Chapter 7
For the next three days, Daiyu didn’t hear from Feiyu about Lanfen’s whereabouts; in fact, she didn’t see the mage at all. She had been locked inside her room, unable to leave, and her only interaction with people was the handful of maids who would bring in her food, help her change clothes, and who set up a bath for her. Anytime she tried to talk to any of them, they gave her the cold shoulder and didn’t indulge her in any information about what would happen next.
It wasn’t until one afternoon where Daiyu was lounging on one of the many couches in her suite that a series of knocks had her jumping to her feet.
“His Majesty has summoned you to his quarters,” a booming male voice called through the set of double doors.
All the color drained from her face. Why would the emperor want her in his quarters? Was he going to sleep with her, abuse her, or had he heard of her plans of escape? Would he torture her? A million morbid ideas flitted through her mind and she wanted nothing more than to run as far away from this place as possible—but that was impossible.
So she squared her shoulders, brushed a shaky hand over the pale gold and sage dress she had on, fixed the honey-colored hairpins in her hair, and left her room, where a palace guard gave her a small nod and they walked her down the winding, polished halls. Her heart hammered in her chest to a wild tune. This was a good thing, she told herself. She’d be able to find a way to escape, surely? Perhaps the emperor was going to tell her that he had made a mistake in choosing her—a very obvious commoner—and was letting her go? Or, more logically, she could find a weakness of his to extort and exchange for her freedom? No, that would surely end in her death.
Her jumbled thoughts came to a stumbling halt when the guard stopped outside a grand set of gilded doors and rapped his knuckles gently on the embossed surface. “Your Majesty,” he said. “She’s here.”
Daiyu’s palms suddenly became slick and she wiped them on the sides of her dress, her gaze darting from the door to the end of the hallway. All she had to do was stay quiet, smile, and act docile, she told herself. So long as she didn’t do anything outrightly rude, the emperor shouldn’t find a problem with her … Right?
And if she acted boring enough, there was a sure chance that he would toss her aside for someone more suited for him?
“Come in.” She recognized the smooth, authoritative voice.
The guard yanked the door open and motioned her inside. Without wasting another breath, Daiyu sauntered inside, head low. It wasn’t until the door shut behind her that she peeked inside the room. The emperor sat on the floor in front of a low table with an assortment of roasted meat, fried vegetables in hearty broth, and sticky white rice. A servant poured tea from a kettle into his cup, which he held in his palm loosely.
Drakkon Muyang’s hair was undone, so unlike the polished version of him she had seen just days ago. Vibrant purple robes covered his body entirely, and gold flashed over his wrists and neck, and a jade-encrusted sword was laid in front of him next to his platter of food.
Upon seeing her, a small smile curved along the corners of his soft mouth, and it was only then that Daiyu remembered to drop to her knees in a bow. Her body went rigid and her insides felt like they were quivering.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” she whispered, her chest tightening with apprehension. This was the famed emperor said to have killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Who was rumored to have killed one of the princesses because she refused to bow to him. Who was said to be part demon.
And she was in his presence for the third time—she should’ve been considered lucky she was still alive at this point.
Muyang watched her for a moment, and Daiyu forced her face down, unable to meet his dark eyes. Her legs grew numb and a tingling sensation ran down her calves. A cold shiver ran over her body, and she wasn’t sure if it was from being under his scrutiny or from nervousness of what was to come. She licked her chapped lips to moisten them. She was teetering on the edge of flight or fight—and both would sign her death.
He was too powerful, and evil, and beautiful, she reasoned. A combination that made her heart race like a prey caught in a spider’s web.
“You may rise.”
She jerked herself up, and her stiff legs complied. She placed her hands behind her back and tried to keep her gaze on anything but him—to the brilliant scarlet pillars erected throughout the room, to the hexagonal caisson ceiling with a dragon looping toward the center, the lush rugs with gold and emerald threads, and then to the table of food.
The servant in the room bowed low and drifted to one end of the room, where she kneeled, likely if the emperor needed anything from her. Meanwhile, Daiyu remained stuck in position by the door.
