Chapter 18 #2
Something furry rubbed on her ankles and it was then that she noticed Jade was hiding underneath her bed. Horror and guilt washed over Biyu and she scooped up her cat, hugging her to her chest. Jade squirmed for a moment, before rubbing her head against Biyu’s chin.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that, Jade,” she whispered, her throat constricting. “I didn’t know you were in the room.”
She certainly had scared the cat enough for her to hide beneath the bed; how could she have lost control over herself like that?
Shame built in the pit of her stomach. She rubbed Jade beneath her chin right where she liked it, and her finger brushed over a tucked piece of parchment.
Her heart stopped and she pulled down the collar enough to find a rolled-up note tied behind the collar.
Pulling it free, she set Jade aside and quickly unfolded the note.
Yat-sen’s swirly, neat handwriting came to view.
Although the gardens are prickly and full of thorns, it is their nature and thus we shall tread carefully, as usual.
Perhaps, beyond the thorns, you may still smell the fragrance of the roses?
Fear not, sister. Because although you may want to stray from the sharp barbs of the rose, having that red thorn may help you, especially since I’ve heard of a particular snake slithering nearby.
There’s another blooming, white lotus within our garden.
Perhaps we shall smell the fragrance emitting from her?
Biyu stared at the flowery note with its hidden meaning.
The garden was prickly and full of thorns clearly meant that they had many enemies around them, but it was the same as usual.
The second and fourth line meant that maybe she could use the unexpected situation of Nikator becoming her guard as an advantage.
Was the snake he was referencing Wu Jian?
She wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
But who was the white lotus he spoke of?
She grasped the metal handle of the pitcher on her night stand and dunked the note inside of it.
She held it beneath the surface, watching as the ink spread and became bloated, blurry, and unreadable.
Pulling out the soggy note, she tore it to shreds, and then went to her window where she released the mess into the wind.
The gardens sprawled beneath her and, for once, she hated the mocking sight of it.
How it was so free and open, but still enclosed in by the palace.
She couldn’t walk down those paths without her guards, without it being known that she was an imprisoned remnant of a dead dynasty.
She hated how she was restricted to these walls, even before Drakkon Muyang took the throne.
“I hope you’re not planning on throwing something from there.”
She whirled around. Nikator closed the door behind him with a backward kick, a plate brimming with food balanced on one hand and a small black bag in the other. He quirked an eyebrow and set the plate on the tea table by the couch, and dropped the bag beside it.
“I would hate to be on the receiving end of your rage again.”
Did he know she had thrown that apple at him all those weeks ago? Biyu could feel her cheeks heating again, but she tried to ignore whatever tumultuous, treasonous feelings were budding, and instead motioned to the food and bag. “What’s this?”
“You haven’t eaten at all today.” He waved her forward. “Sit.”
Biyu hesitantly made her way to the couch and plopped down.
How had he noticed that she hadn’t taken a single bite when they went to the gardens?
Was he actually paying attention? The uncomfortable feeling in her chest only grew, tightening around the restraints she had put on it—he was a terrible monster, she tried to remind herself.
But when she looked at the food, she couldn’t hide her surprise or the tightening of her heartstrings.
A small bowl of tofu pudding, steamed eggs with soy sauce ladled on top, rice with sesame seeds, and steamed buns.
All the foods she liked having for breakfast, but rarely got together in one plate like this.
She wasn’t allowed to ask for certain foods—being a prisoner and all—and although she was served delicacies every meal, she had no control over what she ate.
Surely it was just a coincidence?
“How did you know?” She picked up her chopsticks and hovered over the eggs.
“Know what?” Nikator dropped down beside her on the couch. Their knees bumped into one another, their thighs nearly touching. He grabbed the bag and pulled open the drawstrings.
“These foods are my …” Biyu couldn’t form the words. Was she being stupid and farfetched to think that he knew what her favorite foods were? That was impossible for him to care enough.
“Your what? I thought you liked these foods?” He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a glass bottle the size of her palm and placed it atop the table.
It was a thick, waxy, oil-based ointment of some sort.
