Empire’s Curse (Drakkon #1)

Chapter 18

From what she could see, Muyang wore a simple white, cross-collared tunic to bed, but the lapels of his shirt were undone—likely from tossing and turning—and revealed the smooth, hard planes of his toned chest. In the moonlight, his skin appeared silver, and Daiyu could only gawk at him, her gaze trailing over his exposed flesh, and then to his peaceful, sleeping face. Even asleep, he appeared like a beautiful, carved piece of work.

Her grip on the curtain tightened and her first instinct was to run out of this room, but something kept her rooted in place. For the first time since she had met him, she didn’t fear him—not when he appeared so peacefully at sleep, unaware of her presence.

“Muyang,” she whispered, tasting the forbidden name on her tongue. She could never call him that when he was awake and she could never look at him so unashamedly like she was now—or else she’d be killed for daring such a thing—but there was nobody around, and nobody would know.

He was so utterly … beautiful, and she hated that. Hated how his wicked beauty caused something to stir in her stomach. How he was so evil, but was somehow blessed with such a beautiful, beautiful face.

She stared at his chest and warmth flooded her cheeks—she shouldn’t have been here, and she especially shouldn’t be staring. It was too improper. Too inappropriate?—

“Are you here to seduce me?”

She bit back a stifled scream and released the curtain like it was made of fire. But even then, she could see Muyang gazing at her through the gaps. He sat upright, the blanket falling down to his hips, and pushed the curtain open further with the back of his hand. His long, silk-like hair fell over his shoulders, and she inhaled again at how wrong this was—for both of them to be in their undergarments, in the middle of the night, in his bedchambers.

“Hm, Daiyu?”

Her legs trembled and she suddenly felt weak in the knees. It was probably the effects of the night, with how indecent this was, that she felt something warm in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe it was the way he drawled her name.

She hated the effect it had on her.

Her mouth was dry, and she blinked at him like a gawping fish out of water. “I … I didn’t mean?—”

“You didn’t mean to what?” His hand reached out and before she could say something, he snatched her wrist and yanked her forward. She yelped, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress as she tumbled forward. Her face smacked into his chest and she braced her hand on his thigh instinctively. Their faces were inches apart, and she could feel every pore in her body erupt in flames. He didn’t let go of her wrist and smiled down at her. “You didn’t mean to come into my bedchambers in the deep of night? It’s not often that women frequent a man’s bed with pure intentions.”

Her breath hitched, and she moved her hand away from his powerful, sturdy thigh, instead choosing to press the mattress. She wanted to pull away from him, but she couldn’t move, not with those tantalizing eyes grazing her face and body.

“Your Majesty, I didn’t come here—” She swallowed the thickness in her throat, her pulse fluttering in her neck. “I didn’t realize you would be sleeping here. I thought this was my room.”

Muyang’s breath warmed the delicate skin of her collarbones and bare throat. He was so close she could smell the sandalwood and jasmine on his skin.

“This is?—”

“Inappropriate?” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

He chuckled and finally released her wrist. She nearly fell over him but quickly scooted over to the edge of the mattress. He watched her with mounting amusement, his eyes seeming to meld into the darkness. She hugged her wrist to her chest, unsure of what to do. She felt cold without his touch, and she hated that she wanted to lean into him. But they weren’t married, and she didn’t want anything to do with him, she told herself.

Muyang eased onto the many pillows surrounding his bed and she could feel his gaze tracking over her body—at her soft curves that were usually hidden under her dresses. “You don’t have a room here,” he said. “You’ll be sharing these chambers with me.”

Her eyebrows came together, her face further flushing. “Excuse me?”

“All the bedchambers in this fortress are occupied by my men. You will be here in my room.”

“I … I am an unmarried woman,” she finally breathed. She hugged herself tightly, for fear that if she touched anything else, she’d be drawn to him. “I would like my own room, or my own bedchamber. Or … Or even a couch.”

“We’ll marry soon.” He lifted a shoulder but watched her carefully.

“And yet we are not married right now.” She curled her legs underneath her. He could do whatever he wanted with her and just her speaking her mind like this was punishable by death. If the emperor wanted her, he could have her. With or without marrying her. She knew that, and yet … she wanted him to respect her wishes. A part of her hoped he would do that.

But he was the ruthless emperor with innocent blood staining his reign.

Muyang touched her chin and lifted her face. She found herself complying, staring deep into those dark, mesmerizing eyes that seemed to see right through her.

“You do not need to be so terrified in my presence. I would never force myself on a woman.” He searched her face as if asking her to believe him, and she nodded slowly. Something akin to relief momentarily flickered over his face and he let go of her.

Daiyu licked her suddenly chapped lips. Even though his words should have reassured her, the tightening anxiety in her chest didn’t loosen. The shadows of the night seemed darker here, and everything was too quiet. His gaze was too inquisitive, too oppressive, too mysterious. She wasn’t sure if she could even believe him. Not when they were alone in his bedchambers.

She wanted to leave, but her legs were leaden, weighing more than the discomfort flitting in her twisted stomach.

