Empire’s Curse (Drakkon #1)

Chapter 22

Or at the very least, according to Daiyu’s cloak, they thought she sided with the emperor. And if anything, they probably wanted to get rid of her because she had seen them—the rebels.

She heard a few shouts behind her, but none of that mattered anymore. She shoved through the streets, her shoulders and elbows colliding with others, but she barely paid attention to that. She sprinted to the edge of the village and entered the woods she had come from. Her worn-out feet, covered in thinned silk shoes, pounded the uneven, twig-ridden ground. Her breath streamed out behind her in streaks of white and the scenery blurred to trees and snow. Branches tugged through her hair and ripped through her clothes, but she kept running.

She didn’t dare turn around. Not even when she heard the curses and grunts of the men. Nor the familiar, metallic clang of a sword unsheathing from its scabbard.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins and all her exhaustion disappeared, overridden by the primal instinct to survive.

They had been drinking, so she had an advantage over them, right? They were likely clumsy right now and not expecting for her to run. She had a head start?—

An arrow whizzed past her face and buried itself into the trunk of a hollowed, dying tree. Daiyu suppressed a shriek and pushed herself faster.

“Get back here!”

Her thighs felt like they would split open and her eyes burned from the stinging, cold wind. She didn’t even know where she was headed. All she knew was that she had to outrun them somehow.

How had she gotten into this mess?

Why was this happening to her?

She was just a simple farm girl.

Daiyu kept running and running, her legs feeling like they would give out at any moment. Her lungs filled with fire and every breath seemed to be her last. More arrows missed her and struck the ground. That only pushed her harder, faster, until she felt like she would collapse. Until her vision was nothing but browns, whites, and blurs of arrows.

The men continued shouting, their voices growing closer with every passing minute.

One second, she was upright, sprinting with all her might, and the next, she crashed. She didn’t even realize what happened until she slammed into the ground, the air knocking out of her as she rolled against the packed earth. Excruciating pain radiated from her leg and when she shakily pushed herself to her elbows and looked down, her stomach twisted into knots. An arrow was jammed into her thigh, the arrowhead poking out to the front of her thigh. Blood seeped from the wound, staining her dress and dripping against the fresh snow beneath her.

The men were closer now, maybe a minute away. Daiyu hauled herself to her feet, her injured leg refusing to move. She bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning. Her thighs quivered, and she couldn’t think outside the white-hot throbbing of her leg. She limped forward, but the pain was too much and her body collapsed onto the blood-stained snow.

A strangled sob escaped from her as she dragged herself toward a tree. Right then, she noticed the glittering jade bracelet adorned to her wrist. She had almost forgotten about it and its supposed magical properties. What had Feiyu told her about it?

If you’re really in a bind, try pouring your energy into it and it might help you.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she grabbed the beaded ornament and tried forcing her energy into it.

“Please, please, please!” Tears of frustration, panic, and pain ran down her cheeks and she squeezed her fingers over the beads until her hands were white and bloodless. Nothing happened, and she could hear the men approaching now, the snow crunching beneath their boots. “Please!”

It wasn’t working; the bracelet wasn’t helping, and it appeared like she would die here. Releasing a frustrated sob, she tried pulling herself upright again. Did Feiyu really give her a useless piece of jewelry? Or maybe she didn’t know how to use it properly? He shouldn’t have given her something she didn’t know how to use, she thought bitterly as she clawed the earth to yank herself forward.

The men were only a dozen feet away. All of their hurried impatience seemed to dissolve at the sight of her writhing on the ground, pinned with an arrow. She could even hear them chuckling and talking amongst themselves, but their words didn’t register to her. Not with the blood rushing to her ears and her tunneling vision toward the horizon.

She shouldn’t have run away. She should have stayed put in the fortress. She should have waited for a better opportunity to escape. She should have?—

Daiyu cradled her wrist to her chest, another sob ripping from her scratchy throat. “Please help! Please!” she whisper-cried. And for some reason, instead of thinking of Feiyu coming to rescue her, she thought of Muyang. If he were here, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone to injure her. He would have destroyed everyone in his path. He would have tortured these men for even daring to look at her.

In her moment of desperation, the person she wanted to save her was a villainous, powerful man who would make these rebels suffer for putting her through this. The thought alone shattered something within her. Because Drakkon Muyang was many things, and she found that she preferred his darkness in that moment. She preferred the twisted, shadowy power he held. She wished more than anything in that moment for him to be here, to protect her.

“Muyang, please,” she whispered through tears, “please save me.”

