few speckles of trees, they were still in the Huo empire. Kadios was known to be mountainous around the border.

“I think we should do whatever we want,” the soldier finally announced, earning him a cheer. “Who’re these Huo bastards to tell us what to do? If we want to make a show of the princess, we can and should!”

Zhi Ruo’s hands shook. Was this what they’d meant about entertainment? Were they going to torture her? Humiliate her?

Suddenly, all the foreign soldiers looked taller than they actually were, their colored eyes pinned on her, oppressing her with their gazes alone. She inhaled sharply, her body jittering like a buzzing fly.

Maybe it would be better for her magic to flare right now. For it to consume everyone around her. Maybe?—

But she didn’t know how to use it. She remembered Feng Mian’s words about not losing control of it, and not showing her magic to them. At least not until they tried to escape.

Her attention slipped over to Feng Mian, who stood a few paces ahead of her. His entire body was stiff, almost ready to jump into action.

“We should see what’s under that dress of hers!” one of the soldiers hooted. “Who knows if there’s even a woman there, huh?”

“Did you even check to see if she has the royal mark?” another said with a laugh. “Maybe she’s not a real princess!”

Zhi Ruo’s royal mark seemed to prickle at that, and she turned to Wyer to see if he would say anything, but the man only grinned at the crowds of people. He seemed to enjoy this. Having all these people here, peering up at him like he was a royal on a throne. It made her sick to her stomach.

“Don’t—” she said, surprising herself—and everyone else. It took her a second to realize she was speaking in their language, but it rolled off her tongue naturally. “Are Kadians nothing but thieves and low lives? This land is not yours to take! We will never yield to you barbarians.”

The soldier closest to her—a brown-haired man in his forties—reached forward and slapped her. Iron filled her mouth and she stumbled sideways. The man holding her chain yanked her and she fell to the ground.

She blinked in shock. It only lasted a few seconds before she clambered to her feet, the cackling from the soldiers growing louder by the second. The man holding Feng Mian’s chain dug his heels into the earth as Feng Mian struggled toward the man who had slapped her.

“You will never break us,” Zhi Ruo spat. “ Never .”

“The monkey speaks!” The brown-haired man threw his head back and laughed. “I’m impressed you even have the capacity to speak our language. And here I thought every last one of you were incompetent buffoons.”

“Hurt me all you want!” Zhi Ruo shouted, her cheek throbbing. “Hurt me if that’s what satisfies you, but you will never take what belongs to me. My land, my spirit, my home—they will never be yours. You low-life who satisfies himself with hurting a woman, hurt me! And let Kadios be known as the thieving, oppressive, and criminal kingdom it is!”

Silence fell over the camp. Zhi Ruo huffed and stared at the unimpressed general. Beside her, the old man stared at her in mute horror, likely wanting nothing to do with her defiance. Feng Mian had stopped moving and had his head canted in her direction. She hoped her words reached him.

Wyer quirked a dark eyebrow. “Is that it? Are you done?” He snorted. “What an impudent little child. Did you think your little speech would speak to us and make us feel … guilty? Horrified? Ashamed?” He waved to Frethirik. “Bring her here.”

Frethirik crossed the distance to Zhi Ruo and seized her chains. Zhi Ruo tried pulling on them, but he yanked her forward effortlessly until she was in front of the general.

“Watch, child, because today, you’re just a spectator.” He nodded to one of the soldiers.

Immediately, a soldier grabbed the old man and shoved him through the crowd. He kicked and screamed as they chained him to a wooden post.

“What are you doing?” Zhi Ruo demanded, a wobble in her voice.

“Entertainment,” he said simply.

The crowd cheered and formed a circle around Feng Mian, who was suddenly freed from his chains. Standing there, he seemed completely out of place. He didn’t look like a typical Huo man from afar—because of his hair, eyes, and his unusual height that rivaled the Kadians—and yet he was a Huo man among the throng of demons.

“They will fight,” Wyer murmured. “The blind man and my men.”

“W-what?”

“And if he loses …” His grin turned sharp. “Well, you’ll see. He’s already done this game before with us.”

A soldier drew his sword as someone tossed a wooden stick to Feng Mian, who caught it effortlessly, as if he could see it. The soldier entered the ring and the other soldiers clapped and cheered for him to kill Feng Mian.

Zhi Ruo’s stomach twisted further into knots. This was the entertainment?

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Wyer. “He’s blind !”

“Have you never seen him fight?”

“I have, but …” This was different than in the cage, or the dungeons. This was a real battle, with swords, and in an open space where Feng Mian couldn’t predict where his enemy was. The cage had been small, and easier for him to move in. But here? How was he going to fight against this man? He had magic, she knew, that helped him sense his surroundings, but there was too much noise, too much movement all around them. She was sure it would interfere with his ability to fight.

