“And what is it that you’ll tell him? That you’re sorry for trying to kill him and take his throne? That he should forgive you and let us be together?”
It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud like that, but she did plan something similar to that. She needed to appeal to Feiyu’s compassion—she knew it was there. He had tended to her when she had almost been assaulted, he had pulled her out of the pits of depression, of self-harm, or wanting everything to end. He didn’t want the worst for her.
He was in there, beneath the cruelty of his crown. She just needed to appeal to him.
“I’ve never risked my life for anything that ever mattered,” she said softly. Her hand trailed up and she wound it around his fingers; they were stiff and cold to the touch. “You were the first person to really see me. You’re worth fighting for. I want to be with you; I’ll face Drakkon Muyang and I’ll make it work. He cares for you. Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?”
He closed his eyes. “Biyu, you’re in over your head if you think this will work. Muyang will kill you. The only mercy he’ll give is that he won’t force me to watch. I know how he works.”
“I want to fight for us. Going to Sanguis isn’t an option. I’m tired of always running away. I did something terrible to him and he has every right to punish me, but I hope he’ll grant mercy instead. He’s your family, Nik. He … he will understand—I’ll make him.”
Nikator reached between the rods and grasped her face lightly. The pain was clearly reflected there. “I’m sorry, Biyu. That it had to come down to this.”
He reached forward and pressed his lips against hers softly. It was a searing kind of kiss that vanquished all of her doubts, all of her fears, and made her want to hold onto him tighter. When he pulled back, it was clear that the kiss had the opposite effecton him. His eyes glistened and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
41
Biyu couldn’t sleepthat night and neither could Nikator. They both sat on their respective benches, barely speaking to one another. Nikator likely didn’t want to talk and spiral into guilt and grief—his silent anger and confusion simmered under the surface of his barely concealed misery. Biyu, on the other hand, needed time to think, to remember every interaction she had with Feiyu.
She truly didn’t expect to die here, but it was a high possibility. Was she fine with risking it all? Absolutely.
The sliver of a chance at a happy life was better than a long life filled with longing, sadness, and perpetual regret.
It was a stupid plan. One that barely had any bones or foundation to it. One that was built purely on the off-chance that Muyang cared about them. One that would likely make her a permanent prisoner for the rest of her life.
She was stupid. But she was determined.
She had never truly fought for anything her whole life. Even the plan with Yat-sen had been mostly with her plotting and sneaking around—she had never faced anything head-first.
Except now.
When Bohai came to them the next morning, his expression was grim. The ring of keys clanged in his hand as he glanced at the both of them. “Ready?”
Neither of them answered. He jammed the key and twisted, and waved her forward. He did the same to Nikator’s cell and they were all headed up the stairs.
Each step brought her closer to her fate. A wave of nausea churned in her gut. Claws of dread pulled on her chest but she didn’t allow the self-doubts to seep in. Nor the fear that betrayed her trembling limbs. As much as she had prepped herself mentally for this battle, the closer they drew to Muyang, the more her anxiety flared. Muyang’s magic thrummed in the air, thick and ominous and choking the air from her lungs.
She had thought they were headed in the throne room, but Bohai walked past it and up a flight of stairs. It wasn’t until they reached another set of doors that it dawned on her why Muyang didn’t want her to have an audience with his court—she was supposed to be dead.
Bohai shoved open the doors and waved them inside. Heavy, cloying power hung in the air and she suddenly felt lightheaded. She instinctually dug her heels into the floor, unable to move forward. All thoughts fled her mind. It was like a fog settling over her, panic surging.
She couldn’t think.
Nikator placed a hand on her lower back. Concern flashed over his eyes. “Biyu?”
She was making a huge mistake.
She should have run away.
No.She cleared those thoughts away and steeled herself. She had made up her mind the instant she had warped herself and Nikator here. She hadn’t come here to regret her decision, to cower at the sight of the emperor, to shrivel up at the mere thought of failing. She had come here to fight in her own way.
Biyu inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Nikator’s hand was still on her back and she silently thanked him for the reassurance she felt from that small gesture. Bohai tapped his foot on the polished floors, eyebrow raised.
“This way, princess,” he said.
Without wasting another moment, she stepped inside the room. The instant she stepped inside, she realized she recognized this place. It was wide and spacious, with couches on one side. It was the same place Nikator had brought her to after the marriage spell went into effect when he, Minos, and Vita had discussed the details with her. It was the indoor training room the Peccata members used.
A throne had been brought in, which Muyang sat upon with a wintry mask that revealed nothing. The air was dense with magic that made her dizzy. Lining the wall were Minos, Atreus, Li-ling, and Thera. They all wore grim expressions and her stomach knotted more the further she stepped into the room. Bohai went to stand by the wall beside the others, a frown dragging down the corners of his mouth.
