Chapter 233: Hold your ground! - MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE! - NovelsTime

MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

Chapter 233: Hold your ground!

Author: BOOKWORM7
updatedAt: 2025-07-13

CHAPTER 233: HOLD YOUR GROUND!

The southern wing of the palace lay in darkness, the air damp and thick with the scent of old stone and sweat. Torches flickered, their light casting long, jagged shadows on the cracked marble floors. In the shadows, the last of Pei Rong’s loyalists gathered—huddled together like cornered wolves, eyes glinting with the last scraps of defiance.

They had been here for hours, their whispers filling the cold silence. The hall was an old storehouse once used to hold treasures of the empire—silks, jewels, and fine porcelain now long plundered and forgotten. The rebels had stripped the shelves bare, stacking broken furniture and splintered shields in makeshift barricades. It was a pitiful fortress, but it was all they had.

Their leader—the man who had fired the arrow that felled Zhao Yan—sat on an upturned crate at the center of the room. His name was Han Sui, a wiry man with a thin scar that ran from his ear to his chin. His bow was propped beside him, the polished wood gleaming in the torchlight.

"You saw it," he said softly, his voice low and fierce. "You all saw it. The arrow struck true. Right in the heart. I did what no one else could do."

Around him, the men nodded, their faces lit with a desperate kind of reverence. In that moment of violence, they had seen their chance—an opening to shatter the empire and seize its future. But now, with Pei Rong dead and the loyalists closing in, doubt flickered behind their eyes.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a crooked nose, spat on the floor. "You did what had to be done, Han Sui," he said roughly. "That prince... he was a symbol. A ghost wearing a crown. You reminded them all that even ghosts can bleed."

Another man, younger, his face smudged with soot, let out a nervous laugh. "Aye," he said. "The empire will remember what we did tonight. They’ll remember we were not cowards."

But the words felt thin in the cold air. The truth lay heavy in their chests: Pei Rong was dead, and with him, the last promise of power had died too. The empire was slipping through their fingers like water.

Han Sui’s gaze swept the room, his dark eyes glittering. "Listen to me," he said sharply. "We are not done yet. The empire has always been ruled by those who seize the moment. Pei Rong is gone, but the fight is not over. We are the last claw of the tiger—and we will not go down without a roar."

A murmur of agreement swept the men, though it was tinged with unease. They had followed Pei Rong because he promised them a place in a new world—land, titles, power. Now, there was nothing but the thin hope of survival.

A younger rebel, barely more than a boy, shifted nervously. "What if... what if they come for us before dawn?" he asked, his voice shaking. "What if the prince’s men are already on their way?"

Han Sui’s lip curled in a snarl. "Then we fight," he said. "We fight until our last breath. We will not be hunted like dogs."

A heavy silence settled over them. Outside, the night wind howled, rattling the broken shutters like bones in a tomb. They all knew what was coming: the final clash. The empire would not forgive them for what they had done, and there would be no mercy in the dawn.

But in this moment—here in the cold darkness—they clung to each other and to their leader’s words. They clung to the taste of defiance, of one last stand that would echo through the halls of history.

Han Sui leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Tonight, you are warriors of the empire," he said. "Let them call us traitors. Let them spit on our graves. But let them remember that we did not bow."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "We will stand together," he said quietly. "No matter what comes through that door."

The men straightened, gripping their swords and spears tighter. Some nodded. Some closed their eyes, whispering prayers to gods they had long since abandoned. The weight of their choices pressed down on them like a mountain.

Han Sui’s fingers traced the curve of his bow, a small smile ghosting his lips. "They think the empire is safe now," he murmured. "They think a single arrow cannot change the world. But it can. I have seen it."

A thin-faced rebel spoke up, his voice low and filled with a manic energy. "You’re right, Han Sui," he said. "We are not done. We will show them—show them that even a cornered rat can bite."

A murmur of agreement swept the room again, stronger this time. The men moved to check their weapons—testing the edges of blades, adjusting the straps of battered armor. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear.

Han Sui rose to his feet, his back straight and his voice hard. "You are the last of Pei Rong’s men," he said. "You are the last chance to burn your name into the empire’s bones. Remember that. If we die tonight, let it be with a blade in our hands."

The men raised their weapons, a ragged cheer rumbling from their chests.

But even as they roared their defiance, doubt clung to their hearts. They were alone now, and they knew it. The empire’s vengeance was coming, and there would be no second chance.

For a moment, the world felt still—held in the quiet darkness before the dawn. Then, without warning, the air shifted.

A faint whistle cut through the silence. A single, burning arrow streaked from the shadows beyond the barricade, trailing fire in its wake.

It struck the pile of splintered wood at the center of the room, and in an instant, flames burst to life—crackling, leaping, devouring the dry wood and cloth. Heat washed over the rebels in a wave, the orange light flickering across their wide eyes.

For a heartbeat, they froze—every breath caught in their chests.

Then the reality of it slammed into them.

"Fire!" one of them screamed. "They’re here!"

The spell was broken. The room exploded into motion—men scrambling to snatch up buckets, to beat back the flames with their cloaks. But the fire was hungry, the old wood and cloth feeding it in great gasps of heat and light.

Han Sui’s eyes were wide, his bow clutched in white-knuckled fingers. He spun towards the barricade, where shadows danced beyond the flickering firelight.

"They’re coming," he snarled, his voice a low growl. "Hold your ground!"

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