Honour, She Obeys

by L. S. Slayford

  Daocheng shook his head. “I won’t.”

  With the last of her strength, Mulan reached for his hand. “You’re the only one who can tend to my wounds. Don’t let Kang discover the truth.” Blackness crept in at the corners of her vision.

  “I promise.”

  She struggled to get the words out as the darkness edged further in. “And tell him ... tell him ...”

  “What? Tell him what?”

  “Tell him I know what they’re planning.”

  She managed to register shock over Daocheng’s face before she finally succumbed to the darkness and allowed it to take her to a place where no more pain could reach her.

  Fifteen

  Something soft brushed against Mulan’s cheeks. Releasing a groan, she snuggled her face into it, savouring the gentle texture. A groan of contentment resounded in her ears, swiftly followed by a dull ache that seeped through her limbs.

  “Mulan, wake up,” a familiar voice called through the thick fog of sleep.

  “No, I don’t want to feed the pigs today,” she mumbled, attempting to turn over. “Tell Feng Qing to do it.”

  “Wake up so I can kill you.”

  Reluctantly, Mulan opened her eyes, a tired sigh shooting from her mouth.

  Daocheng’s face filled her vision, his brown eyes wide with unabashed concern. So he was real, she hadn’t imagined that he’d found her by the river.

  The dull ache morphed into a flash of hot pain as she sat up, flinging her arms around him, the furs covering her slipping to her waist. Not that she gave a damn in that instant. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered, her tone breaking with sweet relief.

  Strong arms gently wrapped around her. “Right back at you.”

  Seconds slipped into minutes as Mulan sank into Daocheng’s embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of horses and plums that was his alone. She drew in one breath after the other, just taking the comfort she sorely needed. As she finally pulled away, she gasped, noticing the furs covering her were now around her waist, exposing the tightly bound strips of cloth that flattened her breasts. The sickly purple bruises scattering across her stomach like a disease were next. Quickly, she grabbed the furs and lifted them up to her neck, her eyes widening as she glanced at Daocheng.

  A brow rose in her direction. “I’ve been the only one to look after you. Don’t worry, no one’s seen a thing.”

  “I should hope not,” she breathed, the panic in her stomach dissipating. Daocheng rose to his feet and walked a few meters to her right. Her eyes followed him, taking in their surroundings. It looked as if they were in a tent. She lay on a makeshift bed of furs, with a pile of woollen blankets shoved in one corner. Beside her, a pot reeked of something bitter. “Where are we?”

  Daocheng bent, retrieving a bundle of cloth from the floor and throwing it into her lap. “Our newest camp.”

  Quickly discovering that it was a tunic, Mulan attempted to put it on, but her fingers fumbled to find the edges. “What?”

  Taking it from her hands, Daocheng slipped the tunic over her head and helped her guide her arms through. The rough material scratched her skin, but at least it covered everything.

  “Those arrows killed most of our men; the black flames even more,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “When they finally dropped, I raced to find you. Those damn worms were disappearing into the shadows with you bound in their net when I finally got to the pond.”

  Concern fled down every nerve ending. Grabbing Daocheng’s wrist tight, she leaned forward. “Prince Kang,” she breathed, her insides twisting into knots.

  “He’s safe. I got to him just in time.”

  Releasing her grip, Mulan’s shoulders slumped with the relief of hearing the words. Although the Rouran guards had informed the sorcerer he was alive, she still needed to hear it from someone she trusted. “Where are we exactly?”

  “About twenty li south of the Demon Forest, on the outskirts of a small village.”

  “How many survived the attack?” she asked.

  “A few dozen.”

  Shock tore through her. “So few?”

  Daocheng sighed. “The Rouran wiped us out.”

  “What about Zong and Huyanti and the others? Did they make it? Please tell me they did?” Apprehension laced her tone.

  “They’re fine. A few cuts and scrapes, nothing major.”

