Chapter 31
Daiyu’s head was throbbing with all the thinking and planning she had been doing the past week since she found out Wang Yanlin was out to kill her. She had never been a planner—that had always fallen on Lanfen—so conspiring against someone, or even thinking of ways to protect herself made her head want to explode.
She rubbed her temples and stared down at the ink scrawled on the parchment in front of her. Feiyu and her were in the royal library, in a section designated for mages and those of higher status, and it was completely empty. She had asked Feiyu to teach her how to read and write a little, but instead the mage brought her here, disappeared between the bookshelves, and only popped in and out occasionally.
“Feiyu, I can’t read this.” She unfurled the scroll to stare at the crude images of tigers and women and mountains. She had no idea what was going on. Was it a piece of poetry, a story, or a historical piece? She was none the wiser. “Feiyu!”
Feiyu popped around one of the bookshelves, a handful of aged scrolls stacked in his hands. His dragon mask today was yellow and black, with bigger slits for the eyes and curling fangs by the mouth area. “Hm?”
“I can’t read this.” She picked up the scroll and waved it in his direction. “I’m not sure if the woman is getting eaten by the tiger or seduced.”
Feiyu clucked his tongue. “Those things are worth a fortune and you’re waving it like a flag.”
“Is it really?” She set the scroll down a bit more carefully this time, noticing that the edges of the parchment were flaking. She cringed and rested her hands on her lap. “Well, gee, I didn’t know. Sorry.”
“Oh, I don’t really mind. Just that His Majesty might burst a blood vessel.” He chuckled as if that was truly laughable, much to Daiyu’s horror, and rounded the table until he was beside her. Planting a hand on the table and leaning forward to see the scroll, he bobbed his head. “Ah, yes. This story. It’s a rubbish poem about a woman who fell in love with a vicious tiger, only to be killed by it in the end. Moral of the story? Don’t fall for obvious dangers and use your mind.”
“Well then.” Daiyu promptly rolled up the scroll, no longer interested in reading about something that paralleled her own life. “I suppose another moral of the story is not to fall in love with a beast.”
“That’s another possibility.” He dumped his findings onto the table and yanked back the chair across from her. Plopping down on it unceremoniously, he began flicking through the scrolls with unnatural speed. “Anyhow, are you any closer to finding out more about this Wang Yanlin?”
“No.” She sighed and rested her head against her folded arms on the table. The room smelled like dust, incense, and old parchment—which had a hint of vanilla and wood scent. She was no closer to knowing anything about Wang Yanlin than she was the other day. All she knew was that, apparently, the Wang family was one of the biggest, most influential, and wealthy supporters of His Majesty. They also, apparently, thought Muyang would choose their daughter, Yanlin, as his first wife. Other than that tidbit, she knew nothing.
“Maybe you’re not asking the right people.” He unfurled another scroll, scanned the contents, rolled it up, and repeated the process with the next one. “Nikator and Vita aren’t well-versed in the dramas and gossips of court life.”
“I’m well aware of that.” She had asked the two Peccata members if they knew anything, and other than providing her with information about the Wang family estates that were spread throughout the empire, the two knew nothing personally about Yanlin. They hadn’t even met her before.
“Regardless, I think you’re stressing yourself out for no reason. This Yanlin woman might be bold enough to plot your demise, but she definitely won’t be the last. You should focus on fortifying your own defenses first instead of trying to attack her.”
“But isn’t it better to take her down and leave a message to all the other women who want to take my position?” Daiyu lifted her head to pin the mage with a grim look. “I might not know much about strategies, but isn’t that one of them? Isn’t that why generals spike the heads of their enemies around their fortresses and castles? To scare off the opposition?”
Feiyu lowered the scroll he was reading, and through the gaps of his mask, she could make out his eyes crinkling in what she thought was amusement. “You plan to make an example out of Wang Yanlin?”
“I’d like to, yes.” She drummed her fingers against the polished, emerald-painted tabletop and chewed on her lower lip as she thought of ways to send a clear message to the woman. Her gaze glossed over to the ceiling-high bookshelves closed around them, and then to the sprawling, metal-latticed windows with dragon designs along the frames, and then finally to the green-robed mage studying her with inquisitive, black eyes. “If you have any ideas, I’d love to hear them.”
“My methods involve magic, torture, and killing—all of which I’m certain you’re incapable of doing. So if you have anything you’d like to share with me, I’m all ears.”
Daiyu shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that, but she couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “You’ve tortured people before?”
“Killed them too.”
She could have sworn he grinned when he said it.
