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“What traits?” Maybe I could learn something that might stop this.
But the God of War did not reply, too cautious to surrender any advantage. “Why the elaborate pretense if you intended to use force anyway?” I asked him.
“For this to work, your feelings had to be real, the magic would not work any other way—using a token of love in place of consent. Once the Divine Pearl Lotus bonds with another, its power must be freely relinquished, willingly gifted.”
“I am not willing,” I seethed.
He looked into my face, his expression grave. “Sometimes we don’t even understand our own hearts.”
I shoved at him with my free hand, but it was like striking stone. How I burned with fury to have fallen for his wretched scheme. Regret was useless; I needed to get even. I couldn’t let him win.
“How could you be so confident of my feelings?” Knowledge was a weapon, as Grandfather had said—the only one left to me now.
The queen sighed. “You are clever, child, but I’ve seen the finest of the mortals live and die, endured more than you know. In gratitude lies the swiftest route to trust. Guard your heart with more care next time.”
I flushed as I glared at the God of War. “I wish I’d never asked for mercy for you on the Dragon Platform; I wish you’d suffered worse.”
“He didn’t know what I intended then,” Queen Caihong said. “It was a plan that formed after you trespassed where you shouldn’t have.”
Sounds of a scuffle erupted through the closed doors behind: muffled shouts, a frantic clash of weapons. As the queen’s gaze darted toward the entrance, she frowned.
“Is it done? Have you claimed the Divine Pearl Lotus?” she asked the God of War.
“Not yet, Your Majesty. This is more complex than anticipated.” His forehead creased as light blazed brighter from his fingertips, surging along the dagger—yet the glittering trail of the lotus stilled in the air like time itself had frozen.
Hope flared. Something was wrong . . . something I might turn to my advantage. “Why didn’t you ask me for the lotus?” I said to distract the immortal.
“Would you have agreed?” he countered. “Wholeheartedly, of your own will—without bargains or threats? You resented us, blamed us for your grandfather’s death. Even if your mind agreed, your heart was closed to me then. You’d suspect my intentions and actions, imagine everything I did was just for the lotus.”
“I would have been right.” Yet there was truth in what he said. I’d never have let my guard down if I’d known what they wanted of me. And now . . . even as I hated him, even as his deceit was laid bare—the fact I hurt meant that I’d cared.
“We’re not so different,” he pointed out bluntly. “You planned no less, using your words and charm to gain my support for Tianxia.”
“It is not the same,” I retorted. “I wanted to use you, but not by hurting you. I wanted your support, while you schemed to steal my heart.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you—if only there could have been another way. But there was no time.” He sounded unsteady, like he was struggling too.
Memories surfaced of how he’d spoken to me, all he’d done—the God of War had been courting me all this while. He’d wanted me to fall in love with him so he could take what he needed from me. Except their spell was not working, the warmth of the Divine Pearl Lotus burning unwaveringly in my chest. My heart was bruised . . . but unbroken.
They were wrong. I did not love him—not then, not now.
I could have laughed from relief. There had been attraction. Gratitude, desire, even—but not love, the all-consuming emotion that would have yielded my heart and the lotus to him irrevocably, sealing my doom and their triumph. The immortals were too impatient, too arrogant, thinking we would fall at their feet if they showed us a little attention. He’d known my intent to use him and was still confident of winning me. Maybe I’d tricked him, as I played on his emotions. Maybe I’d led him to believe my feelings were stronger than they were.
If he’d been patient, waited a little longer—I would have succumbed. And though he’d hurt me more than I’d thought possible, it wasn’t over yet. I would not be their victim; I would fight back.
His eyes narrowed, staring at the dagger between us. He sensed it; that his magic wasn’t working as planned. What if I could muddle his mind as he had mine? Stir his emotions to lower his guard? Buried beneath the lies, a spark might ignite—a chance to turn his deception against him, to escape.
“You said I made you feel warm.” My heart was beating far too quickly as I brushed the hair from my face, my fingers closing around a hairpin that I tucked into my palm. Only now, did his eyes return to my face. “I felt your touch, saw the way you looked at me.” I pushed onward, my cheeks flushed from such boldness. “In deceiving me, you ended up deceiving yourself, falling into the trap that you laid. You care for me too.”
He didn’t deny it, his gaze boring into mine unrelentingly. “Why does it matter, if you hate me anyway?”
I smiled with all the malice and pride I could muster. “Because then, I can hurt you.”
I rammed the hairpin into the god’s hand, the one that held his dagger. As the sharp point pierced his skin, I ground it deeper, suppressing an urge to be sick. As he flinched, I shoved at him with all my might, tearing his blade from my flesh. His dagger clattered on the floor, splattering it with my blood.
“You’re wrong about me,” I snarled. “I’m not in love with you. I will never love you.”
His eyes widened, ink-dark and soulless. As he staggered back a step, I ripped out the other pin from my hair and thrust it at his face—but he swung aside, the tip scratching his cheek. Furious now, unthinking, I grasped wildly at his sword—sliding smoothly from its scabbard to come away in my hand. I froze, stunned by the enormity of what I’d done, the impossibility. The God of War’s sword was said to strike fear in the hearts of monsters, to leech life as easily as a sponge soaks water, a weapon that would only answer to its master. And yet, it was in my hand . . . and I was still alive.
