Page 2 of A Bond of Fire and Roses

They’re just echoes. Echoes of my past. And sometimes my present is far worse than the past. If I don’t answer her soon, I will be reminded of that.

“Failure to pay attention again will result in punishment. So, what is your answer, Princess?”

I cringe at the use of my title. She only ever refers to me as princess when she really wants to embarrass me in public. I’ve tried so hard to forget about the life I once had before the king brought me here. It’s funny how a single word can take me back to that day.

I clear my throat. “Could you repeat the question so I might answer it, Sister Gabriella?” I try to keep my voice as neutral as possible to not anger her. The convent is run by her, the new religion that was forbidden back when my parents ruled. The usurper king indulged in their teachings and gave them the spare castle my parents had used for summer breaks. He also gave them many churches and gold in exchange for keeping me protected.

Protected. The word makes me want to laugh. And gag.

I’ve endured years of their so-called protection. It’s nothing short of torture. However, in the back of my mind, I’m ever aware of how their torture is still better than what comes for me.

“I asked you to explain to our holy class the name of the god we worship tomorrow on Nyx?”

On my birthday. On the day my parents were slaughtered by a boy on the back of a dragon. A boy who became a ruthless king after he stole my father’s crown. I blink back any emotion, swallowing down my true reaction like I’ve trained myself to do, before answering.

“Ciagid, the protector of the dragon race. It is their sacred god.”

“Correct.” She tightens her grip on my shoulder before moving on. “Tomorrow we shall celebrate Ciagid with fireworks, magic, and feasts across the entire kingdom. We will celebrate the might of the dragons, and the king who brought them to us. Now, how many dragons will celebrate with us?”

No one answers right away, so she continues on. “There are two hundred and twelve dragon riders registered at the Citadel, and I expect each of you to name all of them by the end of this class.”

“Yes, Sister Gabriella.”

I mumble the words along with the others. When there’s an unexpected pause in Sister Gabriella’s usual spiel, I peer at her from across the room. Her beady eyes lock on me alone as she stands perfectly in line with the centre of the chalkboard, her liver-spotted hands clasped against the beads wrapped around her bony waist. She doesn’t even bother hiding the sneer that forever taunts her lips when she looks at me.

My blood boils as that old, but familiar fear threatens to creep its way over my shoulders. I refuse to let her see it. She thrives off it. I tug my cloak hood over my face and resume picking at the edges of my desk. After so many years trapped in this prison, forced to sit at the same desk and wander the same bland halls, day in day out, never allowed to leave them, there isn’t much left to pick at.

“Can any of you tell me where the dragons originated from?”

Although Sister’s Gabriella’s question is directed to the class, I have no doubt she’s still looking at me, waiting for me to crack. I slice my nails deeper into the wood, pretending not to hear her. I know everything there is to know about dragons, just like I know the devastation their riders like to inflict from their backs. I can still smell their fire at night when I go to sleep.

Elliot answers the question. He’s one of the few other males who were imprisoned here alongside me. Gods above, how long ago was that now? Nine years ago? Maybe ten? Sometimes it feels like I was born in this convent.

“The Hallowed Kingdom,” Elliot says with an air of smugness. “It was recorded that the first dragon eggs were found inside a mountain by our great king, Eraxis the Vindicator, and the first ever dragon egg hatched for him.” He moves excitedly in his chair, ever the teacher’s faithful little pet.

“The king’s closest confidants were next to find eggs and bond with their dragons,” Elliot resumes. “Then each rider flew to our lands once the dragons were of age and a good size, roughly two years after they hatched. Although for some dragons it can take five years until they fully mature.”

Although I can’t see Sister Gabriella, I know she is smiling at his response. The old crone loves to go over the history of our great Dragon King whenever I’m in the same room as her. She seeks pleasure in reminding me that I’m only trapped here because of him, and that I only breathe now because he spared me the night, he brought us here as prisoners. That’s all we are at the end of the day—prisoners of a war started by our parents.

“Very good answer, Elliot.” She claps her hands twice, her one form of praise. “You are turning out to be an exemplary acolyte in training. Others would do well to learn from you.”

Another sly dig at me. I ignore it and flick a chip of wood onto the floor.

Elliot glances back at me, that same old sorry look in his eyes. I don’t remember much about him from before we were conquered. His father served in my mother’s court, and I believe we shared the same governess at one point, but other than that he was just as strange to me as everyone else when I was brought here.

Sister Gabriella turns her attention to the board behind her. “Now. What colour of fire does the king’s dragon breathe, and what makes their flames different?”

I place my elbow on the desk and rest my chin in my hand, my focus straying to the window beside me. Through the thick iron bars, I can just see the beginning of the forest stretching beyond their hold. I’ve memorised every tree on that stupid border—painted them a hundred times over in my prison cell they call a room. It’s the cruellest reminder of all, really. To be able to see your freedom but never reach it. I think that’s why Sister Gabriella always makes me sit by the window. She wants me to look out from my cage and know she is the one who holds the key.

“They’re black flames, Sister Gabriella,” Elliot replies quickly. “Black flames are a gift from the night dragon god, Nytar, and the dragons who serve him will always breathe black fire. Red flames come from the daylight goddess, Hekai. It is said black fire looks like a million stars burning in the night sky, whereas red flames…”

The rest of the lesson goes smoothly as she drones on about the Dragon King and how glorious he is. My parents’ kingdom took to his rule quickly, apparently. He was only a boy when he stole their throne. Just shy of sixteen. Yet he took down centuries of my family’s rule before imprisoning me here, vowing to the nobles that he would marry me when I turned twenty-one. When a dragon rider army invades, what can anyone do but bow to flames?

In other words, my life has been one endless nightmare since the day he burned my home to the ground, and most of the kingdom with it. I hate how everyone calls him a righteous king when he’s anything but. He is far from a noble warrior and protector of the realm. To me, King Eraxis will only ever be the villain in this tale, and he’s as rotten to the core as the acts he committed against my family.

By the luck of Hekai, the class finally ends, and I scurry from the room before the priestess can summon me to her. I rush down the ancient corridors, passing the many granite doors that are always locked in this part of the building. Ivy crawls over the old stone walls, and around the windows that let some sunlight stream through. The sound of my boots, hidden well under my white dress, hit the stone as I rush straight towards my only reminder of home.

Dasinth grins when he sees me, his smile somehow making his entire face change from terrifying guard to the happy uncle-figure I know and love. He opens up his arms and I run straight into them, pressing my face to his chest and breathing in his familiar scent.

---