Muyang picked up his silver chopsticks and then a piece of roasted venison from his plate. He ate it quietly, and Daiyu could feel his cold gaze lingering on her, and it took all her strength to avoid his eyes.
Staring the emperor in the eyes could get her killed, after all.
“I called you here to have a meal together.” His voice came out clipped and devoid of emotion, so unlike the amused tone he had used in their previous encounter. Gone was the curious man and in his place was someone cold—so very cold that she shook where she stood. “If I wanted you to stand in the corner, shivering like a fawn, I would have called forth another maid to decorate the wall. Come forward and sit.”
Daiyu’s legs moved on their own and she eased down onto the cushion across from him. Her stomach growled as the smells of garlicky meat, ginger, spices, and soy sauce pervaded the room, even as her appetite fled from her.
“Must I tell you to eat too?” he said, his voice growing more detached—more bored—and almost like he was losing patience with her.
This time, Daiyu lifted her head and she inhaled sharply as those black eyes were set on her. Something dark and sinister seemed to reflect off the obsidian void lying there, and she quickly averted herself to stare at her empty porcelain bowl.
She found her voice, though it came out in a squeak. “Thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty.”
He didn’t bother acknowledging her response and instead picked up a chicken drumstick and bit into it. His free hand thumbed the dark ruby cast inside the hilt of his jade sword. It reminded her of blood for some reason, and another tremor ran down her body. There was no reason to have a weapon at the table—especially not in front of someone like her.
Unless he doubted her.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight and she stiffly reached for the closest dish to her—stir-fried spinach doused in a brown sauce with diced garlic and red peppers—and filled her bowl. If she didn’t eat, or annoyed him further, she was sure he would lop her head off right then and there. He must have been testing her, and by the way he was growing more bored of her—she feared she was failing.
She piled sticky white rice into her bowl and ate the food silently. She barely tasted the rich sauces of the meal or the soft, chewy rice.
“How are you enjoying your stay at the palace?” He was watching her again, and this time she couldn’t stop herself from meeting his gaze. Every pore in her body froze. There was a coldness about him that made him appear undead. A power that clung to him that made even the weight of his stare feel like cloying death. “You said you would love to become my concubine because of this wonderful palace, didn’t you? Well, are you enjoying it?” His words came out in a sneer, and she realized she had offended him.
“I-I—” She couldn’t formulate any words, and the room seemed to disappear altogether until it was just the two of them and his shiny sword sitting way too close to her. “Th-the palace is beautiful, but I’ve been confined to only my room. Um, I … I hope I didn’t offend you, Your Majesty?”
“Offend me?” He narrowed his eyes and then leaned back. “Of course not. Though it isn’t every day that I’m met with a woman who’s honest in her interest of my possessions rather than me.”
She waited for him to reach for his sword and aim it at her—her body erect with anticipation—but he didn’t. He continued to eat, his attention never straying from her.
Daiyu shoveled more food into her mouth. Maybe the faster she ate, the faster this entire ordeal would be over. She had hated the boring, monotonous stay in her palace room, but now she wanted nothing more than to run there and hide under the covers.
“Yin Daiyu, who are you?”
When she raised her head, she froze when the pointed edge of a dagger was inches from her face. Muyang’s elbow was propped on the low table, and his chin rested on his closed fist, while he held the dagger precariously with his other hand. He appeared unbothered, uninterested, and wholly untrusting as he watched her with narrowed, obsidian-like eyes.
“I requested to find more information about you, little rabbit.” There was a teasing quality in his voice, like he seemed to take delight in the fear that suddenly swamped her. “But then I came up blank. All the records we have of the women who were brought to my palace show that there is, in fact, no Yin Daiyu.”
Daiyu couldn’t rip her gaze from the dangerous glint of the dagger’s blade. She felt like if she breathed, it would be her last.
“That either tells me that you’re lying about who you are”—the cold tip of the dagger touched her throat, and he gently traced the column of her neck up—“or that you’re a spy sent here to kill me. Which is it?”
The dagger dug into her throat and she gasped abruptly as sharp pain pricked her. She could feel the bead of warm blood running down her neck, and he followed the trail it created, his eyes growing impossibly dark.
