Page 9 of Tortured

After a brief, gray nothingness, I emerge on the other side.

Sunshine and green grass greet me, along with a garnet-colored dragon, a turquoise one, and another emrys, who I presume is Aneirin. Seren materializes after me and nuzzles her snout against the garnet dragon’s.

I quickly register that he is her mate, Cephias.

Aneirin boldly steps forward. I shouldn’t be caught off guard by his long, silver-blond hair hanging to his waist; he wears it much the same way Ieuan does, but Aneirin is dressed in silver from head to toe, matching his hair—

Except for the startlingly red dragon stone hanging below his throat.

The stone gleams like a fresh pool of blood, as if someone had dug his dagger around in Aneirin’s pale flesh before yanking it out. The contrast against his skin and attire unsettle me.

I wear nothing but borrowed rags. Clothes that have seen better days before weeks of travel.

I look nothing like a prince.

I square my shoulders and straighten my back when I realize Aneirin is two inches taller than I am. I picture him with his nose at Niawen’s eye level. How many times has she gazed up at him and longed to kiss him?

I am jealous. Absolutely. This suave, graceful fellow with willowy limbs caught Niawen’s fancy and I had not?

Aneirin arches a brow at me. He doesn’t make a move to extend his hand as Ieuan did. “Everything’s transparent here. Everyone will know all of your feelings if you don’t guard them.”

My face burns. I stare into his green eyes with contempt. Aneirin doesn’t blink or avert his gaze.

I narrow my expression. “What are you sensing now, emrys?”

Aneirin snickers. “Easy, princeling. Many others care for Niawen. You have to take that into account before you can believe you have a claim to her soul.”

“You have no idea what we’ve been through.”

Aneirin huffs. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. Just because you’ve changed and carry her light, doesn’t mean you know anything about being an emrys.”

My stomach tightens. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t claim to know anything.”

Ieuan emerges from the rift. “You’re wasting time. Stop this pissing contest. I’d hate for Caledu to show up while you’re cutting into each other.”

Her father. The man who exiled Niawen.

Aneirin nods. He turns to the garnet-colored dragon and climbs into the saddle. “Right this way.” He draws out his words and adds a mock bow. “Your Highness.”

I turn abruptly, and Seren gives me a leg up. He’s just messing with you. He respects you.

Funny way of showing it, I say.

He will never forgive himself for everything that happened with Niawen. How she left because of him, how he couldn’t get her back into Gorlassar by meeting with the council. Niawen wouldn’t have taken his charity anyway.

Anyone who knows Niawen knows how stubborn she is.

Trust me, Aneirin knows, Seren says.

“Good luck,” Ieuan says as he pats the turquoise dragon. “I have to stay until shift change. Perhaps I will be here again when you leave.”

Seren takes off after Aneirin and Cephias. We fly over a green valley with a river winding down the center. The land is lush and reminds me of Talfryn, my highland home, at the height of summer.

Dread fills me when I see four other dragons and their riders in the distance, flying toward us from a pristine white city. Looks as though I have a welcoming committee.

It couldn’t have been avoided, Seren says.

It’s not as if they will shoot us out of the sky, right?

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