She fisted the covers and placed them over her face. They stuck to her tear-stricken skin.
She loved him so much. Why had she waited so long to tell him? Why had she been so stubborn to admit it? Why hadn’t she spent more time with him? Why hadn’t she tried harder?
It was hard to breathe. Every breath felt like she was inhaling shards of glass. Each intake, each swallow, like she was slicing herself open.
She hated everything.
She hated everyone who had taken him away.
She hated how much she loved him. She hated how lost she felt. She hated herself. She hated—hated, hated, hated.
She loved him, and now he was gone.
“Biyu?”
She hadn’t heard anyone knock or enter, but they must have come during her fits of weeping. She didn’t even care anymore. Her chest was hollowed, carved clean. She didn’t have the energy to lift her head or greet whoever was there.
“Biyu, it’s me.” A warm voice. He touched her hand and she flinched.
That couldn’t be right. She knew that voice.
She jerked up in the bed to stare at someone who should have been a ghost.
Yat-sen was dressed in simple silk robes, his hair crown fashioned in the shape of a glinting silver dragon. His cheeks were abnormally pale and he had shadows beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. But he was alive and well, by the looks of it.
How was he here?
More tears welled in her eyes and she took hold of his hand. He flinched at the contact, likely unused to anyone touching him. Her confusion sliced through the walls of grief and she shook her head in disbelief.
“Yat-sen?” Was her mind playing tricks on her?
He nodded slowly, taking in her appearance. She must have looked crazy to him. Hair unkempt, pale, shivering, wild eyed, overall grief-stricken.
“It’s me,” he said gently, like he didn’t want to scare her.
“You’re … alive.” It was more of a question than a statement. One that she couldn’t understand the answer to, no matter how much her restless mind tried to wrestle with it.
“I am.”
“But—” She tightened her hold on his hand as the memories of their last meeting resurfaced. Him lying there, bloodied and broken, his last surge of magic that had warped her far away. Her throat tightened. “You tried to save me.”
He bobbed his head again. “Our attempt failed.”
“But the emperor killed you …” She hadn’t seen him die, but she had assumed he had. It didn’t make sense that Drakkon Muyang wouldn’t kill him. What reason had he had to spare him? “Why are you still here?”
“The emperor defeated me in battle, but he didn’t kill me. I was kept away in a separate room until I healed.”
More confusion muddled her brain. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I …” It didn’t matter if things didn’t make sense right now. Relief washed over her and a wobbly smile graced her lips as she squeezed his hand. “I’m happy you’re alive, Yat-sen. I thought—I really thought you died.”
The sparkle in his eyes seemed to fade. “I’m sorry, Biyu. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”
“It was my decision.” Her throat closed up. “Please don’t apologize.”
They sat in an awful silence for a beat longer. She released his hand and wove her own fingers together on her lap. She didn’t understand why Muyang had let him live, only that he had some sort of sinister plan concocted for him. And maybe for her too. It was the only explanation why they were alive. There wasn’t a shred of good in Muyang’s shriveled, evil heart.