“But what else can you expect from the high mage of the royal palace, hm?”
“I didn’t expect you to be so …” She struggled to find a word. “Brutal?”
“Anyhow, Daiyu, I’m dying to know the next step of your head-spiking plan.” Feiyu plucked a scroll from his pile and unfolded it like the others.
“I don’t have a plan yet.” She stared off at the rows of stacked scrolls, all of them with different shaped rods holding the parchment together—some wooden, some rotting, and some metal.
“You’ll be married in a week,” Feiyu said. “And then a week after that is the Autumn Festival. Maybe you can make a statement then? You’ll be newly married, glowing, and happy—and His Majesty will likely be the same. I’m sure you can make a show of how much you’ve got the emperor wrapped around your finger.”
Daiyu scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a blush clawed up her throat. “Very funny, but I don’t have anyone madly in love with me like that.”
“Hm.” Feiyu closed his eyes and she could make out a faint scar running vertically down his right eyelid and under the eye. His dark gaze flicked over to the window and his voice grew soft. “I wonder about that.”
“I’ll probably meet her at the wedding,” she mused. “Along with her family. The Wang family has mages, right? So it’s highly likely that they’re the ones who burned down my family’s rice paddies?”
“Practically every noble family has their own personal mages and the Wang family is no exception. So yes, it’s wholly possible.”
“All the more reason why I need to make an example out of her.” She pursed her lips together and bit back the urge to release a string of curses upon Wang Yanlin and the entire Wang family. It was one thing to go after her life, but another to go after her family. There was no way she was going to sit here and do nothing now that she had a name. But she couldn’t think of what to do. She didn’t want to resort to Yanlin’s methods—poison, kidnapping, and burning of someone’s livelihood—but she couldn’t think of anything that would send a clear message for others to back off.
“You could ask His Majesty for help?—”
“Out of the question.” She reclined in her seat. “The emperor doesn’t concern himself in the matters of his women, according to a few noble ladies I talked to earlier. It’ll only make me look weak, too, if I run to him anytime I’m in trouble. I need to figure this out myself.”
“Good luck, then.”
“You have such high faith in me,” she grumbled. “Anyway, what are you looking into?”
“Oh, this?” He motioned to the scrolls haphazardly sprawled on the table. “Research.”
Daiyu didn’t prod into what research he was doing—frankly, she didn’t really care what magical things the mage was looking into—and picked at the gold embroidered threads of her sleeve forming tiny lotuses. “Feiyu, why are you helping me?”
“We have a deal, remember?”
“I remember.” She gave him a long, hard look. “But you haven’t asked for anything back.”
“In due time, Daiyu. In due time.”
“You’re not going to ask for something outrageous, are you? Like my firstborn? Or like, I have to become your slave for eternity?”
Feiyu laughed, loud and rich and full of cheer, and crossed his arms behind his neck casually. “What do you take me for? A mage from an old folktale?”
“I don’t know—” The words died on her lips when his sleeve slipped down to his elbow, revealing a black tattoo of a serpent coiled around the moon—the symbol of the MuRong dynasty—etched into his lean forearm. Just as quickly as she saw it, he dropped his arms back down to his sides.
An awkward silence stretched between them, with Feiyu staring at her with unreadable eyes, and Daiyu gaping at him like she had seen a ghost. She had seen the serpent and moon royal tattoo, hadn’t she? But then that meant … Feiyu was somehow related to the MuRongs? Was he one of the princes? One of the far relatives no one knew about? Was he supposed to be dead? A million ideas ran through her mind, but a singular thought threaded them all together: Did Muyang know?
“Feiyu, why do you have that … mark?” She leaned against the table until she was closer to him and her voice was barely a whisper. “The remnants of the you-know-what family aren’t allowed to use magic. So how?—”
“Daiyu.” There was a warning in his tone, a tightness there that she hadn’t heard from him before. “Please don’t ask.”
“But—”
“Daiyu.”
She couldn’t ignore the desperation in his strained voice, but she sighed and fell back against her chair. “I won’t ask,” she said. “But I hope you know that if you need my help in any way, I’d be more than happy to provide it to you. I’m indebted to you, with or without our deal.”
He stared at her unblinkingly and gave a quick nod. “Right. Anyway. Let’s talk about something else, yes?” He pointed to the bookshelves. “How about you pick a scroll or book that interests you and we can begin your reading lesson?”
“Sure.” Daiyu heaved herself to her feet and lingered at the table with the mage for a moment, wanting to ask him more but unable to form the words. Finally, she left to the shelves and began perusing. Feiyu did the same, but more quietly than her.
