The Witch materialized beside the cage, her mask cracking into a smile. "The seal transfers to another living vessel. Simple."
Ling Tian's hands shook. "Who?"
Her lacquered nail pointed at Qing'er.
"No!" Ling Mei thrashed. "Tian, she's lying—"
Qing'er stepped forward. "Do it."
The Witch's hands danced. The collar moved—slithering through the air toward Qing'er's throat—
Ling Tian tackled her aside. The collar clamped onto his neck instead.
Agony. His vision whited out as the seal burrowed into his meridians. The dragon mark screamed in protest—
Then laughter. The Witch clapped. "Oh, this is delicious."
The collar shattered.
Ling Tian gasped as the dragon mark uncoiled down his arm—his fingers elongating into crimson claws.
The Witch's mask fell. Her true face was horror— revealing a mouth filled with jagged, fearful-looking teeth stretched from ear to ear.
"You're not the heir."
"You're the slave."