Chapter 15
Daiyu stretched her arms and legs out in the wagon as it rumbled forward. Atreus steered the two horses and was silent, like usual. She had lost count of how many days they had been traveling, but she knew they were close to Muyang. She tightened the grimy cloak closer to her body, her nose crinkling at the smell of sweat and blood. They had taken the cloak off one of the lesser mangled corpses, but it, unfortunately, was still stiff with blood and filth and who-knew-what. She wriggled her toes on the floor of the wagon and winced as pain shot through her cut and worn feet. She had bandaged herself up and yanked out the thorns and twigs that had been stuck to her feet during her run through the forest, but the pain remained even after all these days.
“How did you become His Majesty’s spy?” Daiyu asked, sitting upright in the stack of hay to glance over at him. They were currently passing through empty valleys of grass. She had spotted villages in the distance, but Atreus had reassured her that they had enough resources to make it to Fort Xingia without stopping at “suspicious” villages that might be harboring rebel forces.
He didn’t answer for a moment, and the only indication that he had heard her was a slight tilt of his head. “I met him ten years ago in Sanguis.”
“Oh, so you’re from Sanguis?” That had been her guess—either that or Kadios, the other kingdom that neighbored them. “But why do you serve the emperor of the Huo empire and not your own country, then?”
“His Majesty saved me a decade ago when I was a boy, so I have a debt to repay him. Sanguis may be my home country, but I am not loyal to it. I am loyal to Muyang.”
Her eyebrows rose. He had called him Muyang. Simply Muyang. Nobody was allowed to call the emperor by his name so casually, unless he allowed them to, and that was only if they had a close enough relationship.
She sat up straighter with renewed interest. The carriage bumped and rolled over stones, and her voice came out with a slight vibration. “You’re close to him?”
“He helped me when no one else did.”
“But ten years ago … How old was he?” Daiyu picked at the frayed hem of the cloak as the blistering wind blew through her hair. Muyang appeared to be the same age as her, but he couldn’t be that young, could he?
“I’m not sure. He looked the same as he does now.”
“Oh?” That perked her interest even more. “So does he use magic to stay young?”
“Maybe you can ask him.”
She slumped back into the hay, her lips twisting into a frown. She could already imagine how that conversation would go—and it wouldn’t be pretty.
When they approached a tall, enclosed fortress with snowy mountains in the background and an ominous, formidable castle looming in the center behind the heavily guarded wall, Daiyu’s nerves jittered and her stomach twisted into a pit of snakes. Muyang was within those walls; she knew it deep down in her bones. She could feel his heavy presence, could practically choke on the thickness of the foggy air.
She twiddled her hands together and fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. It would be fine, she told herself. He wouldn’t hurt her for getting kidnapped, right? And it wasn’t like she had been taken advantage of, so there was no reason for him to kill her for sullying his reputation. In fact, she should have been safe when she entered those fortress walls. But still … the image of Muyang’s furious expression, the thought of a cold knife pressed to her neck, wouldn’t leave her.
Atreus stopped the wagon a dozen feet away from the fortress. Daiyu spotted over ten guards on the wall, their arrows notched at them, and her heart thundered even louder.
“Who goes there?” one of the guards boomed. She couldn’t see his expression behind his helmet, but the timbre of his voice made her shudder.
“It’s me, Atreus,” the young man called out, raising his hands defensively. “I’ve brought His Majesty his wife-to-be, who was kidnapped by a group of mercenaries. I wish for passage inside.”
The guard gave a nod to the rest of the archers and they slowly lowered their weapons. “Very well,” he called out. “I’ll confirm it with the commander-in-chief.”
He then disappeared along the bend of the wall, likely down a flight of stairs. Daiyu anxiously picked at the tattered end of her sleeve, her gaze darting between the back of Atreus’s head and then to the archers, who were watching them suspiciously.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the giant door to the fort slowly grinded open. Atreus urged the horse forward and Daiyu clung to the edge of the wagon as they entered the fortress. Beyond the walls, dozens of soldiers were milling about the courtyard, busy with either sparring or sharpening their weapons. They watched the wagon roll to a stop, and Daiyu caught a few curious glances sent her way.
She must have looked like a bedraggled rat, she thought with flaming cheeks. Nothing like the esteemed fiancée of the emperor she should have looked like.