  Oh, thank the gods above. Closing her eyes, she blinked back the tears threatening to form and lowered her gaze. Hearing about the deaths of her friends would’ve killed her after everything she’d just been through. A frown pulled at her brows and she lifted her eyes to meet his. “How come I’m not dead?”

  A dark cloud passed over his eyes. “If it wasn’t for the local shaman, you would be.”

  Mulan froze, remembering the broken spear that impaled her leg. Although her body continued to ache, nothing hurt that bad. Tentatively, she reached beneath the furs and felt around; the bottom of her trousers lay ripped open but what shocked her was the fact that no hole marred the limb. She glanced beneath the furs. It was complexly healed. Not even a scar remained. “What happened?”

  “You’re lucky I found you in time. Any longer and you would’ve died. The village is incredibly superstitious and the shaman refused to take us in, alleging death would claim them all if they did. But they did offer us food and some tents. He gave Zong some medicine, promising it would heal you provided you still lived.” Daocheng paused and drew in a ragged breath. “It was almost too late.”

  Thick emotion stole her ability to speak for a moment. All she could do was stare at her best friend’s face, his features painted with equal measures of relief and fear.

  Gently, she lay a hand on his and leaned forward. “But it wasn’t,” she whispered softly.

  “You have no idea how close we were to losing you,” he hissed, his tone causing goosebumps to rise along the length of her arms. Suddenly, his hands cupped her cheeks and he leaned forward, their faces almost touching. “Why couldn’t you stay in Shenzhou with your family? I could fight knowing you were safe. I could die knowing you weren’t bleeding in the enemy’s grasp.”

  Mulan sucked in a breath at the raw emotion in his words. “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone as soft as a petal, not knowing what else she could say.

  Daocheng’s fingers tightened, but not to the point where it hurt. Tears glistened in his eyes. “You should be. Why do you do this to me?”

  No sound, save the ragged drawing of breath, materialized as his words reverberated around her head. Slowly, his head drew closer. Mulan’s breath lodged in her throat as his lips hovered above hers.

  Suddenly, the rustle of cloth echoed.

  Turning their heads, the figure of Prince Kang emerged, his arm holding back the edges of the entrance. Sunlight streamed in behind him, highlighting his perfect features, blessedly free of injury. “Am I interrupting?”

  Relief swelled in Mulan’s chest. Daocheng’s fingers dropped and he rose to his feet, his face forming into a mask of detachment. “No, sir,” he said, the words sounding tired.

  “I see Zhou is finally awake. Go eat and get some rest. I’ll send one of the others in after I’m done here.”

  Daocheng’s eyes flicked to hers for a brief second before returning back to his commander. “Yes, sir.”

  Inhaling deeply, Daocheng strode towards the entrance but Prince Kang’s hand clamping down on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. “I mean it. I don’t want to see you back here for the rest of the night.”

  Wordlessly, Daocheng nodded and walked away, the cloth falling into place behind him.

  With the light no longer streaming in, the darkened tent sent shadows dancing over her commander’s face. Inquisitive eyes stared at her. “It’s remarkable how attentive your bannermen have been with you.”

  Mulan lifted her chin, frowning at the surprise in his tone. “They’re my friends. Don’t yours look after you when you’re hurt or sick?”

  A derisive sno
rt echoed around the tent, matching the look of disdain on his face. “I’m the emperor’s son. There are no friends at court.”

  “Then I’m glad I didn’t grow up in court,” Mulan said on a weary sigh. “What a lonely life that must’ve been for you.”

  A dark brow lifted. “Oh?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Mulan looked him straight in the eye. “Everyone needs friends they can trust. I know Daocheng and the others will always be there for me, no matter what comes our way.”

  A pause stretched between them for a long moment. Slowly, he stepped forward until he reached the foot of her makeshift bed. “All your friends have looked after you well, staying beside your bed these last two days. The Han boy in particular. He refused to let anyone tend to your wounds, not even to change your bandages.”