She pulled out various scrolls—mostly because of the colorful rods or fanciful ones—opened them, scanned the contents of inky writing, and shoved them back where she found them. She wanted to find something that wasn’t so complicated, maybe with a lot of drawings to help her visualize what was happening in it. But mostly, she was letting her mind travel as she carelessly checked the scrolls and put them back in place.
The morning light filtered through the metal windows, casting dragon-like shadows against the shelves. Daiyu breathed in the scent of old parchment, her finger dragging over the old ledges. It was still bizarre to her that she was inside the royal palace, reading from scrolls that only royalty and royal personnel were allowed to see, and now she would somehow be a part of this all.
She paused in her search when she came across a particularly fancy scroll shoved at the very top shelf. The rods were painted a fresh, bright, vermillion color that instantly caught her eye. Climbing up to her tiptoes and grasping one of the ledges for support, she reached for the scroll in vain, her fingers barely brushing against the shelf it was on. She grunted, trying to pull herself taller to grab it.
Right when she thought it would be futile, a hand snuck up behind hers and plucked the scroll out. Daiyu turned her head just in time to meet Muyang’s glittering black eyes. A gasp escaped her mouth and she fell back against his lean, muscular chest. His other hand went straight to her hip, securing her in place. A flush spread over her face, warming her down to her toes.
“Y-Your Majesty!” Her head craned back in his direction, her mouth parting slightly. When had he snuck up behind her? And furthermore … a quick scan of her surroundings revealed Feiyu, and all signs of him, was nowhere to be seen. “What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking that of you.” He took a step back to let her breathe and his body warmth left her in seconds. She noticed the way his hand lingered on her waist before he released her. Raising the scroll, he lifted his brows. “I didn’t think you were interested in magical writings.”
She almost leaned forward into his touch to feel the heat again but stopped herself short. She instead spun around so she was staring up at him and braced her hands behind herself onto the shelves. They were still only inches apart.
When Muyang tilted his head to the side and gave her a wry smile, Daiyu snapped out of her reverie of admiring him. She had almost forgotten he had even said anything.
“I can’t read, actually,” she said quickly, motioning to the library. “But I wanted to look at some pictures. That scroll caught my attention because it was painted in such a vibrant color. I was going to see if it had any illustrations inside or not.”
“You’re always surprising me.”
“Because I want to look at illustrations?”
“No.” His smile grew broader and there was a twinkle in his dark eyes that made her chest tighten. He inched closer as if sharing a secret and whispered, “The fact that you always sneak into places you shouldn’t be.”
“Oh.” She could feel a blush staining her cheeks and she was reminded of how they first met in his bathing chambers. “I didn’t realize this library was off-limits.”
“It’s my personal library.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh.” She glanced over at where Feiyu had been and then at the rest of the vacant section of the library. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize?—”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Muyang’s eyes flicked down to her lips. “You’ll be my wife soon, and everything that is mine will be yours.”
They held each other’s gaze for a slow, electrifying moment longer before Daiyu motioned to the scroll. “Not everything. But I would like to look at that scroll if you’ll let me.”
He handed her the scroll. “Let me help you read it.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” He smiled that slow-smile of his again and her stomach flipped at the sight of it. At the soft purr when he murmured, “Is it wrong for me to want to assist my wife-to-be?”
She swallowed down the dryness of her throat. It was suddenly too warm in the room, too stifling, too uncomfortable. Even though she wore the finest silks, her clothes felt too rough, too tight, and far too prickly in that very moment. Like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet it felt right to be there next to him. To have him peering down at her like she was something to be coveted.
Daiyu cleared her throat. “It’s not wrong, per se. But I’d hate to trouble you over something so simple and trivial.”
“All the more reason for me to help you.” He waved a hand toward one of the tables.
She went to the table she had been sitting at with Feiyu and eased herself into the seat. Muyang sat across from her and even though she had just been with Feiyu minutes ago, this felt all too different than it had been with the high mage. He felt closer to her physically than Feiyu had been. The distance between them seemed to be smaller, the desk narrower, and even the air felt less abundant, like it was harder to breathe with him around.
She hated the instant effect he had on her. Hated how her skin tingled with goose bumps and how her body warmed with one glance. She was too aware of him, of how alone they were in this room, and how they would wed one another in a week.
Muyang pointed a slender finger at the scroll. “Are you going to open it?”
“Yes,” she replied, still breathless. She fumbled with the flap of the scroll and unfurled it across the desk, letting one end of the rod roll to the edge of the table. To her disappointment, there weren’t any illustrations, just inky, elegant strokes along the cream-colored parchment.