Atreus leaped off the wagon and came around the back to unlatch the back door for her. He held his hand out to her, but she shook her head and climbed down herself. A cold, mighty wind blew through her stringy, greasy hair and she pushed it behind her ears hastily. She didn’t look appropriate at all. She didn’t have any shoes, she was dressed in an oversized, dirty cloak, and her hair and face were grimy and caked with travel. What would the emperor say when he saw her? Would he be horrified?
“Atreus!” a loud, cheerful voice called out from the throngs of soldiers.
The crowds parted and a man with light brown hair and honey-colored eyes approached them. He was dressed in dark-red leathers and light armor, and there was something familiar about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Had she seen him at the palace?
“Bohai,” Atreus said with a small, growing smile.
Bohai, who appeared to be in his late twenties, clapped the young man on the shoulder and grinned at him widely. “I didn’t think I’d see you this early.”
“My mission came to an unexpected halt,” he explained, smoothing down the front of his heavy cloak.
Daiyu shifted on her feet uncomfortably. The cuts and scrapes on her flesh stung and she hated that she hadn’t taken one of the dead bandit’s shoes—Atreus had advised her to do so, but all the boots were more than double her size, and she had trouble walking in them, so she had opted out. Now, though, standing on the chilly pavement with nothing on but dirtied bandages, her feet felt too bare.
The light-haired man shifted his attention to Daiyu, and his eyebrows rose. “I’m shocked that you’re here, Lady Daiyu.”
She blinked at the man. “Oh. Yes. I’m surprised myself.”
“Forgive the late introduction,” the man said, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m the commander-in-chief, Yao Bohai.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Yao,” she began, but then stopped as she registered his title. The commander-in-chief? This man? Her mouth nearly dropped open and she didn’t know what to say as he spoke to Atreus. She hadn’t expected him to be so young, nor to even know her name.
“His Majesty will be very shocked and very displeased,” Bohai murmured to Atreus, shooting Daiyu a pitying look as he assessed her up and down. “Can you walk, Lady Daiyu? Or do you wish for one of us to carry you inside?”
The thought of Atreus or Commander Yao Bohai carrying her inside sent a new wave of embarrassment rolling over her. “I can walk,” she said hurriedly, clasping her hands together to busy them. She could feel more and more eyes on her the longer she stood there, and she didn’t know what to make of the stares.
“Very well.” Bohai waved toward the castle, which appeared even taller up closer, with more than five levels that she could see. “When were you taken from the palace? I’m shocked that we haven’t received any word from the palace, especially since our mages are usually top-notch in communicating with us.”
Uneasiness grew in the hollow of her stomach as they entered the castle walls. The polished wood was icy beneath her feet, the cold seeping down into her bones. “Well, it happened … maybe two weeks ago?”
“Hm, strange,” he murmured, continuing down the hall. The passing soldiers lowered themselves to a bow as he passed them by. “I wonder if the mages didn’t consider it important enough to inform His Majesty.”
Daiyu flinched, unable to hide her surprise. Was she so insignificant that nobody cared to even look for her? More apprehension built in her chest and she struggled to keep up with the two men. She wanted to pause, sit down somewhere, and wallow in self-pity for at least an hour. Enough time for her to reflect on how meaningless and unimportant she would be if she became Drakkon Muyang’s wife.
She could feel Atreus staring at her, but she ignored him and silently walked behind Bohai, who was already talking about something related to their next move in the north against General Keung—the major general for the rebel army. Daiyu stared at the geometric windows and the latticed metal screens covering them. She could make out the snow-encrusted mountains in the distance, and she longed to be far away from this place.
Finally, they stopped at a set of red painted doors with slithering dragons carved into the frame. Bohai knocked, and without waiting for an answer, strolled inside the room, beckoning Daiyu and Atreus forward.
Daiyu scrambled behind Atreus. They likely were going to wait to see Muyang, she decided, poking her head over Atreus’s large body to peek inside the room. There was no way Muyang was inside here, especially since Bohai didn’t even wait for him to answer?—
Her breath caught in her throat.
Muyang was leaning his hip against a desk casually, a yellowed scroll in one hand and a cup of tea in the other as he scanned the parchment. Unlike at the palace, where he had been bedecked in royal regalia—in shimmering gold earrings, gold bracelets, and fancy hair crowns—he was clad entirely in menacing, black leathers. His hair was bound at the crown of his head, and his hair crown was blood-red and black, making him look all the more like a terrifying general than an emperor.
