The God of War Played Helpless, but His Assassin Wouldn't Let Go - Chapter 1

When the message arrived, I was feeding medicine to the Fourth Prince.

More accurately, he was teaching me how to feed it to him.

“It’s too hot.”

He leaned against the headboard, eyes lowered, his voice soft and husky, like a sick cat.

I looked down at the bowl. I’d brewed the medicine myself. It had simmered for an entire shichen—two hours. I’d blown on it before bringing it in. I’d even tasted it. It was warm, not hot.

But he said it was hot.

“You—”

The instant my voice rose, his lashes dipped. That faint flush returned to the corners of his eyes, and a sheen of tears seemed to gather there.

He didn’t cry. Somehow, that was even harder to bear than tears.

Wasn’t he supposed to be the God of War? Why did he look ready to cry at the slightest thing?

More to the point, he looked so beautiful like that my heart was about to pound straight out of my chest.

I swallowed the rest of my complaint and forced a smile. “If I blow on it anymore, it’ll go cold. Have a little, all right? The physician said your injuries are serious. You need your medicine. Once you’ve finished, I’ll buy you some candied fruit. How does that sound?”

That one sentence left my back soaked with sweat. I was more nervous than I would have been killing a hundred men.

I was afraid my tone might be too harsh and startle him. Afraid too many words would annoy him. Afraid I’d misjudge the distance between us and make him dislike me.

All I could think of was how to please him, how to give way.

Shen Du lifted his eyes. Blood loss had left them bright and watery, their outer corners tinged red. The light in them shimmered like spring water stirred by a breeze, gentle and captivating.

He said nothing. He just watched me.

That look took the fight right out of me. Resigned, I lowered my head and blew on the medicine, little breath by little breath, until I could hold the spoon steady at his lips.

Only then did he bend his head. His lips brushed the edge of the spoon as he obediently drank.

When he raised his eyes afterward, I caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth: sly, secretive, like someone savoring a small victory while trying not to let me see it.

My heart seemed to drop. It missed a beat, and heat rushed to my ears.

I hurriedly put the spoon back in the bowl, turned my face away, and stood up with a show of indifference. I set the spoon down and made to leave.

“Drink the rest yourself.”

Empty bravado. That was all it was.

Shen Du made no move to stop me, and panic began to rise in my chest.

Fortunately, just as I turned, he spoke. One soft sentence pinned my feet to the floor.

“Xiao Huai, it hurts. My hand, my head, every bone in my body. It hurts terribly.”

I froze, unable to take another step.

He’d said my name. Xiao Huai.

Night Tower assassins always worked masked and under false names. We never showed our faces or gave out our real names. I hadn’t told him a thing about myself.

How did he know my name?

Wait. He said he was in pain?

He hurt?

I turned around.

Moonlight came through the window lattice and fell across his face: pale skin, black hair, a slightly open collar revealing his collarbone and a strip of bandage around his chest.

He tilted his head at me. The red at the corners of his eyes hadn’t faded.

“The medicine is bitter, too. I don’t want any more. Take the bowl away.”

“…Huh? Oh. All right. If it’s bitter, you don’t have to drink it.”

I dutifully went back for the bowl. As I reached for it, his fingers settled on my wrist.

Cool. Featherlight. Like a butterfly landing for an instant before taking flight.

“Will you make it again tomorrow?” he asked, as casually as if he were asking what we’d eat.

But he didn’t take his hand away. His fingertips still rested against my wrist, brushing the beat of my pulse.

My pulse was racing.

“I will. Tomorrow I’ll put some candied fruit in it. It won’t be bitter.”

It took all my effort to say that without stammering.

He murmured his assent, withdrew his hand, pulled up the quilt, and closed his eyes.

I stood there holding the bowl for a long time. The porcelain still held some warmth, but the wrist he’d touched burned all the way to my heart.

In the kitchen, I set the bowl down, crouched, and buried my face in my hands. I laughed at myself without a sound.

Xiao Huai, you’re beyond saving.

You’re a cold-blooded assassin sent to kill him, not a servant here to wait on him and beg for his favor. You’ve never hesitated to kill. Since when do you brew medicine for your target, blow on it, and coax him so carefully?

But he was beautiful.

So fair, with such bright eyes and a straight nose. And his mouth… it looked delicious. I wondered what it tasted like.

Especially when he bathed. That body of his…

How could anyone kill someone that beautiful?

While my thoughts were in chaos, a gray pigeon shot through the window and landed on the sill. A messenger pigeon carrying Night Tower’s highest-priority dispatch. They were never used unless lives hung in the balance.

I untied the bamboo tube from its leg and pulled out the slip of paper inside. The message was brief, every word cold enough to strike home: “Withdraw. Shen Du is fishing. You’re the fish. Kill Shen Du in two days.”

I turned the slip over and over. The back was blank. There were no further instructions.

Everything fell into place. Shen Du truly had been grievously wounded in the ruined temple, truly had been alone. But the frailty and docility were an act. He’d seen through me from the start and had been drawing me in, step by calculated step.

Reason warned me again and again: this man was cunning, devious, and dangerous. Leaving him alive would only bring trouble. I should draw my blade and dispatch him cleanly. That was an assassin’s duty.

But he had the face of the man I wanted for my wife.

He was that beautiful, and badly hurt, yet he still went to all this trouble to lure me. Surely that meant he liked me and was too shy to say it outright. This was his way of getting close.

He hadn’t baited anyone else. He’d chosen me. Obviously, he’d taken one look and fallen hopelessly in love.

Once I thought of it that way, a sweetness rose in my chest. I couldn’t summon the least bit of anger.