"She's in danger," Zhao Yan ground out, his voice colder than steel, sharper than a blade.
Xie Lin rushed forward, pressing a now slightly crumpled letter into his hand. The very same letter Hua Jing had received earlier in the day—one that had filled her with quiet suspicion. "This… this was the letter she got this morning. It was not from you, was it?"
Zhao Yan barely looked at the parchment before his eyes darkened. "No," he muttered, crushing the letter in his fist.
Deng Mi was already moving toward the horse, adjusting the reins as Zhao Yan leapt up in one swift movement. The prince's face was pale with rage, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though he might break his teeth. Wei Ling followed immediately, mounting his own steed with practiced ease. Deng Mi took the rear, and within seconds, the three of them had taken off.