He lifted his head, and his black eyes flicked from Bohai, to Atreus, and then landed on her. For a moment, time froze, and Daiyu sucked in her cheeks as she took in his clean-shaven appearance, the hard planes of his wicked face, and his dark eyes that reminded her of a starless night sky.
He slowly lowered his steaming teacup on the desk behind him, his eyes never straying from hers. “What,” he said, his voice cold and clipped, “are you doing here?”
That was all Daiyu needed to snap out of her trance. She lowered her head and dropped down to her knees in a low bow. Her hands trembled as she pressed them into the floor. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Forgive my insolence. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Atreus shifted on his feet but didn’t bow down like she was doing. He must’ve been closer to Muyang to forgo such a formality, she realized, keeping her head low.
“Atreus, explain what happened,” Muyang snapped, and even from her peripheral vision, she could see the young man wince.
“I was on my mission like you told me to, but … while I was there, Lady Daiyu was taken by the group, and so I decided to abandon my mission and rescue her instead.” He said it all in one breath, like he was scared to take too many pauses. Like he wanted to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.
The air in the room seemed to shift, thicken, and turn colder. Daiyu spared a glance at Muyang and wished she hadn’t—she had never seen such a look of cold fury on someone’s face. He looked ready to murder someone, and she wasn’t sure who his wrath was pointed to.
The scroll in his hand cracked, and he dropped it on his desk the next second. “Who did this to her? I want them all dead.”
“Already done,” Atreus said, his voice quiet. “I would never let them live.”
Bohai didn’t seem as petrified as Daiyu or as anxious as Atreus, and waved his hand dismissively. “Come on, Muyang. You know Atreus; he wouldn’t let anyone who slighted you escape with their life,” he said casually. “And besides, she got caught in the middle of this mess because she’s your bride.”
“They were planning on selling her to General Keung,” Atreus continued.
“That bastard,” Muyang growled, his black eyes flashing with something sinister. A promise of death, Daiyu surmised.
She remained on the floor, her legs growing numb and apprehension taking hold of her. A million thoughts raced through her mind—all of them ending in her demise. She felt nauseous, her mouth dry and sandy.
“Atreus, go get yourself cleaned up,” Muyang finally said after a moment of silence. “You smell like blood and horseshit. And, Bohai, you’re dismissed too.”
The two men shuffled out of the room in the next second, neither of them seeming keen on lingering with Muyang’s displeasure written all over his face. Daiyu wiped her sweaty palms on her dress, unable to meet Muyang’s gaze—even as it remained on her.
He stepped closer, and she still couldn’t look at him. It wasn’t until he stopped in front of her, his black leather boots mere inches from her knees, that she dared to peer up at him. His beautiful face was carved from stone—callous and indifferent—as he kneeled in front of her.
“Did they hurt you?” Muyang’s voice came out smooth and calm, but Daiyu flinched nonetheless and averted her gaze. He placed a gentle, cold hand on her cheek, and a shiver ran down her spine. “Look at me.”
Daiyu complied, all the blood rushing to her ears and face as she met his obsidian-colored eyes. There was a coldness about him that put winter to shame, but the darkness that usually swamped his expression was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she found a tenderness she had never seen before.
“Did they hurt you?” he repeated, retracting his hand.
She wanted to lean into his touch and close her eyes; to breathe in the smell of jasmine and sandalwood. But then the imagery of a dagger pressed to her neck reemerged, and she couldn’t forget that he was just as deadly as those bandits were.
“Daiyu.”
Her hands grew clammy again and she finally shook her head. “A little, but nothing I can’t handle.”
Muyang scrutinized her slowly, and she could have sworn she saw something dark flash over his face. “A little?”
“Your Majesty,” she said, licking her dry lips, “I am well, if that is what you’re asking. Nobody touched me and I’m unsullied.”
She didn’t want him to kill her because he thought she had been soiled by the men, and she certainly didn’t want him to think of her as someone who would sully his reputation. She was supposed to be safe within these walls with Muyang, and yet she felt trapped once more. Like a cornered animal waiting to be slaughtered.
As if reading her mind, he slowly asked, “Did you think I would think less of you if those fiends attacked you?”
She raised her head to find his lips pursed together in anger. He leaned forward and suddenly took her face in his hands. She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening as he stared at her, searching for something. His eyes narrowed as he spoke, each word coming out rough. “Those bastards don’t deserve to even look at you, much less breathe the same air that you breathe. Do you understand me, Daiyu?”
