She must have said the last part out loud, or perhaps her expression betrayed her thoughts, because he narrowed his eyes at her, and his hand tightened on the door handle, appearing white and bloodless. “Do you think I am so much of a monster that I would let you run off to your death?”
A beat of silence breached the space between them; Biyu stared at him in what could only be described as shocked disbelief. Because was he truly out of his mind? He had murdered her family. He had treated her cruelly. He had always glared at her whenever he got the chance. Yes. He was a monster. And for him to think otherwise? Absurd.
“So there is a tiger out there who does not know he has stripes?” she said softly, defiantly. She balled her hands together.
Nikator lifted a dark brow. A passing servant gave them a strange look as she scurried by. They must have looked ridiculous right now; him keeping the door open for her, and her refusing to enter.
“Get inside,” he grumbled, and then under his breath, “You’ve got the wrong expression. It’sa tiger never changes its stripes,not whatever monstrosity you came up with.”
“I …” Her cheeks warmed. Now that he mentioned it, her way of saying it did sound a bit strange. “I-I know the expression well.”
She pushed past him and entered; if she was to face her death, she’d rather do it head-first, without anyone having todrag her. But while she had expected the emperor, his generals, or even other members of the Peccata to be lounging with their sharp swords ready for her tender flesh, she was instead met with a completely different scene—a plain sitting chamber with fancy couches, decorative pillows, a tea table in the center, and a few other decorative furnishings that elevated the ordinary room to be luxurious and yet simple.
Bead curtains depicting a snarling dragon separated the different chambers, and there was a line of sliding doors that revealed a balcony overlooking the capital and the lower levels of the palace. A warm summer breeze wafted within the room, and Biyu’s legs moved on their own as she glanced around herself. Food was laid out on the table; from steamed eggs to braised chicken in a thick soy glaze, delicacies like sticky rice cakes with red bean paste nearly bursting from them, and honeyed slices of peaches and plums.
The emperor was noticeably not present.
“Whose room is this?”
Nikator slammed the door shut and strolled inside. He unhooked his sword from his waist and she eyed the movement cautiously until he placed it upon the tea table surrounded by all the food. He glanced at her, those sapphire eyes turning to slits as he jerked a finger to the couch.
“Mine. Now sit.”
A frown twisted her lips. “I am not a dog for you to play tricks with. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the Huo language, because you constantly order me around. Iama princess.”
She didn’t know where the false bravado came from—maybe her annoyance and patience was running thin, or perhaps it was because she didn’t think she was going to be executed now—but she couldn’t hide the sharpness of her tone, nor the look she shot him.
He plopped down on the opposite couch. “I admit your language is certainly not my native tongue, but I know enough to get by, evidently. Maybe you should brush up on it, though, because you fail to understandsimplecommands and expressions of speech.”
A blush spread over her cheeks from embarrassment and she inched her way closer to the couch, her gaze lingering on the food, and then back on him. “You … are rude. Incredibly so. Has anyone ever told you that before? Because you lack manners, and morals, and … and?—”
She clamped her mouth shut. What was she even saying?
He was staring at her now, expression neutral, and brows raised.
She cleared her throat and took a seat, her hands falling onto her lap.
“My brother Atreus likes to remind me of my incredibly rude nature, but I like to believe he’s jealous of how many people prefer my company over his.” A wry smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and she couldn’t help but pause and stare—he truly did look charming when he smiled, and it twisted at something in her chest. Annoyance, likely.
She knew of Atreus, one of the members of the Peccata; he was colder than Nikator, and from what she knew of him, even more suspicious of threats to the throne. He was almost always away on missions, though, so she didn’t see him much. Not that she had many opportunities to run into him.
Nikator reached forward and grabbed a small bowl packed with fluffy white rice. He piled meat, vegetables, and eggs into the bowl, and then nodded at her to do the same. “Eat,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
She didn’t want to eat breakfast with her enemy—particularly not such a hearty breakfast as this, which seemed more like a dinner—but her stomach growled and the spread before herwas too delicious to refuse. She quickly took her own bowl and began heaping on delicate strips of beef smothered in garlicky sauce, steamed stuffed buns, chicken in scallion sauce, and then grabbed a cup of ginger-mint tea.
Biyu ate the first bite of the chicken and breathed out deeply, a smile twitching on her lips. It was delicious and mouthwatering, and she eased against the decorative, dragon-embroidered pillows. She hadn’t thought she would have much of an appetite, all things considered, but she couldn’t stop eating. She picked at more from her bowl, and found herself selecting more to add once she emptied it.
Nikator watched her as he slowly ate; unlike her, he was more moderate with his pickings. Something she quickly noticed.
Biyu lowered her chopsticks, her face slowly turning beet red. It was an old habit of hers, stuffing her face. Something Liqin always scolded her with; it was unladylike, and most definitely un-princess-like, especially to act like she had never had something as delicious before. But she couldn’t help it—when the food was good, it was hard to resist. She didn’t want to eat like a bird and pretend she’d had her fill.
“You can eat as much as you like,” Nikator said, seeming to notice the shift in her. He leaned in his seat. “Nobody’s here to watch, and nobody is going to tell your sister.”
Biyu flinched. How did he know that?
Upon seeing her expression, he snorted. “Practically anyone who watches you interact with your sister knows she harps on you.”
She couldn’t hold back another grimace; was it truly that obvious? Her mood soured further and she stared at the grains of sticky rice clinging to the ends of her chopsticks.