“This—” Muyang stared at the writing, his forehead creasing and a strange look flashing over his face. “You picked a particularly interesting scroll, little rabbit.” He dragged a finger over to the scroll and tapped against one of the characters written there. “This is about soul splitting and curses.”
“Curses?” She perked up at that.
“You like curses?”
“Well, no.” She fiddled with her fingers on her lap. “But magic is just so fascinating to me. I had never experienced it before until I came to the palace, so it’s all so very new to me. I’m curious to know, what are curses like? Is it a type of magic? Like in those old tales about people being cursed into becoming monsters?”
“Curses are a type of magic, yes. A type that consumes.” Muyang flipped the scroll so it was facing him. “Soul splitting is a type of curse. It’s where the magic user tears their soul apart, corrupts themselves, and becomes unstable.”
“Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
He shrugged. “Various reasons, I suppose. To cast aside a part of themselves they dislike. To split their magic into different beings. Or maybe in a sick effort to save themselves.”
Before she could ask more about curses and magic, he curled the scroll until it was closed and placed it on the center of the table. Leaning forward on his elbows, he murmured, “I take back what I said. I’d rather not talk about curses and magic, when I can speak to you on other matters.”
“Other matters?”
“Like our upcoming wedding.”
She hadn’t given the wedding much thought—other than what she needed to do and how she would deal with Wang Yanlin—but that was only because she didn’t want to think about what it meant to be married to Drakkon Muyang. What it meant to be a married woman. If she was making the right decision for herself, her future, and her family. All of it swamped her with anxiety and unrelenting pressure. It was better not to think about it, and yet …
Now that he brought it up, her chest tightened in apprehension. She would be married soon. To the beautiful man sitting across from her.
She didn’t know what to think or feel anymore.
“Are you looking forward to it?” he asked when she didn’t say anything. “Is there anything in particular that you would like at the wedding? Any particular poets you like? Certain traditional dances you would like to see? Specific types of foods and drinks?”
Those were all the things she hadn’t even thought about. Back home, weddings were a big deal in her village, but she was sure the emperor’s wedding would be grander than anything she could come up with. She didn’t even know where to begin. It was overwhelming to think about: décor, music, poetry, dances, food? She had thought it would all be taken care of by someone else.
Muyang touched her chin ever so softly, jerking her back to reality. He held her face for a fleeting moment, studying her with dark eyes that seemed so unreadable, and then released her gently. “Don’t stress so much about it. If you’d rather not think about the preparations, that’s fine. I just wanted your input on it, since I know for some women they like to be involved in the process.”
“I—Thank you, Your Majesty.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and stared down at the polished tabletop. There was a warm, fluttering feeling in the pit of her belly at his consideration for her. “I’d rather have someone else prepare everything. I’m not too picky about the planning stage of everything, and I trust your people to do a good job at it. The only request I have is that my family be present and be taken care of during the entirety of their stay here.”
“That’s already been taken care of. Your family is currently en route to the capital and should be here shortly—hopefully just on time for the wedding. I was planning on having them stay here until the end of the festival. How does that sound?”
She couldn’t help the giddy excitement that coursed through her veins at those words. Her family would be here, finally. It had been such a long, long time since she had last seen Mother, Father, Grandmother, Lanfen, and her twin brothers Ran and Qianfan. She could imagine her family being angry at her for leaving so abruptly, without taking their worries into consideration, and throwing herself headstrong into this situation. But she could also see the opposite: of them beaming with pride at the prospect of their daughter being married off to the emperor, of all people. At the new status they would gain because of her. At the wealth, prosperity, and stability they would now have in their lives.
Mother had often worried about Daiyu not marrying after Heng’s death and had insisted multiple times to find a suitable husband. She had even brought suitors to their home, but Daiyu had refused each and every one of them. She was sure that her mother would now be happy that she would be wed soon.
“Thank you, Your?—”
“Muyang.” He leaned closer until their faces were inches apart. The corner of his soft mouth rose ever so slightly. “When we’re alone,” he murmured, his words seeming to caress her in a way that made her shiver, “I want you to call me Muyang.”
She swallowed. She could have easily backed away in her seat, broken this connection between them, but she didn’t want to. She fought with the urge to press closer to him, to feel the warmth of his breath more firmly against her face—against her mouth.
“I can’t,” Daiyu whispered, eyes darting from his lips to his eyes and to his perfectly sculpted face. He was too close, too warm, too real. Too wickedly beautiful for her. “You’re the emperor.”