She didn’t understand a thing. All she knew was that he was holding her gently, and warmth was pooling in her stomach. His touch was electrical, and she felt intoxicated by it.
“Your Majesty, unhand me,” she whispered.
“Not until you tell me that you understand.”
“I …” She swallowed down the thickness in her throat. His face was only a few inches away from her, and his breath was fanning across her lips enticingly. She wanted to keep breathing in his warm scent of spices and jasmine. She wanted to lean closer and press her mouth against his, just to figure out what he tasted like. To understand what sweet, sweet, wicked beauty felt like. “What do you want me to understand?”
“That you are worth too much for those bastards. That you are above everyone else in this empire, and that anybody who dares look at what is mine without asking for permission should die where they stand.” He inched closer to her, and her chest rose in anticipation. His black gaze seared into her. “Do you understand now?”
Daiyu’s face flushed with warmth, and she hated the effect he had on her. “I understand, Your Majesty.”
He released her and finally stepped away. The warmth of his presence felt like a cold slap, and she nearly fell forward, her sweaty hands cupping her knees like that was all that was holding her together. He was still peering down at her, and she didn’t know what to make of his expression—it was a mixture of wild rage and barely contained desire, and something else. Something that was far more dangerous. Something that told her he cared, in some twisted way, about her.
Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to remember that he was the evil emperor. That he would kill her if she stopped serving his purpose—whatever that purpose was—and that she was just a tool for him, a bride he could easily replace. She forced herself to remember how he had humiliated her at the pond, just to test his own power and how he had placed his dagger to her throat. He was the reason she had been kidnapped, and he didn’t even have the gall to apologize to her for it.
“Your Majesty, if it isn’t too much trouble,” she said, dropping her head once more. “I would appreciate a bath, a change of clothes, and perhaps a meal.”
“Certainly.” He sidestepped around her and yanked the door open. He spoke to a few of the guards in the hallway and then came back inside. “Sit on the couch.”
Daiyu clambered to her feet and finally took notice of the rest of the room—the desk with neat stacks of letters and scrolls, the box-style wooden couch at the end of the room with carved dragons forming the legs, the large map of Huo against the wall with colorful pins stuck at certain locations. She sat down on the cushioned couch and examined the green, tiger-embroidered pillows by the armrests.
“Can you explain to me everything that happened?” Muyang eased himself onto the matching couch across from her and propped his elbows on his knees in a casual but intimidating pose as he leaned forward. “At the palace and with the thugs.”
Daiyu shifted in her seat, all too aware that she appeared much too dirty to be seated in front of the emperor. “Why do you ask?”
He blinked, as if not expecting that answer. “For many reasons,” he said slowly. “For one, it’s interesting how you’re always caught up in some sort of trouble. And secondly, I’m curious to know how you left the palace without anyone noticing.”
Was he … suspicious of her?
“Your Majesty,” Daiyu said, barely controlling the rising anger in her tone. “I’m sure someone noticed I was missing, but since I’m simply a farmer’s girl who’s easily replaceable, they likely didn’t think it was important enough to inform you of the matter.”
Muyang reclined into the back cushions of the couch, his expression unchanging. “You’re not easily replaceable.”
“You don’t even know me, Your Majesty.” She rested her hands on her lap and resisted the itch to fidget with her sleeve. “And those servants in the palace don’t care much for me. I’m just one of many women who will be in your palace.”
The back of her eyes burned, and she didn’t know why. She didn’t want to be his wife—far from it—but she pitied the life of a noblewoman who would be tied to such a cruel man. A man who would never love her and who would replace her once she fulfilled his needs. A man who would take on dozens of dozens of women since she would never be enough. Daiyu didn’t want to end up like that.
“I didn’t realize you felt like no one cared in the palace,” he said, watching her carefully. “I’ll have to speak to the servants who serve you.”
An awkward silence filled the space between them and Daiyu found that she couldn’t meet his gaze—she didn’t like the way he was examining her as if waiting for her to shatter like glass.
“Explain to me what happened the day you were kidnapped.”
Before she could answer, a servant knocked on the door and promptly entered with a tray of tea and a plate of assorted nuts and diced fruit. He placed the drinks and the platter on the table, bowed, and left. Daiyu eyed the juicy, halved plums and her mouth instantly watered.
Muyang must’ve seen the hunger on her face because he waved to the food. “Take whatever you want. It’s for you, anyway.”