“Th-There must be a mistake,” she whispered, tears of fear filling her eyes suddenly. Her breathing became erratic as he moved the blade down further until it touched the lapel of her dress. “I?—”
“A mistake?” Muyang chuckled, and a wave of wild, chaotic, and sinister energy seemed to reverberate from the small gesture. “That wasn’t one of the options I gave you.”
“Please! I know there’s a mistake,” she rushed, just as the edge of the blade touched her sternum between her breasts. She breathed in, her chest rising with the motion, and he stared down at her uninterestedly. “My sister was originally supposed to be taken, but I swapped places with her before she arrived at the palace. Believe me, I’m telling the truth,” she said in a quick sentence. “You should have her information in the records. Yin Lanfen. Look her up, please.”
He paused his tracing and scrutinized her coldly, and for a moment, she was afraid he wouldn’t believe her small lie, but then his attention flickered to the servant on one side of the room—who Daiyu had completely forgotten was there. He gave her a nod, and the woman pulled out a scroll from her sleeve.
“If you’re lying,” he murmured, his beautiful voice lulling between seductive smoothness and a feral coldness, “your heart would make a beautiful adornment in my collection.”
Daiyu’s lower lip trembled. “I’m telling the truth.”
The only noise between them was the unfurling of paper as the maidservant expanded the scroll further. Muyang kept the dagger on her chest, and he watched the rise and fall of her breasts with something akin to untamed desire—the first sign of interest he had shown her. She didn’t even want to think about what he was thinking—about slicing her chest open and ripping her heart out.
Finally, the maidservant spoke. “I don’t see a Yin Lanfen?—”
Daiyu’s blood ran cold.
“Ah? No Yin Lanfen?” Muyang’s mouth curved up and the tip of the dagger pressed into the bony part of her sternum. “You?—”
“Oh!” The maidservant squinted at the paper. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I missed it in my haste, but yes, we do have a Yin Lanfen here.”
Daiyu couldn’t even breathe in relief because the emperor hadn’t eased his blade from her. He blinked as if not expecting that answer, and then he retracted his blade ever so slowly. And even then, she didn’t relax—she couldn’t.
“Which village are you from?” he asked.
“H-Hanzi.”
Again, he turned to the servant, who bobbed her head in confirmation as she read from the scroll.
Muyang sighed as if disappointed and slid his black dagger—with a curling dragon over the hilt—into its sheath. “Well then,” he murmured, reaching forward for his cup of tea and taking a sip casually. “It appears you’re truthful.”
Daiyu’s shoulders trembled and she bunched her hands together on her lap. No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop herself from quivering. She had never felt such raw, primal pressure before. Such closeness to death that she could taste iron in her mouth.
“Eat.” He motioned to her food and Daiyu stared at him dumbly, unable to make out what he meant. “Come now, we haven’t finished our meal. So eat.”
She picked up her chopsticks numbly, and the shaking grew so bad that she couldn’t pick at any of her food. Muyang watched with mild amusement and continued his meal as if he hadn’t tried to kill her seconds ago.
“It suits you,” he said.
“H-Huh?” Daiyu looked at him and wished she hadn’t. There was something cruel about his cold, vicious beauty. She had once heard her mother say that evil sometimes cloaked itself in beauty to entice its prey—and in this moment, she could see that he was the embodiment of that statement.
Muyang reached forward and she flinched when he touched her neck, but she didn’t dare lean away from him. He dragged his finger along her throat and teased at the neckline—as if he would trace even lower—before pulling his hand away. A streak of her blood smeared his digit and he brought it to his mouth.
She watched with mounting horror as he licked her blood. “Red suits you.”
The rest of the meal continued painstakingly slow, and Daiyu could barely choke down her food. It wasn’t until the emperor dismissed her that she could finally breathe. When she nearly ran out of the room, she could feel his gaze lingering on her back, and she felt even more vulnerable.
But there was one thing that was sure in her mind—surer than anything she had ever felt in her life—she needed to escape from this palace and his clutches. Because if she remained here, she was certain she would not survive.