  Mulan held her tongue and tried not to let the apprehension in her stomach show on her face. “Is that so?”

  Prince Kang gave a slow nod, his dark gaze nothing more than shadows now. “Is he your lover?”

  Mulan felt her mouth drop. All she could do was stare back at him until her tongue decided to work once more. “My lover?” she stammered.

  “I’m aware that intimate relationships can form between two men, especially in times of war. Who am I to say it’s wrong for two consenting adults to be together?” The words were silk on his tongue, but beneath them ran a rough undercurrent she couldn’t pin a name to.

  Mulan swallowed as those dark eyes continued to fall on her face and tried to ignore the stirring between her thighs. “Daocheng is not my lover,” she finally said. “He’s been my best friend since we were small children.”

  “Relationships between friends tend to change over time.”

  Mulan shook her head. “I’ve never seen him that way.”

  With soft footsteps, Prince Kang took three steps forward until he stood by her side, towering over her.

  Mulan’s eyes ran up the length of his body; his dragon armour encased his body over a tunic and pair of trousers the colour of blood, tucked into leather boots. Tendrils of black hair fell into twin waterfalls around his shoulders, framing high cheekbones and a strong jaw.

  The stirring between her thighs intensified; she couldn’t doubt the beauty he possessed, nor how much he intimidated her. Those dark eyes stared down at her. “So, not him then, but have you seen anyone else that way?”

  She tried to gulp air, but her lungs refused to obey. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have a lover right now?”

  Her heart threatened to shatter within the confines of her chest. She struggled for what to say and finally settled for the truth. “I’ve never had a lover,” she admitted.

  At her words, Prince Kang’s nostrils flared and the hungry look in his eyes deepened, both intoxicating and scaring her. Need slammed into her at the thought of being under him, his strong fingers trailing down her body, his lips following. She pressed her legs tight together, hoping it would go away.

  “I’ve never experienced the desire of such a relationship,” Prince Kang said, his tone thick with longing. He fixed his eyes on her, those eyes that appeared as if they could see every thought and feeling that ran through her mind. “But your scent. It wraps around my mind and refuses to release me.”

  She felt the heat climb up her face. All words failed her as she gazed up. Those full lips begged her to claim them for her own. Mulan wondered what noise he’d make if she bit them.

  What in the eighteen hells was going on with her? This was Prince Kang, her commander. Kissing him would be far more than simple stupidity – no word could convey the level of foolishness of such an action. No matter how much she wanted to sink into the depths of that fire, no matter how much she ached to burn under the force of that mouth, she knew it was futile.

  But damn, she wanted to combust beneath him.

  Finally, she glanced away and closed her eyes briefly to blot out the image of those powerful eyes and full lips. “I heard what the Rouran are planning.”

  Mulan heard the intake of breath. “Tell me,” Prince Kang said, the bite of command within them.

  Slowly, Mulan recounted what she’d overheard in her captor’s tent about the ancestral cave and how he was the price for something. “I don’t know what for,” she said, shaking her head. “But it seemed as if you were important.”

  Prince Kang remained silent, the hunger in his gaze replaced by bewilderment. “I’m the son of their enemy; it would stand to reason that my capture could be a bargaining chip. Yet Jizi is further in Rouran territory than we are and he’s the heir to the throne before me. As much as I hate saying it, he’s far more important than I am.”

  A crease lined Mulan’s forehead. “But isn’t your brother human?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “You’re a dragon. Surely you outrank any of your brothers?”

  The faintest hint of a smile played over those lips. “Despite my considerable abilities and my mother’s illustrious ancestry, no, I’m not. As popular as I am, my father’s advisors claimed my heritage would be too frightening for most people. My father has other children who will take the throne before I’d even be considered.”

  “What about the ancestral cave?”

  Prince Kang shrugged. “I’ve heard tales about the Tuoba ancestral cave, but no one knows where it is, or even if it does exist. There are no records about it, no stories about its location. Just that the first Tuoba emerged from it one day to establish our people.”