She clenched her hands together, a silent prayer on her tongue.

The soldier circled Feng Mian, who remained rooted in place, and swung his sword at Feng Mian’s shoulder. Time slowed as Zhi Ruo watched with wide eyes. She could practically imagine the sword slicing into his shoulder, breaking skin and tearing through his muscles. She could imagine blood soaking his colorless hair. She could practically hear the crunch of his bones, the jeering of the crowd, the scent of iron.

She wanted to scream for it to stop, but she was stuck.

But just as she thought the blade would bite into Feng Mian’s flesh, he raised his stick and deflected it, not even turning in the man’s direction. The soldier leaped back and charged again, but at a different angle. Feng Mian shifted on his feet, his hair streaming over his face as the stick met the man’s frantic barrage of swings.

All Zhi Ruo’s thoughts, skipping and dancing and fleeting as they were, froze in that moment as she watched him parry the man with ease. He was graceful, and yet there was a ferociousness in his movements. In seconds, he’d slapped the soldier across the face with the stick, spraying blood. But before the soldier could even hit the ground, another soldier from the crowd jumped at him. Feng Mian didn’t miss a beat before sidestepping and meeting his attack. He ducked when the sword aimed toward his head.

It shouldn’t have been possible for him to fight. Wasn’t he blind?

And yet he fought.

He parried, dodged, blocked, and attacked. It was like he knew exactly where the men were, and he even seemed to know the length of the blades, or else how could he have avoided the swings so perfectly?

It was impossible— unnerving .

It was like he could see what was happening behind him too. Because when another soldier jumped at him from behind, he didn’t need to turn to meet his blade and dodge. And throughout it all, his unseeing eyes didn’t follow the movements of the men, nor did his head move to watch for the men as they jumped to the side.

She hadn’t watched him fight that closely back in the dungeon, since she’d been so intent on escaping herself, but she had thought … that this type of fighting wasn’t possible for him. That he was better suited for fighting a small number of people who were easier to track.

He was a soldier of Huo, but she had thought that his cursed magic had gotten him as far into the battlefield as it did. But she could see now that he was skilled, even without his vicious magic.

“Surprised?” Wyer said, watching the battle uninterestedly. “You don’t seem to know who he is, do you?”

Zhi Ruo licked her chapped lips. She knew he was General Zheng’s son, but she didn’t know anything else about him.

A muscle on Wyer’s jaw throbbed. “When you think about it, it should be impossible. Let’s say he can fight just by using his hearing, but how can he hear in this crowd? And even then, hearing isn’t enough to predict the flight of arrows. Or the size of a weapon. So how does he do it?” Wyer’s lip curled back into a scowl, his harsh, blue eyes hardening. “But then I stopped caring about how it’s possible. You know why? Because he’s my prisoner now. And why does a master need to know how the dog does its tricks?”

Feng Mian continued to evade the attacks, even when there were two men fighting him simultaneously, but he was slowing down with fatigue. And it should have been expected; if Zhi Ruo remembered correctly, he had been a prisoner for a month. He was probably malnourished and out of practice.

Zhi Ruo clasped her hands together, hoping he would win against them. But how could he keep fighting when they didn’t give him a second of rest? Any time he defeated one, another jumped forward. Sometimes two. Or three.

In a split second, one of the soldiers’ swords nicked his shoulder. Feng Mian kicked the man in the chest and sent him hurtling, a look of rage washing over him. The other soldier that was fighting him stopped, grinning, and everyone cheered.

Zhi Ruo’s eardrums nearly popped with the shouting.

Feng Mian’s shoulders dropped and he breathed out heavily.

Zhi Ruo glanced around her in confusion. Why had everyone stopped?

“No,” Feng Mian roared. “He’s my kill.”

“Then you should have tried harder,” Wyer said with a chuckle, raising his hand to someone in the distance.

She followed Wyer’s gaze to the wooden post where the old man was tied up. Fifty paces away from her, a man was drinking from a bottle of what appeared to be alcohol, while the men around him clapped his back and laughed. He then grabbed an arrow from a quiver and nocked it.

The archer swayed for a moment, steadied himself, and then aimed. The arrow released and shot through the air before piercing an inch away from the old man’s neck. A collective laugh filled the air. The old man stared wide-eyed at the arrow.

“Please, have mercy!” he shouted, pulling his body away from the wooden post even as the chains held him in place.

Zhi Ruo wanted to vomit, but her stomach was empty, and she could only taste bitter bile and salty blood in her mouth. She didn’t like the old man, but … but this was just cruel.

Feng Mian’s shoulders relaxed.