All at once, the jade bracelet began to glow and grow hot, nearly scalding her wrist. A white light shone in front of her and a powerful gust blew around her. She watched with squinting eyes as a figure flashed before her, the winds dying off as the light dimmed and flickered.

Clad in black, leathery-scaled armor that hugged his impressively tall and lean figure, and with a glinting gold hair crown, Muyang appeared like a dark general ready for battle. His inky hair feathered across his pale, beautiful face, and his black eyes went straight to her. He held her stunned gaze, his expression just as shocked as hers, before shifting his attention to her blood sprayed across the snow. Darkness and rage immediately flashed in his eyes and the winds howled louder.

“Daiyu?” he spoke slowly as he kneeled beside her, his hand hovering inches away from her shoulder. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

She couldn’t speak as she blinked up at him in shock. Was she hallucinating? How was it possible that he was standing right in front of her?

His eyebrows pulled together and a look of concern washed over his face, cracking his unreadable mask. He opened his mouth to say something, but an arrow shot toward him. Without even blinking, a tendril of smoke whipped out from the ground and caught the arrow midair. Muyang stonily turned to the six men standing a few feet from them. Daiyu followed his gaze at the men—all of whom had their weapons drawn.

“Are you six responsible for harming her?” he practically snarled, rising to his feet. A powerful, electrifying wind emitted from him, sending a shiver down Daiyu’s spine. She could practically taste the magic in the air—it was so thick and suffocating.

She pushed herself into a sitting position and winced as her thigh throbbed painfully. Her attention drew to the jade bracelet, which was still warm against her skin, and she blinked down at it in dazed silence. Had she … summoned Muyang? It was the only explanation.

The confusion, adrenaline, and shock seemed to dull the pain in her thigh. She looked between Muyang and the group of men, who were now circling them like a pack of wolves. The lanky man raised his sword higher, his eyes narrowing.

“Th-they’re rebels,” Daiyu managed to whisper, her voice hoarse and her throat dry. Her arms trembled from holding herself up and she wanted nothing more than to collapse into the snow. Now that Muyang was here, she was safe.

“Kill the bitch first,” one of the men said to the archer in the group, who was already nocking an arrow.

Muyang unsheathed his sword in one fell swoop, the sharp silver blade glittering in the sunlight. In seconds, shadows warped around the blade, swallowing the sharp edge and rising off it like steam. He didn’t look at Daiyu as he stepped in front of her protectively.

One of the men charged at Muyang from the side with his sword raised. Daiyu barely had time to blink before Muyang was in front of that man. He swung his own weapon and the man parried with his sword, but Muyang was stronger—much stronger. Daiyu watched wide-eyed as the shadow-drenched sword sliced through the other man’s sword like it was butter, and then cut the man in half. It happened so fast that Daiyu didn’t even see the blood spray against the snow until Muyang had already moved on to the next assailant.

She blinked, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she stared at the body carved in half. The man’s mouth was still opening and closing, his fingers twitching and his gaze locked onto the sky. An expression of pure confusion colored his pale face and Daiyu watched as the life drained out of him—quiet literally as he bled out in seconds.

An arrow shot through the confusion, missing Muyang by a hair’s breadth. The other men were swarming him, seeming to have forgotten all about her. They stood no chance against Muyang’s monstrous strength. He cut through their weapons with ease, lopping off hands and limbs like they were made of air instead of flesh and bone. Blood splattered against his pale face, marring his immaculate beauty with death and horror. He looked more like a demon general than anything else.

Daiyu didn’t know what to pay attention to—Muyang’s quick moves as he fought through the men, or the bodies collapsing with grotesque, fatal wounds. Her stomach twisted at the sights and she inhaled sharply whenever a hacked body part splatted on the ground.

When everyone was either dead or their bodies were twitching—and close to death—Muyang released a shuddered breath and stuck his sword into the partially frozen earth. He was breathing harder than usual, which was expected, but for some reason, she thought he didn’t have a need for anything—not water, nor food, and certainly not to catch his breath. He seemed too powerful in that moment, and yet mortal at the same time.

Daiyu opened her mouth to speak, but something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Time seemed to move in slow motion as the lanky rebel, whose legs were twisted beneath him in unnatural directions raised his dagger and, with the last of his strength, shot it at her.

Before she could even breathe—even think—Muyang dove forward. The dagger buried itself into his shoulder as he rolled on the ground and grunted upon impact. He raised his hand and a blast of black-blue light beamed out of it and smote the man on the spot until he was only a hunk of charcoal. The smell of burning flesh and iron filled the air, and smoke rose from the charred, blackened corpse.

