The God of War Played Helpless, but His Assassin Wouldn't Let Go - Chapter 2

But I really was an assassin who killed without blinking. I was Night Tower’s finest.

Its iron rule was clear: fail a mission, let a target go, and a death warrant would follow. The punishment was death, without exception.

But… the Fourth Prince had fallen for me. I couldn’t let them behead me. Wouldn’t he be heartbroken if they did? How could I make my own wife suffer?

Then again, if I didn’t let them kill me, I’d have to kill him. And how could I kill my future wife?

What was I supposed to do?

Forget it. To hell with death warrants and the entire martial world’s pursuit. Nothing under heaven mattered more than my wife.

I rubbed the chill from my fingertips, gripped the short blade at my waist, and turned back to the bedchamber.

Shen Du was still awake. He sat against the headboard, idly leafing through a book. Candlelight warmed his profile.

At the sound of the door, he looked up. His eyes still held that watery softness, gentle and alluring, with no trace of the schemes beneath.

“What is it?”

His voice was still husky and weak, the sort that made me want to bring him hot water and tuck the quilt around him.

I walked to the bed, my heart aching and burning at once. I took the book from his hands, set it aside, and, ignoring his surprise, wrapped my hand around his cool fingers.

I laid everything bare. “Shen Du, my name is Xiao Huai. I’m Night Tower’s best assassin. I came here today to take your life.”

I was a grown man. I couldn’t lie to my wife.

Shen Du didn’t look afraid. Instead, he gave a low laugh. It was soft, and the red at the corners of his eyes deepened.

After two little chuckles, he suddenly bent forward coughing. His shoulders shook, his face flushed, and tears sprang to his eyes. He looked unbearably fragile.

My heart seized. Every last bit of caution collapsed, leaving only distress for him.

When the coughing passed, he looked up at me and met my gaze. His voice was ragged and hoarse. “I see. Then kill me. I’m badly wounded. I can’t fight back.”

What? Kill him? I didn’t want to.

The short blade slipped from my waist and struck the floor with a sharp clang. It was the weapon I’d brought to murder him. Now the sight of it was intolerable.

My throat tightened. I stumbled through an excuse, trying to sound hard-hearted when I was anything but. “You’re still badly injured and too weak to defend yourself. If I took advantage of that, it’d ruin my reputation. I won’t do it.”

Amusement flickered in Shen Du’s eyes. “An assassin cares about his reputation?”

I had no answer. I just held his hand tighter, unwilling to let go. My heart was wholly on his side; reason had long since deserted me.

So I threw caution away, looked straight into his eyes, and confessed with utter sincerity.

“Shen Du, I know you like me. You’re just shy and too thin-skinned to say it. You don’t have to scheme anymore. Be my wife and leave the rest to me. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t kill you, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

I meant every word.

So why had the Fourth Prince gone silent? Was he embarrassed? Or was it something else?