Biyu cried, defeated, and her body slumped as the fight left her.
Nikator grasped her underneath her armpits and picked her up like she weighed nothing. She yelped, her teary eyes widening as he set her down gently on the floor. He dusted off the remnants of glass clinging to her skirt and, without another word, scooped her up in his arms. Biyu grasped a leather strap on his armor and stared up at him like he had lost his mind. Her heart pounded wildly as he carried her toward her bed.
He set her down on the edge of the mattress ever so carefully, and knelt in front of her.
“You only need to say the word and he will die,” he said calmly, taking her hand in his and turning it around to examine the gash along her palm. His sapphire eyes flicked up to hers, all serious. “Say it, and it will be done.”
She couldn’t think beyond the pounding of her heart—it nearly leaped out of her chest.
“You—you mean Wu Jian?”
A slow nod.
“Why would you …?” He couldn’t be serious. He would murder the man because of her? But he seemed to be a rising figure in His Majesty’s forces. Why would Nikator do something like that?
A shiver ran down her spine as he carefully turned her hand over, his calloused palms rough; the hands of a man who was used to training, fighting, and working. She could feel the heat blooming in her cheeks.
Nikator reached for his pocket and produced a linen handkerchief, which he carefully tied around her bleeding hand. She winced as he pressed against the wound. The pale, creamy color of the cloth quickly stained to a deep red.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, unfurling his massive body to his full, impressive height. “Can I trust you not to break anything else? Notably yourself?”
“I’m not going to break,” she muttered, suddenly embarrassed that he had witnessed her outburst. She sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her free hand. “But if you don’t hurry, I might try to run away from this room.”
It was a lousy joke. She wasn’t actually in the mood to try to traipse through the halls and flee. Honestly, she was just too exhausted and too mortified to be anywhere but beneath her covers.
The corner of Nikator’s soft mouth rose. “There’s nowhere you can run where I won’t find you, Princess Biyu.”
She shivered again, but this time a thrill ran down her body, goosebumps erupting over her flesh as Nikator exited her bedchambers. When he was gone, Biyu ran a hand over her teary face, her blush subsiding. What was wrong with her? She was acting completely out of character. Firstly, wanting to kiss Nikator? Now her outburst here? And thenblushingover the brute?
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 staredat 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?
