Chapter 29
Nikator didn’t wait for her. He unsheathed his blades—the metal zinged lethally as they sprung free—and sprinted out the door.
Biyu scrambled after him, her skirts whipping over her legs.
He was headed to His Majesty’s rooms; she could tell that much by the twisting paths they were taking.
She tried to keep up, but he was too fast, and even with the obstacles in his way—the corpses and the occasional intruder—he sped through.
He busted down one of the doors and entered.
By the time Biyu reached it, her breathing was labored and her legs were shaky.
It was a large sitting room of sorts, and it was in complete disarray.
Magic lashed through the air in shadow whips and bluish-purple fog filled the air.
She blinked through the thickening magic to find Yat-sen on the floor, Drakkon Muyang atop him with his hand wrapped around her brother’s throat.
Her heart stopped.
“Yat-sen!” she screamed.
Muyang glanced over sharply, and a burst of shadows erupted from her brother’s hand.
The emperor jerked back. More shadows whipped out from Yat-sen as he struggled to his feet.
Muyang expertly stepped back, a greenish-opaque magical barrier erecting itself in front of him as a barrage of shadows attacked him.
“Biyu, stay back!” Yat-sen’s clothes had splotches of blood all along the sleeves and the front. He wavered where he stood, blinking at Muyang. “Stay—”
“Nik, don’t attack.” Muyang’s voice rang loudly in the room.
“Why not?” Nikator said from where he stood a few feet away from Biyu. His hands curled tightly around the hilts of his blades. She could see that he was itching to fight Yat-sen; the tendons on his neck stood out as he clenched his jaw.
He didn’t even look at her. Like she wasn’t even there. Or maybe he couldn’t stand to see her face.
Muyang and Yat-sen began striking one another again; her brother ducked and dodged, but his movements were sluggish. Muyang kicked him in the abdomen and he flew backward, slamming into the wall and coughing up blood.
“Because I’ve got this,” Muyang finally answered—not even close to out of breath.
He straightened his shoulders, and Biyu’s heart trembled in fear.
He was powerful. She had thought that maybe the years without combat had dulled his senses and his magic.
She had hoped that being on the throne had made him complacent.
But the years had done nothing but perhaps hone his skills; heavy magic rolled off him in waves, pervading the dense air and making it harder to breathe. It nearly choked her.
Muyang tore off his outer robe until he was garbed in a simple black tunic and pants, which were more mobile than his ceremonial emperor attire. Muscles rippled over his impressive frame and his hair crown glinted gold in the light.
Yat-sen struggled to stay upright while Muyang launched at him, striking his face and chest with blackish-purple flames running along his fists and forearms. Her brother barely erected barriers on time, stumbling back with every forceful attack.
Biyu grasped the door frame for support, her legs turning to lead.
Drakkon Muyang was more than just a villainous emperor; he was a feral, powerful beast that thirsted for blood. He wanted this—to fight Yat-sen, to maybe even have a legitimate reason to kill him.
They were in over their heads to have thought that a simple spell would be enough to stop this monster.
Biyu grasped at her magic and called it forth. The familiar buzz of power warmed her flesh and she flexed her trembling fingers. Warmth built on her fingertips until violet flames burst in her hand.
She didn’t even know what she was doing, but she ran forward, hands outstretched as if to burn the emperor where he stood.
She had only taken three steps when a hard body crashed into hers and she fell face forward.
Her knees slammed the floor and she was shoved down.
Nikator twisted her wrists behind her back and kept her pinned to the floor.
She struggled to break free, but he only tightened his hold on her.
“Let me—” she began.
“Stay out of this,” he hissed into her ear.
Biyu tried elbowing him, but she could barely move and it only connected with air. He applied more pressure to the point that it was uncomfortable, but not necessarily painful. At least not yet.
“Stop this.” Biyu’s eyes filled with unexpected tears and she blinked them away. Just hours ago they had been in each other’s arms, and now they were enemies once more. The line was drawn, and there was no going back. And yet she hated how her heart cracked. “Nik—”
“Don’t say another word.” The pure vitriol in his voice made her flinch. She was glad she couldn’t see his expression, and yet she could feel an inkling of pain through the bond, but it was only for the barest moment. And then it was gone. Like a stone wall was erected between them.
“Nik, please.”
“What do you want from me?” His words lashed out violently. “Do you want me to send you off to fight so you can get yourself killed? Don’t forget that I would die too, princess.”
He was purposefully being mean, she knew that—likely masking the betrayal he felt with bitter words—and yet they stung nonetheless.
“Just let me go!” Her shout was drowned out by a loud crash. She craned her neck up in time to see Yat-sen slide down a pillar, blood following in a streak against the jade-colored paint. All the air was sucked out of her lungs. Yat-sen’s body slumped awkwardly, his eyes wide and dazed.
“No,” she thrashed against Nikator, but he held her firm, not allowing an inch of freedom. “No!”
Muyang’s expression was dark, unforgiving.
He walked over to her brother slowly, each step echoing loudly.
When he reached him, he knelt down and spoke quietly to him.
Her ears strained to listen, but she couldn’t make out the words.
Not from the constant shouts behind them in the hallway, or the blood rushing to her ears, or the crackling of Muyang’s shadowy magic swirling around him protectively.
She watched in stark horror as the emperor grabbed her brother by the collar, yanked him to his feet, brought him close to say something in his ear, and then tossed him aside like a rag doll.
Yat-sen collapsed to the floor a few feet away.
He sputtered, globs of thick blood flying from his bloodied mouth.
Biyu didn’t even realize she was screaming until her throat felt raw. She struggled against Nikator, and surprisingly, he released her. She crawled a few steps, rose to her feet, fell again, and struggled to her brother.
He was barely breathing.