Muyang watched her and she wished she could read his blank expression—she wished she could figure out what he was thinking, what he was feeling—but he was a monochrome canvas. No matter how much she tried to stare into his dark eyes, they were shuttered.

“I can imagine your ordeal with those ruffians was quite terrifying.” His voice came out smoothly, lowly, and with a hint of anger.

She blinked, taken aback by this new turn of conversation. “It …” Without warning, her throat tightened and her voice thickened. “It was horrifying.”

Daiyu hadn’t wanted to linger on the overwhelming fear she had felt while captive. Of the terrifying thoughts of torture, murder, and assault she had thought she would go through. Any time her kidnappers laughed or inched too close to her, she was stricken with unimaginable anxiety—fearing that her worst nightmare would occur right then and there. And that continued for days. Not sleeping well, not eating well, not being able to relieve herself without someone sneering and leering at her.

She had tried to bury those thoughts away the instant Atreus had saved her. She had thought she had numbed herself to it all. But right here, with Muyang examining her so closely, with the secrecy of night surrounding them in lush darkness, her heart trembled.

“The worst thing I’ve gone through, by far,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she thought of Qian, Bao, and the rest of the grim-faced bandits. “I thought … I thought so many horrible things would happen to me.”

“I apologize if I’m reminding you of them.”

“You—You’re nothing like them, Your Majesty,” she said quickly and what surprised her the most—she actually meant it. He was many things, but she couldn’t imagine him being like those rough bandits. She couldn’t imagine him sniggering at her and ogling her like those men had done, and the truth of that shocked her.

But you don’t know him, a small voice whispered. He could very well be just as terrible as those men.

Tenseness grew between them and Muyang shifted on the bed until he was sitting cross-legged—and farther away from her. He tilted his head to the side, his long hair falling over his shoulder. “If Atreus hadn’t killed them, I would have brought each of them to your feet so you could cut their throats with your own hands,” he said quietly, a low rumble in his voice.

Daiyu cringed. She had already seen them die horribly by Atreus’s sword—well, truthfully, she had been more concerned with fleeing than watching them die, but she had seen the gruesome outcome. “I don’t think I can handle killing someone.”

“Everyone starts somewhere.” He reached forward as if to touch a strand of her hair but stopped short and let his hand drop on his thigh. “You’ll learn.”

Was that what it meant to be his wife? To be just like him? To kill like him? To enjoy killing? She shivered but not from the cold. “They’re already dead, so I …” She remembered his earlier words that day and lifted her chin to stare at him squarely. “I’ll let them stay dead.”

The corner of his mouth curled. “If you don’t wish to kill those who wrong you, that is fine. I won’t let blood dirty your hands.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Until you wish it, I’ll be the one driving a dagger through the hearts of your enemies.” His smile grew, and something fluttered in her chest at the dark promise. “I’ll be your villain for as long as you need me to be.”

Daiyu suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze and stared down at her hands, which couldn’t stop fidgeting over the fur blankets and silk sheets—anything to keep them busy and as far away from him as possible. Heat traveled up her neck and warmed her cheeks. She couldn’t think straight, her tongue tied together and her thought even more tangled.

“At the palace, I’ll have one of my trusted soldiers as your personal guard. Her name is Vita. I think you’ll feel more at ease having another woman keep close to you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or more tense at the idea of someone watching over her. It could be that he was assigning a spy to watch her every move, or it was simply for her own protection. “Vita … I’ve never heard that name before.”

“She’s from Sanguis.”

“The same as Atreus?” A thought struck her. Was Vita also a member of the Peccata, like Yat-sen had mentioned?

“Yes. She’s Atreus’s … sister, in a sense.” He lifted his shoulders. “Not by blood, though.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Your Majesty … I’ll feel more at ease knowing someone will protect me.” Maybe this way she wouldn’t get poisoned again. Or kidnapped. Or worse.

But it also made it harder for her to slip away—and now with the pressing issue of her family badly needing her, she had to speed up her process.

“I’ll let you sleep, now.” Muyang swung his legs over the bed and rose to his feet. He pulled open the drapes of the bed further to step out but stopped to stare down at her. “Good night, my little rabbit.”

Little rabbit.

She hated that she was prey.

But she couldn’t hate him completely for calling her that—not when he promised her such a strange, strange thing.

“Good night, Your Majesty.”

Muyang let the curtains fall, and she could hear his light footsteps head to the door. It slid open and then clicked shut. It was only then that she felt truly alone in the cold, dark room. She flopped down on the thick fur blankets and inhaled the scent of jasmine and sandalwood still fresh against the sheets. Her face was a patchwork of blotchy, blushing skin, and she slid between the covers to better stave off the chill. But that only made everything worse because with his scent enveloping her in a sweet embrace, and knowing that she was in his bed, she couldn’t stop the warring, confusing emotions in her chest.

What in the world was happening with her? She truly couldn’t be interested in him in any way. She reminded herself of his cruelty and how many terrible things he had done. How many lives he had ruined.

But as her eyelids grew heavier, the last thing she could remember was the softness of his voice as he apologized to her. And her heart felt lighter as she replayed their conversation until sleep lulled her away.