Page 11 of Court of Secrets and Flames

The trial is over. I’m in Tirene. Safe from King Xenon and his sadistic games.

My attempt at quelling the fear twisting my internal organs into knots falls short. King Xenon might not be able to hurt me at the moment. King Jasper, however, can.

And the crowd’s excitement can’t speak to anything good. “What is this?”

“A test.” Hyde withdraws a key from his pocket. “The goal is to live through your encounter. Don’t try to escape. This entrance will be locked. And I don’t recommend permanently maiming a dragon with your magic. If you do, the king won’t be pleased.”

My mouth goes dry, and my heartrate spikes, as I fight to control my breathing. If I hope to survive this ordeal, I need to remain calm.

I’ve faced dragons before and lived to tell the tales. Surely I can manage to do so now.

Hyde unlocks the gate. Zale runs a hand through his gray-steaked hair, eyes filled with sympathy. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Understatement of the century.

The two guards exit the way we entered, and the clink of the key in the lock confirms my imprisonment.

As I scan the audience, my gaze connects with the haughty man in royal finery.

The king is here.

No doubt eagerly awaiting the show.

I do a quick perusal of the surrounding seats but find no sign of the prince.

A foolish part of me hopes he’s not present. Hopes he has no idea what I’m about to face. Because if he is here, that means he’s doing nothing to stop this.

The clanging and groaning of metal on the opposite side of the arena draws my attention to the opening of a large iron gate.

A low growl rumbles, vibrating the ground beneath my boots. The largest dragon I’ve ever laid eyes on lumbers inside, its reddish-brown scales glimmering in the sun. Gleaming black horns twist and spiral from the creature’s huge head.

The crowd falls silent as an orange dragon stomps into the arena behind the first.

This one’s every bit as massive and angry as the first and glaring right at me.

Breathe. You can do this.

I run through what little I know about not pissing off dragons in my head.

Slow movements. No direct eye contact. And above all else, never. Ever. Run.

Fleeing in front of any apex predator marks the height of foolishness, but in front of a dragon? It’s practically begging to become roast beef.

Across the way, a taller figure pushes a shorter one with a burlap sack over their head into the arena through a different gate. The gate clangs shut. A collective gasp echoes in the stands.

My heart stutters as desperation floods my veins.

I don’t know this person, but I need to help them. To keep them alive. I can’t stand a repeat of what happened to Olive.

An image of my friend’s auburn hair and smiling face flashes through my mind. Seconds before her death, I asked her to trustme to stop the rogue dragon. Her reply will be forever carved into my mind.

“I do trust you.” Shaking her head, Olive lowers her hands. “I just hope I don’t regret this.”

A moment later, the dragon incinerated her into a pile of smoldering ash.

Guilt and grief crash over me, mingling with the terror that’s exploding like a geyser. Fear that I’m about to fail someone else in the same exact way.

But I lock it down.

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