Nanowrimo 2022 - Day 8 Word Count and Best Bit (Patreon)

Today I added exactly 1500 words to my project, bringing the total word count to 14,503!

Wei Xiang's wrists were tied together with rope, his arms forced to wrap around the pole at the center of the tent. He glared at her as she entered, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome face. The arrow was still lodged in his shoulder, and it was only now that Jin Xia realized she'd gotten him clean through.

"Did no one send for a medic?" she asked. The answer seemed obvious, but the man very well could have refused treatment.

"I am your prisoner," he snapped. "Why would you think anyone would call a medic for me?"

"Because you're useless to me if you're dead," Jin Xia informed him bluntly. She turned back to the tent's opening, ordering the guards call for a medic. She turned back when she heard them scurrying away, her gaze cool and impassive against Wei Xiang's prideful glare. "I'm sure you recognize what kind of political mire your foolish soldier has gotten you into."

"That was an accident," Wei Xiang said with a growl. "But you can hardly blame him. We were defending our home, as any nation would."

"Defending your home against what?" Jin Xia asked innocently. "I have committed no violence against your people. You were the ones who drew first blood. And from my lady-in-waiting, an innocent. You may claim self-defense, but it looks like something far different from my end."

Jin Xia let him ponder that as the medic shuffled in. The medic broke the arrow, and Jin Xia winced at Wei Xiang's pained scream as he pulled the shaft out. Jin Xia's hands shook, her eyes focusing on the beads of sweat rolling down Wei Xiang's brow as the doctor applied salve and bandages. It was almost too easy for Jin Xia to see An Cheng in his pain. She prayed that this would be the last of the pain she would cause with war.

The medic bowed deeply as he left, leaving the two alone once more. Wei Xiang rested his head against the center pole, eyes closed as he panted lightly. In other circumstances, Jin Xia might find his sweaty, panting visage attractive.

Wait...now there's an idea.

"What do you want?"

She blinked, startled from her pondering. "Pardon?"

"What do you want?" he repeated, red eyes blazing.

Jin Xia turned her gaze to the horizon hidden beyond the tent's fabric. "It's not really about what I want, but what my father wants. And he wants your kingdom under his banner. I would like to give it to him without any more bloodshed." She stalked forward, leaning over to look Wei Xiang in the eye. Their breaths mingled in the scant space between them. "And with you as my prisoner, I think I'll be able to get just that."

"My father will never turn the kingdom over to you!" Wei Xiang shouted, Jin Xia just barely managing to pull back before his spit hit her face.

"Oh? Is your father like mine, uncaring and ready to throw you away whenever it's convenient for him?" Jin Xia asked. "Is this land really worth more to him than your life? I don't want to fight, Your Highness, but I will if I have to. But believe me, your father would much rather take my offer now than wait until my half-brother turns his sights on you. I abhor this competition of conquest my father has set before us. But my brother?"

She leaned forward, hissing her next words directly into Wei Xiang's ear. "He revels in it."

She felt him shudder, watching the color drain from his face out of the corner of her eye. Standing, she took a step back to watch his emotions play across his face. Terror warred with injured pride and frustration. She could almost see the calculations being made behind his eyes. Strategies tested and thrown away as his mind worked to find a winning formula against her. He likely understood that taking her offer was the smartest play, his pride would not let him admit that so readily.

"I am doing you the kindest of favors," she said plainly. "It would behoove you to accept it. Because even if you defeat my army, my brother's will come soon after. And even if he should fail, my father would not stop until his goal is reached. Which would you prefer, Your Highness: a bruised ego, or your nation's blood on your hands?"

She turned her back to him. "Ponder that a while. I shall return in the morning for your answer."