Liu Taiping
My palace is almost completely unchanged. The outer courtyard bears no ornamentation whatsoever, just plain white plaster and dark mahogany. No shine of gold refracts of the sun, no paintings grace the walls with life, no vases stand firm and calm, not even scent or rainbow blossom of flowers can be smelt or seen. Empty. The servants are still dressed in the same drab and lifeless uniforms, a telltale sign to any onlookers that they are of my Jujue Palace. Strange, I had expected it to be more feminine with her presence. I silently brush through the doors to the inner courtyard, the look in my eyes making the various servants and eunuchs cower in fear before me rather than announce my presence. It's a feeling I'm all too used to feeling and a sight I'm all too used to seeing.
At the same time, however, it is a sight and feeling that has become natural, a sixth sense even, to me. It is the physical manifestation of a simple rule, the motto of the Heizhenzu: fear is truth, truth is loyalty, loyalty is trust. Hence, to be without fear is to be concealing the truth, to be concealing the truth is to be lacking loyalty, to be lacking loyalty is to be unworthy of trust. Those who know no fear of me will learn what it is, or they will die. This is perhaps the one thing that has kept me alive in this deadly viper pit that is the Imperial Palace.
Stealthily making my way to the archery range where Zeyue is. The baritone twang of a crossbow informs me of her presence, even more so, it informs me that it is indeed that she is using. Like so many times before, I silently unsheathe one of the Heavenly Fangs and round the corner, intent on taking the life of Zeyue. Time slows as I exhale, dispersing my killing intent to prevent her from noticing me. I notice the thick hedgehog of crossbow bolts lodged in the center of the target. I notice Zeyue's maid, Fatima, see me and open her mouth to scream a warning. She will be too late. I turn my attention towards my wife, my target. Golden waves highlighted by black cloth, the tight Xiongnu dress she's wearing accentuates her beautiful figure, her delicate waist, taut beh— I crush my rebellious thoughts, body fully intent on separating her head from her shoulders in one painless strike.
Aurelia Venerius
Another shot lands home, the center of the target now bristling with my bolts. I feel it. That instinctive tingle that flashes down my right arm. It saved me once during the Cappadocian Pacification when I narrowly avoided being shot by Armenian mercenaries. It saved me again during a patrol in the Osroene province when I stabbed a bandit disguised as a roadside beggar. It saved me at the Tigris ambush, when the XIX died all around me, I survived. It saves me again today. I fall into a crouch, just as a quicksilver flash flies through where my neck would have been.
A slave to my instinct now, from my crouching position, I launch a blind kick backward at my would-be killer while simultaneously scrambling to grab a bolt for the crossbow still in my hands. My hand gets close enough to just barely brush the feathered tail of a bolt when a steel vise clamps around my ankle and pulls me back with incredible force. Crap.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
The Foreign Empress
ऐतिहासिक साहित्यA cold and potentially fatal marriage, an imperial court embroiled in assassination and conflict, a hidden conspiracy that could shatter not just a four-century-long peace but the empire itself. In the midst of it all, a girl whose struggle to survi...