Muyang shoved himself into a sitting position, his soft mouth curled into a scowl as he gripped the leathered handle of the dagger and yanked it from his wound.

“Y-Your Majesty?” Daiyu inhaled sharply, the heat entering her lungs and her nose crinkling as the scent cleared her sinuses. She looked between him and the burned corpse, and then at the rest of the grisly scene. He had taken the hit for her, she realized with swelling horror. His uniform was already darkening at the shoulder. If he hadn’t done that … she would be dead. Or close to death.

His glittering black eyes flicked to her and she flinched back at the amount of blood bespattered across his face. He was breathing heavily still, his face appearing more pallid than it had minutes ago. “Did they hurt you?”

The words didn’t register to her until he dropped down to his knees in front of her, his gaze never leaving her.

“Daiyu?”

“No, no …” She reached forward to touch his shoulder but stopped herself short, her hands hovering over the seeping wound. Her shock kept her from speaking politely, formally, or correctly. She blurted, “Why didn’t you use your magic? Why … why?”

“Why are you worrying about me when you’re the one bleeding out?” Muyang arched an eyebrow and her cheeks flushed with unexpected warmth. He laughed softly, and it surprised her more than anything else—to see him chuckling while covered in blood with the corpses of his enemies at his feet. The corners of his eyes crinkled and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe as she took in his wickedly beautiful face. He looked so carefree in that moment, so alive.

Daiyu swallowed down the dryness of her throat and shifted into a more comfortable sitting position, only to be shot with excruciating, white-hot pain. A stifled gasp fell from her lips and she steadied her hands onto the cold, wintry snow to keep herself from flopping on the ground. Her thigh throbbed painfully, and she could feel the blood dripping from the wound and the arrow digging into her flesh with every slight movement.

Muyang grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to hold her upright, but that only made the pain worse. Daiyu slapped his hand away, her vision blotting with black spots.

“Stop, stop—just let me breathe—” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her breathing, even as her thigh ached more and more. Now that the adrenaline and shock from the fight was wearing off, her pain shot through the roof, tingling every single one of her senses. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t believe she had slapped the emperor’s hand away, but all her other senses were screaming at her to handle the pain.

Muyang scooped her into his arms without a warning. Daiyu bit back a scream and her vision darkened. She tried smacking him to keep him away—to keep the pain away—but she couldn’t do anything but writhe in his arms.

“Shh.” He pushed back the errant strands of hair obscuring her clammy face. “Breathe, Daiyu.”

“It hurts—it hurts so bad,” she whispered, pursing her lips together to keep from screaming in agony. Tears burned the back of her eyes. “Why does it hurt so much now?”

“It’s because you’re not panicking as much anymore, because you’re safe now.” He continued to brush back her hair and cradle her in his arms. “You know that everything will be fine now, so your body is reacting to the pain.”

“It hurts,” she repeated through the tears. She didn’t even care that he was holding her so tenderly, or that he was brushing back her hair like a lover would. None of that mattered, not when she looked into his black, black eyes and saw nothing but her own pained reflection.

“I know, I know.” He held her tighter and winced when she took hold of his injured shoulder. “It will only last a few more minutes.”

She held on to him tighter, her fingers slick with her blood—and his. “Make it stop.”

“Shh.” Muyang’s hand hovered over the arrow.

“Wait—” Before she could tell him to stop, he yanked the arrow out from her wound. Her vision doubled and blackened, and she screamed piercingly. The wound, which had begun clotting just a bit, felt as though he ripped through the flesh all over again. Her dress quickly became drenched in fresh, warm blood, and she convulsed in his arms, her limbs flailing as she cried in torment. He held her the whole time, whispering soothing words she couldn’t understand.

Finally, when she thought she would break, tranquility fell upon her that was unmatched for the circumstance. Her hazy, blotchy vision righted itself and the pain abated until her thigh only stung. Her erratic breathing calmed and she opened her eyes to stare up at the misty, gloomy, gray sky. Tiny snowflakes cascaded on her and every inhale filled her lungs with a wintry frost.

Muyang’s breath streamed out of his mouth in white clouds. His skin was paler than before, and sweat dotted his creased forehead. It took her a second to realize his palm was covering her wound and that a golden light was emitting from his hands directly onto her.

“What are you doing?” Daiyu said, blinking up at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

“What does it feel like, little rabbit?”

She closed her eyes and groaned as the pain lessened further. “I hate that—” she mumbled.