The army turned its attention back to Feng Mian, who began sparring with the two men once more. He fought with the same intensity as before, elegantly weaving between the men and whacking the men with the stick. One of the soldiers’ noses broke, a burst of blood gushing from the wound as he stumbled back. Feng Mian kicked him straight in the chest, sending him flying into the crowd, before he shoved one end of the stick into the other soldier’s eye socket. The man dropped his weapon and screamed in agony before Feng Mian yanked his stick back and smacked him across the face, drawing more blood.

Wyer ground his teeth together as the two soldiers groaned. He glanced at Frethirik, who watched the scene emotionlessly, as if he couldn't care less that one of his fellow soldiers was now blind in one eye.

Zhi Ruo bunched her hands over her skirts and the cloak, her attention never straying from Feng Mian.

“Frethirik,” Wyer snapped. “Go in and fight him.”

Frethirik gave a small nod, unsheathed his sword, and entered the ring. Feng Mian tilted his head to the side, as if to hear better, and yet the world was drowned with jumbled shouts.

Zhi Ruo’s breath caught in her throat when Frethirik, as swift as a bird, shot toward Feng Mian, both their weapons clashing together. Feng Mian was nearly thrown to the ground from the force, but he kept himself upright as he met Frethirik’s volley of attacks. They were both quick on their feet as their weapons met again and again, but it was clear Feng Mian’s movements were slower than his opponent’s. It only took a few more minutes before Frethirik’s blade slashed his bicep. Blood pooled over his sleeve.

Frethirik stopped, as did Feng Mian. The groups of soldiers clapped and turned their attention to the archer, who took another swig from the bottle, his face ruddy from the alcohol.

Zhi Ruo held her breath as he aimed and released the arrow. The old man screamed as it buried into his stomach. The crowd drowned away his cries of pain, and blood soaked through his clothes in seconds.

After the cheering calmed down for a bit, Feng Mian and Frethirik’s duel began once more. Zhi Ruo couldn’t stop her hands from trembling as she watched them silently, her heart thumping loudly in her throat.

She was in hell. That was the only explanation for the world she had stumbled upon. This cruel, cruel place was not meant for her. These men … They were monsters.

She felt lightheaded once more. Feng Mian’s arm was injured and bleeding, while the old man was slowly dying with an arrow lodged in his stomach. He wouldn’t be able to survive the wound. Would her turn be next? Would she fight like an animal in front of all these men? Or would she be strung up like the old man?

Zhi Ruo blinked back the tears stringing her eyes. She couldn’t break down now. She couldn’t let them break her in this moment. Her value was greater in enemy territory than it was in Huo, because here, she represented her people

Her fingers curled into fists. “Keep fighting!” she screamed to Feng Mian in their language—the language of their empire. “Don’t you dare let them win! You are a fighter! Fight! Kill him!”

Feng Mian pushed Frethirik’s sword, his breathing heavy. He appeared too lethargic, while Frethirik was full of energy. They circled each other like wolves, and Frethirik jumped at him, aiming at his injured arm. Feng Mian seemed to anticipate that, because he moved in a split second and smashed his stick against Frethirik’s hand, disarming him.

The sword flew to the ground, but Frethirik took that moment to punch Feng Mian squarely in the jaw, before grabbing his injured arm and twisting it behind his back. He then kicked behind Feng Mian’s knees and shoved him to the ground while holding his injured arm. The sleeve of his worn uniform bloomed with more scarlet.

“No!” Zhi Ruo’s knees weakened.

Feng Mian couldn’t fall like that. He had to get up. He couldn’t let that man win. He had to keep fighting.

“Get up!” she half-sobbed, half-shouted. “Don’t lose! Please .”

But the masses drowned her words as they turned to the archer. The archer nocked an arrow and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Zhi Ruo turned her face away from the scene; she couldn’t bear to watch the end result.

The army erupted in noise; Zhi Ruo tentatively turned her attention to the old man and wished she hadn’t. The arrow was stuck between his eyebrows. Blood spurted from the wound, drowning his eyes in a sea of red.

She bit her bottom lip, her gaze swaying over to Feng Mian, who remained on the ground, his clothes blooming with blood.

The general turned to Zhi Ruo, his smile venomous. “Did you enjoy that display, Princess?” he whispered so only she could hear. “If you weren’t so valuable to me, I would have strung you up there instead of him, naked .”

Zhi Ruo bit the inside of her mouth, hating the way fear slithered deep in her bones, nearly freezing her in place. Her only hope in this den of vipers was the dark magic swirling beneath her flesh, waiting to attack.

Soon, she told herself. Soon, she’d learn how to wield it. And then, nobody would be laughing.