Chapter Twenty-One
Ping lay in bed, replaying Ling's words in her mind.
"The Shadow King doesn't keep weak queens."
What did he mean by that? Was it a warning? A challenge?
She turned on her side, frustrated. This man confused her. He was supposed to be a monster—cruel, heartless. But he had let her treat his wound. He had asked if she was eating. He was strict, yes, but not in the way she had feared.
Why do I care?
She shut her eyes, trying to sleep. But rest never came easily in this palace.
The next morning, Mei entered her chamber with a look of excitement.
"My lady, the king has requested you to join him outside."
Ping sat up. "Outside?"
Mei nodded. "In the training grounds."
Ping frowned. "Training grounds?"
What was he planning now?
When she arrived, she saw Ling standing in the open field, dressed in black, his sword resting at his side. The morning sun reflected off his silver hair. He looked powerful—undeniably intimidating.
A few soldiers sparred in the distance, but all kept an eye on their king. No one dared to get too close.
Ling turned when he sensed her presence. His red eyes studied her carefully.
"You came," he said simply.
Ping folded her arms. "I didn't know I had a choice."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You always have a choice. Whether you make the right one is another matter."
She ignored the way his gaze unsettled her. "Why am I here?"
Ling picked up a wooden sword and tossed it toward her. She barely caught it in time.
"We're training," he said.
Ping blinked. "Training?"
"You need to learn how to protect yourself," Ling said, stepping toward her. "You're a queen now. You can't afford to be weak."
Ping tightened her grip on the wooden sword. "I don't know how to fight."
Ling circled her slowly. "Then it's time to learn."
She swallowed hard.
He moved behind her, placing his hands over hers, adjusting her grip on the sword. His touch was firm but not rough.
Ping felt her heart race.
"This is how you hold it," he murmured.
She stiffened, her senses on high alert.
Ling stepped away, leaving her feeling oddly cold.
"Now," he said, "try to strike me."
Ping hesitated. "What?"
"Attack me."
She narrowed her eyes. "You want me to hit you?"
"Yes."
Ping tightened her grip, then swung at him with all her strength.
Ling sidestepped effortlessly. "Too slow."
She swung again. He dodged with ease.
Again.
And again.
Each time, he avoided her attacks like it was nothing. He wasn't even trying.
Frustration bubbled inside her.
"Stop playing with me!" she snapped.
Ling raised an eyebrow. "Then try harder."
Ping clenched her jaw, adjusting her stance. She took a deep breath, focusing.
Then she lunged.
This time, Ling caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it just enough to make her drop the sword. In one swift motion, he spun her around, pressing her back against his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from escaping.
Ping's breath hitched.
Ling leaned down slightly, his lips near her ear. "You let your emotions control you. That's why you lost."
She swallowed, trying to steady her racing heart.
He released her just as quickly, stepping back.
Ping turned to face him, feeling embarrassed and annoyed.
"Again," Ling said, tossing her the sword.
She caught it, determination burning in her eyes.
If he thought she was weak, she'd prove him wrong.