“You hate that I’m healing you?”

“No, no, not that.” She stared up at him and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel absolutely terrified to be looking at him so unabashedly. Maybe it was the shock or the effects of his magic that made her feel loopy, but she felt … safe here. “I hate being called a little rabbit. It feels so … condescending? Like you’re the monster and I’m the prey? I just hate it. I hate being a weak little thing.”

“And what do you think would be more appropriate?” Muyang’s fingers caressed her thigh slowly, and pulses of tingling magic seeped into her flesh, pulling the fibers together. “From what I remember, I truly am a monster, aren’t I? And you, the innocent maiden who fell into my wicked trap.”

Warmth pooled in her stomach and she tried to stop the blush from spreading up her face. “That’s not … I didn’t mean to call you a monster.”

“You didn’t mean to? I recall you accusing me at least three times.”

“It was at most three times,” she said with a cough.

“Well then, little fiend, what should I call you instead?”

She didn’t have a nickname to tell him, or even something elegant. Truthfully, she didn’t know what alternative to little rabbit there was, but surely it was better than to be called that. “I don’t know,” she managed, resting her head against his chest. The smell of irony blood, jasmine, and musk mingled together in the leather clothes he wore, and her cheek felt cold against him. “Something fiercer, maybe.”

Muyang exhaled deeply, his breaths short. “Maybe little dragon is more fitting.”

“Little anything doesn’t inspire much fear or courage,” she whispered, peering up at him. “Little bird, little mouse, little rabbit, little dragon, little wolf … it’s all—” She finally noticed that he had his eyes closed and was breathing more raggedly than before. His skin matched the graying clouds above and there was a bone-weariness about him that made her shiver in anxiety. He was still holding her thigh gently, the magic spilling from his hands in thick streams like honey.

“Your Majesty?” She hesitated to touch his face, but when her hand finally pressed against his cheek, his eyes flew open. Ubiquitous black reflected back at her, so dark and rich and void-like that she almost lost herself in them.

“You wish to be feared?” he asked, blinking as if trying to re-immerse himself in their conversation.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Daiyu found herself saying, but her attention was honed in on him. The way he appeared exhausted, how he too was injured, and yet was healing her. She eyed his bloodied shoulder but couldn’t tell if he had healed himself already or not. “Are you well?”

“I should be asking you that.” Muyang pulled his hand back, now stained scarlet, and inspected the wound over her thigh. He peeled back the shredded, blood-soaked sections of her skirt to reveal the smooth, pink scar beneath. It was still muddied with blood, some fresh and some crusted, but it was undeniably healed.

Daiyu gasped. “You healed me?”

He didn’t bother answering her question and instead furrowed his eyebrows. A flash of something sinister crossed his face. “Forgive me, I was unable to hide the damage. You’ll be left with a scar for the rest of your life.” There was something sorrowful and furious about the way he said it—the two emotions seeming to war for dominance. When he met her gaze, there was only sympathy in them. “I’m not as skilled in the art of healing as I am with destruction.”

She understood the weight of what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying—but her mind stuttered over the fact that the emperor was apologizing to her. Scars on her body meant she was marred, no longer desirable for many men. Some would even turn their noses at her if they knew. Others would pity her.

Would Muyang discard her because of this hideous, large imperfection on her body? For a moment, her mind wandered to that thought—and she realized with growing horror how terrible that idea made her—but she became aware of another, less bewildering, thought: didn’t she want that? Wasn’t the whole reason she was caught up in this mess because she was trying to flee from him and her tumultuous fate with him?

She didn’t want him. And yet, why did her chest ache at the mere idea of him casting her aside?

“Your hands …” Muyang gently took her raw, peeling, and damaged hands in his. His forehead creased even more. His gaze flicked up from her aching hands to her face, and he studied her for a moment as if knowing what she had done to escape from him. “You’re injured all over, little fiend. What have you done?”

Her throat dried up, and a blustering wind blew over her face in that exact second, obscuring her expression with her hair. All the injuries on her body—her hands, her feet, her thigh—were a testament of her desire to flee. To escape from her impending doom. She should have remained resolute in that—she had staked her life on it. But here, in his presence, her mind was scrambled and she couldn’t form coherent thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Daiyu tried wrenching her hands away, but he held her wrists tighter.

“It matters to me.” He stared at her levelly, and she couldn’t look past the blood speckled on his face or the darkness of his eyes. “It matters to me, Daiyu.”

“Why?” She remembered his earlier words—about how replaceable she was to him—and her throat constricted together. She didn’t like the way her stomach twisted together like a pit of writhing snakes.

