King Wenming’s hands flew up to clutch his wound, groping at the wooden shaft and tearing it from his body. It slid out with a sucking sound, the spear tip falling away, dissolving into a grayish, frothing liquid that seeped into his blood. The shaft fell from his hand, his fingers splayed limp. Around him, his consorts fluttered like frantic butterflies. Only the Noble Consort—Wenzhi’s mother—had the presence of mind to try to seal his wound, her magic pouring from her palms into his body. Yet his blood continued to spill from the gash, tinted with a dark sheen as though an ink-laden brush had been run through his veins.

King Wenming snarled, a bestial sound, his aura thickening with murderous intent. “Treachery,” he panted, between stuttering breaths. “You … and your accomplices.” As he pointed a trembling finger at me, a flash of violet light streaked from it, striking my temple.

Pain shot through me like a hundred needles stabbing my head in a merciless rhythm. I fell to my knees, ripping off my headdress, tearing at my hair—every nerve in my body afire, broken gasps tumbling from my mouth. Grasping wildly at my power, I flung up a shield to protect myself, wrenching away his tethers on my mind—just as I had seen Wenzhi do before. The king collapsed onto the ground, convulsing, his consorts weeping openly as they clustered around him.

The agony dispersed into merciful nothingness, though I could not stop shaking, the echoes of its torment reverberating through me. I drew a ragged breath and then another, until my muscles loosened, my strength flowing back to my limbs. A thought jarred me, that I should not have been able to throw off the king’s attack so easily. I had been clasped in its throes before, suffered his unyielding power … which meant the king was gravely weakened.

As someone shouted for the healers, a chilling laugh rose above the chaos. Prince Wenshuang. When had he arrived?

“It’s too late. The spear is charmed to drain his energy.” Prince Wenshuang spoke in a bored tone as he stared at his father, spasming in agony.

“You don’t have that kind of power.” Wenzhi stalked back into the pavilion, his body taut with rage.

A feral smile stretched across Prince Wenshuang’s face. “I am capable of far more than you can imagine.”

“Why Wenshuang?” the king gasped as he struggled to raise himself onto an elbow.

“Father,” he spat, each syllable throttled with rage—all semblance of indifference gone. “If I should even call you that after you shamed me before all. Stripping me of my position, replacing me with my half-brother. He is of common stock, while my mother is the Virtuous Consort of the first rank!”

A high-pitched wail raked the silence. The Virtuous Consort did not seem to approve of her son’s actions.