Chapter 3: Blossoms and Blood
The scent of blood and straw clung to Rachel’s skin long after she’d left the kennels, a stubborn reminder of the night’s raw beginning. Kanki’s words were a ghost in her mind, whispering as she paced the length of her chambers. The most dangerous piece. He saw her as a weapon, then. A tool to be wielded. The thought should have repulsed her. Instead, it ignited a restless, humming energy under her skin.
She found him where she’d half-expected to, a shadow coalescing in the moon-drenched gardens. He stood by the koi pond, its surface a shattered mirror of silver, watching the dark shapes of the fish glide beneath. He didn’t turn as she approached, her footsteps silent on the dewy grass.
“You left before I could answer,” she said, her voice cutting through the gentle chorus of crickets.
“I don’t need your answers,” he replied, his gaze still on the water. “I already know them.”
“You know nothing.” The frustration from the kennels bubbled up again, hot and sharp. “You speak in riddles and expect me to decode your meaning. What game are you playing, Kanki? Is this another one of your mind games? Tormenting the princess for your amusement?”
Finally, he turned. The moonlight carved the angles of his face into something both severe and beautiful, like a statue of a forgotten, vengeful god. His eyes, dark and unreadable, tracked over her. She had changed from her bloodied silks into a simple, dark gown, but she felt more exposed than ever.
“There is no game,” he said, his tone dangerously soft. “There is only the board. And you keep trying to jump off it.”
“I am trying to change the rules!”
“The rules are the only thing keeping you safe.” He took a step toward her. The air between them tightened. “Your title, your station, that pretty face. They’re rules. Break them, and you become something else. Something that can be broken.”
“You break every rule you encounter.”
“And look what it made me.” He spread his hands, a gesture that encompassed his stolen armor, his reputation, the cold violence that clung to him like a second skin. “Is this what you want to become?”
“I want to be effective! I want to matter!”
“You matter too much,” he snarled, closing the distance between them in two swift strides. “That’s the whole fucking problem. You matter to the wrong people. You matter to him.”
The unspoken name—Ri Boku—hung in the air between them. The Zhao strategist with his quiet respect and analytical eyes. Kanki’s jealousy was a live wire, naked and raw.
“This is about him?” she breathed, a strange, triumphant thrill mixing with her anger. “You’re threatened?”
A low laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. “Threatened? By a man who thinks war is a scroll to be studied? No, Princess. I am annoyed. I am bored of watching him look at you like you’re a fascinating theorem to be solved.”
His hands came up, not to strike, but to frame her face. His calloused thumbs brushed the high arches of her cheekbones. The touch was shockingly gentle, yet it felt more like a brand than a caress. She stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“You want to play a dangerous game?” he whispered, his breath a warm ghost against her lips. “Fine. Let’s play.”
Then his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t a kiss of romance or tenderness. It was a conquest. A clash of teeth and desperation. She gasped against his lips, her hands flying up to clutch at the cold, mismatched plates of his armor. She meant to shove him away, but her fingers curled into the leather straps, holding him fast.
A sound ripped from her throat, half-protest, half-surrender. She bit his lower lip, hard enough to taste the coppery tang of his blood.
He jerked back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then that damned smirk returned, wider now, a slash of white in the moonlight, blood smeared at the corner. “There she is,” he rasped, his voice thick. “The queen.”
He drove her back until the rough bark of a ancient cherry blossom tree dug into her shoulders. Blossoms shaken loose by the impact drifted around them like pale pink snow. One of his hands tangled in the intricate braids of her hair, tugging her head back. The other hand gripped the neckline of her gown. With a sharp tear of fabric, the silk gave way, baring her shoulder and the pale column of her throat to the cool night air.
She cried out, but the sound was swallowed as his mouth found the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. It was not a kiss. It was a claiming. His teeth scraped, then pressed, hard and deliberate. The pain was a bright, sharp shock that melted instantly into a wave of heat that pooled low in her belly. She arched against him, her fingers digging into his hair, whether to pull him away or hold him closer, she no longer knew.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged. His eyes, dark with a feral intensity, dropped to her throat. He ran a thumb over the place his mouth had been, and she flinched at the tender, throbbing sensation.
“Good,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from the word. “Now everyone will see.”
The reality of his words crashed down on her. The mark. A visible, undeniable declaration. Her hand flew to her neck, her fingers tracing the raised, aching skin. Her breath hitched. She was branded.
He took a step back, his gaze sweeping over her—disheveled, flushed, her gown torn, his mark blooming on her pale skin. He looked every bit the wolf who had cornered his prey.
“Think on that, Princess,” he said, echoing his words from the kennels. Then he turned and melted back into the shadows of the garden, leaving her alone with the scent of night flowers, the taste of his blood on her tongue, and the brutal, thrilling certainty that the board had just been shattered.
The cool night air felt like a slap against her heated skin. Rachel stood frozen, her back pressed to the rough bark of the cherry tree, the ghost of his hands still burning on her hips. Her fingers trembled as they rose to her throbbing neck, tracing the raised, distinct outline of his teeth. A shudder wracked her entire body, part shock, part something else entirely that she refused to name.
What just happened?
Kanki kissed her. He bit her. The cold, ruthless general who treated people like inconvenient tools had just backed her against a tree and marked her like a beast claiming its territory. The taste of his blood, metallic and sharp, was still a faint memory on her tongue. Her face flushed a deep, hot crimson that she was grateful the moonlight couldn't fully reveal.
Why? Why would he do that?
It made no sense. This was just another one of his mind games. It had to be. He was trying to unbalance her, to get inside her head and twist her emotions into knots for his own amusement. He saw her reaction to Ri Boku’s respect and decided to counter it with this… this savage possession. He was playing her, manipulating the board in the only way he understood: through chaos and dominance.
Next time she saw him, she would not give him the satisfaction. She would stand straight, her chin held high, and look right through him as if the garden, the tree, the biting kiss had never occurred. She would not fall into his game. She smoothed her torn gown, the ripped silk a tangible testament to his violence. The mark on her neck pulsed a steady, aching rhythm. She would wear a high collar tomorrow. She would lock the memory away in a dark corner of her mind and throw away the key. It was the only way to win.