Muyang didn’t answer. He held her hands lightly, a golden glow returning from his fingertips. Her skin warmed as the magic touched her and she watched as the flesh repaired itself. He healed every part of her that was injured, whether it was a scratch on her arm or the gashes on her feet. He was silent the entire time, moving on to each wound methodically. It wasn’t until she was completely healed that he spoke again.

“You will have some scars. It angers me to think that these scum”—he spat in the direction of the corpses, his voice riddled with vitriol—“dared to touch and wound you so, but I can’t do more than kill them. And seeing as how they’re already dead, I can’t torture them for the wrong they have committed against you. I should have let them breathe their last breaths at your feet, begging for forgiveness, but my fury took the better part of my decisions and I dashed that hope prematurely.”

Daiyu stared down at her healed hands and stretched her cold, stiff fingers. Her hands weren’t scarred, but even healed, they were rough with all the work she had done throughout her life—all the farming, cooking, cleaning, and manual labor made her hands different than that of a noble woman’s. She didn’t have delicate, pink hands that were unused to work. She had roughened, dry, and patchy hands. Embarrassment flooded her at the sight. He probably thought her hands were like this because she had injured them recently. Little did he know.

The textured, pink scar on her thigh was just another imperfection on her already imperfect body. He didn’t seem to realize just how flawed she was. Or how this new scar made her lesser than all those other women who already had an advantage over her.

“It really doesn’t matter, Your Majesty.” Daiyu’s breath fogged in front of her and she rubbed circles over her shoulders. Her cloak was torn in several areas, but she barely felt the cold. Not when she was so close to him and practically sitting on his lap. She shifted her body away from his warmth. “These unfortunate men are already dead, and whether they begged at my feet or not wouldn’t change my fate … or theirs.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” A hint of anger leaked into his voice and he reached forward to grab her chin, but she shook her head away before he could. “They hurt you, Daiyu. Of course it matters?—”

“If that was enough reason for it to matter, then it matters not.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ve wounded me, and it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Her lower lip wobbled and she hated the vulnerability in her voice, or the way his eyes widened a fraction of an inch in surprise.

Muyang blinked slowly. “I’ve wounded you? When?”

“When you told me I’m replaceable.” Her throat closed up and her eyes misted with unshed tears. It was the painful truth she didn’t want to face—the fact that his words affected her more than they should have. Her voice thickened as she continued, “And now my worth is even less than all those women in the empire who are already better than me. I’m already old, and rough, and now scarred to top it all off! Who will ever want to marry me now? Who will ever want me?”

She didn’t know why she was saying all of that—she had resigned herself to a fate of never marrying, but now … now, her heart felt empty. Lonely. Afraid.

“It doesn’t matter what happened, or what will happen, or how all of this came to be. All I know is that I’m miserable, hurt, and cold, and my body is scarred, and I … I …” More tears streamed down her face and she had a million different threads of thoughts running through her mind, each of them intersecting with one another and confusing her. “I don’t know what to feel anymore.”

“Daiyu.” Muyang stared at her squarely, his voice barely above a fierce whisper. His black hair swayed with the motion of the wintry wind, and something dark passed over his features. “Do you think I want you less because you’re scarred? There is not a single thing in this empire—in this world—that can mar your beauty or your worth. Never think that you are worth less than anyone else.” He reached forward and grasped a tendril of her hair. Something possessive seemed to take ahold of him as he narrowed his eyes at her. “And you speak as if someone else would dare to marry you when you are mine.”

The last of her tears fell onto her lap and she could only stare at him, dumbfounded. He wanted her, despite … despite everything? Her confusing emotions entangled further and she swiped at her damp cheeks with the palms of her hands. It shouldn’t matter, she told herself, and yet she found that it did.

“But I …” She swallowed down the heaviness in her throat. She wanted to leave him. That was why she was even in this mess. There was no reason for her to fling herself on him when he had done nothing for her but put her in this situation. She should hate him, not desire him, and she should particularly hate the twisted, possessive attention he gave her.

She shoved her messy, confusing thoughts away when Muyang suddenly rested his head against her shoulder. Daiyu nearly squeaked at the contact, her face flushing with unexpected warmth.

“Y-your Majesty?”

“Let me … just … rest my head for a second,” he breathed.

A blush spread over her cheeks as he wrapped his arms around her waist and enveloped her in a loose embrace. “Your Majesty? This isn’t appropriate?—”

And before she could question him further, his body went limp against hers.