She couldn’t focus on anything but him.
When she reached him, she sobbed violently, her hands hovering over his blood-soaked chest. She didn’t know where to touch him, what was broken—she couldn’t tell anything.
“Yat-sen,” she cried, grabbing his hand in her own.
This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.
All they wanted was freedom. She should have realized they were doomed from the start.
His eyes cracked open to find hers. “Biyu, I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,” he whispered, blood speckling his lips. It was a struggle for him to even speak, his words slurring. “I should have—I should have tried it alone—”
“Don’t speak,” she whispered. “It’ll only hurt more.”
“You have to live a long and happy life. Somehow.” He tried to smile, but it came out wobbly.
“I should have just let you leave this place in peace. Instead I had to drag you into all of this. I should have warped you somewhere safe months ago when I got the ring. I’m sorry—I’m really, really sorry. ”
Remorse made his eyes glisten with unshed tears.
“Yat-sen …” Biyu’s voice cracked and she couldn’t fight the torrent of tears.
She didn’t want his last moments to be full of grief and failure; she didn’t want him to think that this was all for naught.
And yet … it was. They had failed, and now they both would die for it.
She leaned forward, attempting to soften her words, to expel any of the bitterness.
“I was so happy that you wanted to include me. Please don’t apologize.
I chose my own path, as did you. We tried, Yat-sen. We tried to fight for our freedom.”
She brushed back his hair as gently as she could; it was sticky and covered in his blood. She tried to be soothing, soft, a comfort for him in these fleeting moments.
“You tried, Yat-sen.” Her throat constricted, more tears falling down her face.
“Serpent Princess.” The voice was smooth, chilling, and it rattled her down to her core.
She froze.
“What lies are you telling him, Serpent Princess?”
There was only one person who called her that, and he was supposed to be dead.
She turned slowly. Muyang was a few feet away, Nikator beside him. His Majesty’s eyes were blacker than midnight, his expression carved from stone.
“How did you—” Her voice came out small. “How do you know about that?”
He canted his head to the side like a feral beast. The air around him grew thicker, more ominous. “We spoke about it.”
“No.” Her face slackened. “No, no.”
There was no way he was …
But the voice was the same. And the black eyes. And the fact that he knew about the name.
Her stomach twisted into a pit of snakes and she couldn’t wrap her head around any of it.
He was supposed to be dead, and yet he was standing in front of her, unbothered and unperturbed by the strange twist of fate.
She was so stupid to not even notice that they had the same eyes—her, Yat-sen, Muyang, and Feiyu.
Her father’s young brother.
Her uncle.
“You’re … you’re Feiyu?” She couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth, but it made too much sense.
Feiyu had always worn a mask, so she’d never known what he looked like.
He had been so kind to her, had fought off guards who wished her harm, had protected her from others, had gifted her a cat, had stayed by her side when she didn’t want to live anymore.
And he was the same man who had ruined her life.
He spread his hands out; Yat-sen’s blood still stained them. “The Serpent Prince, in the flesh,” he murmured. “Oh, how upset your father must be to realize that you both turned out just like me. It must run in our blood—this wicked desire to betray the ones closest to us.”
He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the dragon tattoo—the royal mark of the Drakkon dynasty—and then unveiled his other sleeve to reveal the MuRong royal mark—the serpent and the moon.
Yat-sen’s eyes widened at the latter tattoo, the realization striking him at the same time as it did Biyu.
“I truly did not think it would come down to this.” Muyang’s words rang harshly, his black gaze flicking between the two siblings.
Loathing and rage had his expression darkening, his mouth dragging into a scowl.
It was hard to breathe beneath his oppressive gaze.
Murder and mayhem rippled over his form, his shadows singing and growing like tendrils of smoke.
“Nik.” He rolled his shoulders, his shadows waning and growing like fire. When he glanced over at Nikator, there was only a uninterested expression, a bored quality to his voice, that remained. “What shall we do with these two? Do you want to be the one to strike them down?”
Nikator’s gaze lingered on Biyu. He was carved from ice and stone, unfeeling and uncaring.
But she could see the conflict, the pain, that radiated through the bond.
He tried to wrestle a wall between them, shut her out completely, but he didn’t have a full grasp on his usual power.
His grief was too intense, taking him by surprise too.
Muyang followed his gaze, an eyebrow lifting. “Don’t tell me …?”
Nikator’s throat bobbed.
A silent conversation seemed to pass between them as Muyang gave Nikator a strange look. Fear struck Biyu into muteness, into freezing where she knelt beside her dying brother. She would die here, she realized.
No, she wouldn’t die yet. She would likely be thrown in the dungeons, starved, tortured; maybe the mages would strip away and analyze her memories to see how much she knew.
And when Nikator finally found a way to break their cursed marriage bond, she would be murdered in cold blood.
Tossed and forgotten into an unmarked grave.
“Biyu.” Yat-sen squeezed her hand and she didn’t miss the urgency in his voice. “Live a good life. This is the only thing I can do for you.”
She blinked down at him. “What are you talking about?”
“This.”
Magic warmed their joined hands, and her attention snapped over to Nikator, who was staring at her. His sapphire eyes were so cold, so devoid of anything. There was a cruel glimmer in them. She could read the answer in them—he would personally murder her when the time came.
I’m sorry, she mouthed to him, tears brimming her eyes.
Because she was.
Even though he was her enemy, even though he had her splintered heart in his hands, and even though he would likely be the death of her—she loved him, and she was sorry that she stabbed him in the back like this.
Yat-sen’s magic coursed through her quickly. So fast that Muyang and Nikator didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late.
Nikator’s eyes widened and Muyang shouted something. They both lurched forward, but the world was already spinning away as Yat-sen warped her out of the palace.