He continued picking through the bag distractedly.
“I’ve been watching you for a while, and whenever you get certain foods, your face sort of …
lights up. Are these not to your liking? ”
“No, they’re my favorites.” Biyu’s throat closed up, but for an entirely different reason than bawling her eyes out. She cut through the egg with the end of her chopstick and brought the savory morsel to her mouth. It was delicious. “T-thank you.”
He yanked out a roll of bandages. “Let me see your hand.”
Biyu held out her injured hand to him and he carefully peeled back the blood-soaked cloth.
She inhaled sharply as the fibers stuck to the opening of the gash, peeling away the scab formation.
The bleeding had mostly abated but it still oozed if she moved it a certain way.
Nikator dabbed the blood so he could get a clearer look at the cut itself.
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he said. “I can ask to have Thera take a look later, but for now we can just bandage it up.”
Thera. Another member of the Peccata. They had never spoken before, but she seemed …
kinder than the others. More open, less hostile.
She was also, apparently, the designated healer of the group, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a warrior.
Everything about her was shrouded in mystery, as was the case with the rest of the members.
Nikator cleaned the wound, applied the herbal medicine, and then bound it tightly. Biyu watched him with lowered lashes the entire time. She didn’t know what to say, or not to say, or what to do. He didn’t need to help her. He didn’t need to do any of this.
“Thank you,” Biyu whispered when he finished tying off the dressings.
She shifted in her seat to get more comfortable, and their thighs brushed against one another.
He stilled, but Biyu didn’t move away. She remained there and pretended like nothing had happened.
She ate another bite of her steamed bun.
Nikator glanced at her and began packing the rest of the supplies back into the little black bag. He didn’t seem keen on receiving gratitude—it was a recurring theme she was noticing.
She ate the rest of her meal in silence, stealing glances every now and then at him; he stared at her the entire time, his deep-blue eyes never giving way to his thoughts. Every time their gazes met, an electrifying tension rippled between them, and Biyu became more aware of their thighs touching.
Biyu tucked a strand of long, wavy hair behind her ear.
She had forgotten she wasn’t wearing her hair pinned up in any style; it was inappropriate and improper, but she couldn’t go back to vanity and find something to style her hair.
Most, if not all, of her accessories were scattered around her room.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if all her hairpins had snapped in half during her rampage.
“I’m sorry I hit you.” She neatly stacked her chopsticks next to her plate; there were still streaks of soy sauce that her rice hadn’t soaked up. She cast him another furtive glance, this time maintaining eye contact. “I … don’t know what got ahold of me.”
“It was that bastard Jian who got under your skin, right?”
Her shoulders dropped as she remembered his scathing words. How she was nothing. “Yes, he was … rude, to say the least. But he was also telling the truth, and I think that’s what bothered me more than anything else.”
“I fail to see how he could speak the truth. All he does is fuck around, lie, and make himself look good,” Nikator said with a disgusted snort. “I don’t see why he would insult you when marrying you would give him the ego boost he’s always wanted.”
She smiled at his crudeness; she was getting used to the way he spoke. “I don’t think he needs an ego boost.”
“At least we can agree on that.”
She poked at the frayed threads of her skirt on her knees.
It must have happened when she kneeled on the crushed glass.
Thankfully, her knees didn’t sting, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she was alone and could assess the damage.
She gathered her strength and blurted, “I … I don’t want to marry him. ”
She expected him to sneer at her about how she should be grateful to marry Jian, even if he was a horrible person, because it would at least free her from this place.
Or maybe for him to snap at her for questioning His Majesty’s decision on her, but his eyes came alive with sapphire flames and a muscle on his jaw feathered.
Pure, unadulterated rage pulsed through his frame.
“He’s not going to marry you,” he snarled. It sounded like a promise. A threat.
Her heart skipped a beat. There was a feral undertone to his harsh voice. A promise of something dark. He shouldn’t have cared, she told herself. He really shouldn’t be doing any of this. Guarding her. Bringing her food. Binding her wounds. It was making something in her chest come undone.