Page 15 of Rescued By The Dragon

Dear God...

One after the other. The smell of freshly dyed hair hung heavily in the room, and the number of blondes made me laugh. It was a sea of women, all more eager than the last to become part of the royal family.

It took more than two hours for the line to dwindle. That’s when I saw Amara’s friend walk up and curtsy in front of me.

Sitting forward, I braced my elbow on my knee and glared down at her as she found my shoes very interesting. “Where is she?” I asked under my breath.

She looked up. “Sick.”

Sick? She’d seemed fine before. Was it an excuse to get out of coming? She stood, and hurried out of the line, leaving me a fuming mess.

My mother clapped her hands loudly. “Let the festivities begin. There will be dancing and mingling.”

An orchestra started in the far corner of the ballroom, playing music not suited for a ball, but more for a club. My mother was all over the place. Stepping down, I made a beeline for the hallway.

I couldn’t be pulled around the dance floor without knowing if she was okay. The laughter and the overabundance of smells drifted away as I made it to the bridge. Only a few guards stood watch, but none of them asked any questions.

The moon was bright and glowing, luring me forward to her room. The closer I got the hotter my skin grew.

Slipping my fingers under the window, I lifted it and crawled inside. The anger inside of me dwindled at the sight of her. She wore the blue dress meant for the ball, her body limp over her mattress, looking small and frail.

“Amara.”

She sat straight up, tear streaks marked her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy from crying. “This isn’t the ball, Little Mouse.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and smoothed her palms down her dress. “I—I’ve been sick,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell the king—,”

Stalking around to where she sat on the bed, I pressed the back of my palm against her forehead and bent down in front of her. “You’ve been throwing up?”

She wiped at her mouth again. “Yes.”

My gaze moved around the room to a pair of glass slippers sitting on a corner chair, and a glass on her nightstand. “Do you need to see the doctor?”

She shook her head. “No. I think it’s a little bug.”

I wasn’t buying it. “So, no one else in your house has it? Your mother was able to attend the ball?”

“Stepmother and my stepsisters.”

“Well,” I said, placing her glass slippers on the bed beside her, I dragged the chair next to her bed and propped my feet beside her. “We’ll just make the most out of this then. Warn me if you need to puke, and I’ll grab the trash can.”

Amara’s mouth opened in shock. “Won’t they miss you at a ball meant to find your mate?”

“They’ll get over it, I’m sure.”

Amara grabbed her stomach and leaned back against her pillow. Leaning forward, I placed my palm on her knee. She stared at the movement, her breathing shallow and heavy. “Are you okay?”

“Umm-hmm,” she moaned and bent forward.

Lifting her into my arms, I carried her out of her room and toward the nearest bathroom.

She curled over and spewed her guts out.

“What did you eat today?” I asked, irritated that she felt so sick and I couldn’t fix it.

She sat back. “Not much. I was busy trying to finish my dress. I had a cup of tea this evening. Some toast this morning.”

I blinked at her several times. “That’s all you ate today?”

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