She picked up the silver chopsticks on the tray and picked up a piece of the plum, then plopped it into her mouth. The sweet fruit nearly melted into her mouth and she continued to pick at the rest of the food. Between eating and sipping tea, Daiyu recounted the entire incident since her kidnapping. Muyang listened attentively, his gaze never straying from hers. He didn’t interrupt her or utter a word and only nodded from time to time.
Finally, when she finished snacking—and realized with horror that she ate everything on the platter—and her story was finished, she set the chopsticks on the tray and folded her hands together in sudden embarrassment. “Well, that’s everything that happened,” she said, clearing her throat. “Oh! And?—”
She reached into the inner pocket of her cloak and pulled out the dragon dagger she had safely tucked in there. She held it out for him, her fingers wrapping around the cold dragon body of the hilt.
“Your dagger,” she said. “I retrieved it from the men. Well, to be more specific, Atreus defeated the man and I took it back from him, but in the end, it’s here.”
Muyang’s dark eyes flicked down to the silver blade and then back up at her. The corner of his mouth rose. “I didn’t think I’d see the day when the little rabbit pointed a dagger at me.”
Eyes widening, she hastily slapped the blade on the tea table. She hadn’t even realized she had been rudely directing the edge at him. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty?—”
“No, no. You’re fine.” He picked up the dagger slowly, his soft mouth still curved into a smirk. “I would like to see it more. You, holding a blade to my throat. It would be quite riveting.”
Daiyu could feel the blush clawing up her throat and singeing her cheeks. For some reason, it didn’t sound dangerous at all, but sensual. And she didn’t know what to make of that.
Muyang slipped the dagger onto his belt beside a short sword. “Take your cloak off.”
“Excuse me?” She grabbed the front of the cloak and tightened her hold on it as if he would rip it off her in the next second. Although she had hated every second in the sweat-soaked, bloodied thing, she didn’t want to take it off in front of him.
“Take it off.” He gestured to the cloak as if she hadn’t heard him correctly the first time. “You shouldn’t be wearing something that belongs to a dead man.”
“I’ll …” She swallowed, hating the tremble in her voice. But his calm demeanor seemed to bolster something in her because she found herself shaking her head. “I want to keep it on. At least until my bath.”
Muyang canted his head to the side. “You refuse me?”
She continued staring at him, and he stared back, neither of them seeming to want to relent control. She didn’t know why she was grasping onto this so tightly—it was just a stupid cloak that meant nothing to her—and yet she didn’t want to lose what little power she had in front of him. Power that, she was well aware, he was allowing her to have.
Finally, he chuckled, low and soft and musical. “Fine, keep the cloak. But after your bath, I want you to burn it. Burn it and forget everything that transpired the past two weeks. Don’t let any of those men haunt your dreams. From what I’ve learned in life is that the dead should stay dead, and the living should continue to live.”
“Do you have experience with that, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, plenty.” His eyes flashed. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed in my lifeline? Men on the battlefield, traitors in front of the throne who lick my boots, enemies who think they can take what’s mine? If I let every single one of them linger in my thoughts for too long, I would not be able to continue walking with the weight of their dead hands on my shoulders. So every person I’ve killed, I quickly forgot. Because what’s the point in continuing to think of a dead man? Let him stay dead.”
Whatever little moment was conspiring between them seemed to crack and splinter at the edges as reality sank in—when he was in front of her talking so casually and calmly, it was easy to forget that he was a powerful emperor who had killed countless people. She almost forgot how much blood stained his legacy. How many people had to die for him to take the throne. Including her dead fiancé, Heng.
Daiyu pushed back a strand of hair behind her ear and Qian’s words wouldn’t stop bouncing in her mind.
Look at you now—cozying up to the same man who killed your fiancé.
An uncomfortable, heavy, and stifling feeling took hold of her chest, seeming to choke what little energy she had. Was she actually enjoying conversing with Muyang? That couldn’t be true. She was terrified of him and was planning on leaving him and everything he stood for, after all. And yet, uneasiness rooted within her, like a seed growing too rapidly to fit inside its pot. She didn’t like the effect Muyang was having on her and how guilty her conscience felt in his presence. She needed to find a way to end this faster, before things became more complicated.
Daiyu coughed and rubbed the nape of her neck to busy her fidgeting hands. “Your Majesty, is my bath ready?”
“It should be.” Muyang stood up and motioned to the door. “Come with me.”