“Must I command you, my wife-to-be, to call me by my name?”
“I don’t want you to command me for something so small. In fact—” She hesitated, not sure if what she was about to say was treasonous. But he nodded as if waiting and wanting to hear more, and she blurted, “I would rather you not command me for anything.”
“You wish to be equals with me?” That sinister gleam was back in his eyes and for a moment, she thought he would close the distance between them and lock his lips with hers. But he didn’t, only smiled that roguishly beautiful smile of his. “Some would say that’s very daring of you. Others would call for your death at such a traitorous wish.”
“And what would you say?”
“That when it is just you and me, Daiyu, you can be whatever and whomever you wish to be. If you wish to be my superior, my equal, or whatever else your heart desires, then I will comply.” He studied her expression, the way her face lit up like he had burst a flame beneath her skin. “So say my name.”
“Muyang.” The name tasted so foreign to her tongue, but it felt right. Like she had finally bridged the last gap between them. Like there was nothing more holding her back from falling into his cruel arms. She wanted so badly for him to hold her, to touch her, and yet she held herself back.
Muyang’s grin slid back in place. “You’re so lovely when you say my name, sweet fiend.”
“And you …” She licked her lips, not sure if she was allowed to speak to him so causally, “And you are so infuriating when you call me that name.”
“You still seem to hate the fiend nickname, I see.”
“I doubt anyone would enjoy it.”
“I enjoy it.”
“Because it’s not your nickname.” A hesitant smile graced her lips. “Muyang.”
“What nickname have you picked out for me? I hope I’ve graduated from monster.”
She cringed at the insult she had hurled at him weeks ago. “I already apologized for that. Will you continue to hold it over my head, or will you get over it?”
“I don’t recall hearing an apology.”
“I’m sorry,” Daiyu added with an eye roll. “And I have chosen your nickname, remember? You’re to be called little dragon, since you prefer to add little to every moniker you give me. I shall do the same to you. Is that acceptable enough?”
Muyang frowned, but there was nothing malicious about it, nothing that told her he would throw her in the dungeons for offending him. She had crossed that boundary a long time ago, she realized when she took in his scowl.
“I don’t know about acceptable, but I will tolerate it,” he said with a long sigh. “I see you’re enjoying the nickname already.”
“Oh, I’m enjoying myself all right,” she said with a soft laugh.
Daiyu opened her mouth to say more, but someone cleared their throat, and her attention swiveled to one end of the room. Bohai stood between one of the bookshelves, an apologetic, polite smile on his face. All at once, the small moment between Daiyu and Muyang seemed to shatter, and she found herself retreating back in her seat. Hopefully, the commander-in-chief hadn’t heard too much of their conversation.
Bohai nodded at Muyang. “Your Majesty, you’re running late for a meeting.”
“I’m not running late anywhere,” he replied with a wave, his own smile fading and a look of irritation flashing over his face. “Last I checked, everyone waits for me.”
“True, but as your advisor and longtime friend, I suggest we make it to your war council in time.”
Muyang rose to his feet smoothly. “Then let’s go.” He eyed the scroll in the center of the table before turning to her sharply as if remembering something. “Where’s Vita? I thought she was supposed to guard you at all times?”
Vita was supposed to be with her, but when Feiyu snatched her away, he had given the woman a break and told her to take an hour off until he dropped her back off to the room. Seeing as how Feiyu was nowhere to be seen, she had no idea if that was still the plan.
“She was taking a break,” Daiyu said slowly and carefully. She didn’t want Muyang to know that she was involved with Feiyu, but she also didn’t want Vita to come across as someone who would shirk their duties for no reason. “I can walk back to my room?—”
Muyang’s brows pulled together quizzically. “Vita, taking a break? Who has enough authority to convince her to do that?”
The high mage had enough authority, apparently. But the high mage wasn’t supposed to be interacting with Daiyu at all.
She wrung her hands together beneath the table, her fingers itching to fidget with something. “I, uh, don’t really know for sure?—”
“It was me,” Bohai pitched in. “I thought she could use a break. We all know how serious she gets with her work.”
Muyang studied the commander-in-chief for a brief moment but nodded nonetheless, seeming to believe him, while Daiyu also stared at Bohai, unsure if she had heard right. Her shoulders involuntarily sagged and she released a muted breath.
“Have a guard escort Daiyu back to her room,” Muyang finally said. “And have Vita report back as soon as possible.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty.”
Her secret was safe for now, but she wondered why the commander thought to help her. Unless he too knew about Feiyu’s involvement? Whatever the case, she was grateful.