  “Yujiulu Wuti’s sons are said to be close to finding it.”

  He choked back a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve met Tuhezhen and Datan briefly. They’re persistent, but idiots.”

  “Even idiots can succeed if they’re persistent,” Mulan warned. “The Rouran were adamant they were close. I don’t think we should discredit that even if you do think they aren’t that smart.”

  Prince Kang thought about her words for a moment. “You’re right.”

  Mulan pondered. “But even if they do find it and destroy it, how could that affect us?”

  “A symbolic gesture?” he suggested, his frown suggesting he didn’t buy it.

  Neither did she. “Symbolic doesn’t seem effective in war.”

  “Don’t be surprised. Destroying something precious can have a detrimental impact on your enemy. It can turn the strongest man cowering in fear, or change the smartest into the most stupid, especially if it’s something holy.”

  “Since this is my first time in war, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Silence stretched between them. There was something here that they were missing, and both of them knew it. Finally, Prince Kang blew out a frustrated breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “You should get some rest. I’ll send someone in with food.”

  At the mention of food, Mulan’s stomach rumbled. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. If she’d been unconscious for two days, then it’d been a while. “Thank you.”

  A dark brow lifted. “Don’t thank me. You’d better be ready to march soon. We’re heading west.”

  She sent a confused look his way. “Where are we going?”

  “To the one person who may be able to shed some light on this. My father.”

  Sixteen

  The light drizzle of rain slanting down from the heavens matched Mulan’s mood. For four days what remained of their army rode west, away from Rouran hands. Yet no matter how much distance they put between them and Tiger Claw’s Pass and the Demon Forest, the stink of defeat lingered around their heads.

  Their return to Pingcheng, the great capital of the Northern Wei kingdom, lay soaked in disgrace.

  Up ahead, the massive walls that encased the city stretched across the horizon, warning all who ventured close it could maintain any siege. It was hard to imagine that only fifty years ago it was nothing more than a small town established by the Han. Stories her father once retold came to mind; of grand palaces, beautiful courtiers, lavish banquets, and betrayal around every
corner.

  As the black horse beneath her trotted at a steady pace towards the walled city, Mulan wondered what reception lay ahead of them.

  Nothing good comes to mind, she thought.

  How could there be? Out of the thousands that had marched in the emperor’s name, less than two dozen were coming back.

  “Don’t look so glum,” Daocheng said, keeping his voice low so no one could hear him.

  Mulan glanced over to her right. His horse was a beautiful chestnut colour with a gentle personality, suiting him perfectly. His black hair, tied with a strip of leather, lay limp and wet against his back since she had possession of his helmet to hide her own.

  Strapped to his back hung his bow, the tips of the carved wood stretching past the top of his head. Fastened to the sides of his horse dangled bundles of arrows, all scavenged from the battlefield and ready in case of another ambush. “I’m not glum. I’m just thinking.”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, it matches the weather,” Huyanti quipped from her other side. A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “It’s also driving the rest of the men away.”

  Mulan glanced around. He was right. Their little group rode to one side, a good distance from the others. Like a handful of others, their horses were a parting gift from the village. Small clusters rode together, with others trailing behind. Mulan’s own steed was the colour of autumn leaves, the russet shade of its coat gleaming despite the weather. Rain soaked through their clothes, their skin cold.

  Up ahead, Prince Kang rode alone. Occasionally, slivers of sunlight danced over his armour, making the dragons dance for the briefest of moments. During the last four days, he’d hardly spoken to anyone, preferring to maintain his distance. Once, she’d caught him staring at her over the flames of a fire, the flames causing shadows to flicker over his eyes, a hunger blazing within. But not once had he tried to get her alone.

  He wanted her.

  And she wanted him.

  There was no use in denying it. Whether from the magic that ran through his veins, or the sheer masculinity he exuded, the fact was she responded to him.