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,reallysorry.”
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, andFeiyu.
Her father’s young brother.
Heruncle.
“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 upsetyour 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?”
