Page 30 of The Book of Legends
The beast grunts and slams the door so hard the walls tremble.
Kainen wants to keep me. Fine. Let’s see if he regrets it.
The staircase spirals down into a sea of shadows, the flickering sconces barely illuminating the black stone walls. Each step is a gamble, the non-existent railing a death trap as I carefully take each step one at a time. The shackles on my wrists weigh me down. One wrong move and I could fall to my death.
Nieve follows silently behind me. I’m grateful for the flowing dress that magically appeared on my bed after my bath. The fabric is light—too light—clinging to my curves in ways reserved for a man to peel off, not to meet a dangerous prince. The deep neckline almost plunges to my navel, the two slits on either side of my thighs offering more than a glimpse with every movement.
I’m bare beneath it.
When I finally reach the last step, two small figures emerge from the dimly lit hallway.
Dwarves.
Their silver-sheened skin grows faintly, green veins swirling beneath like living vines. Thick beards contrast with the jagged scars crisscrossing their faces.
The one closest to the stairs speaks first, “The prince is waiting.” His voice is gravel, his gaze impassive. A long scar runs over his missing ear.
I want to tell him Icouldn’td care less if the prince is waiting, but I bite my tongue. They turn sharply and start down the corridor, leading me toward a set of massive black doors carved with a dragon emblem, its eyes burning like embers. Two hooded guards stand on either side, their black masks concealing their faces.
As I step forward, the doors groan open, but as I cross the threshold, strong hands shove Nieve back.
She yelps.
“Your services are no longer needed,” one of the guards tells her flatly.
“What are you doing?” But my protest is swallowed by the thundering crash of the doors slamming shut. I whirl around, but she’s gone.
“Have a seat.” Kainen's voice slices through the heavy silence.
I turn around. He stands at the head of a long, obsidian table, its surface reflecting the golden glow of a dragon-shaped candelabra. Black candles flicker, casting shadows over his hard expression. His gaze drags over me like a slow-moving blade: the red dress, the slits, the lack of underwear. I hate how his eyes burn into me, how they linger—deliberate and possessive—before curling into something disgusted.
Relief and disappointment war inside
me.I force my legs forward, ignoring the way the fabric teases my skin and the way the room feels colder under his scrutiny. He has a way of making me feel intimidated in my own skin, questioning my subconscious.
I slide into the only empty seat at the table, taking in the rest of the room, which reminds me of a hotel ballroom with a red oversized rug; like the rest of the castle, the walls are black.
His eyes glint. “Good.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I’m in no position to disobey. As much as I hate him, I’m at his mercy. The red medallion in the shape of a dragon, with eyes the color of fire at the center of his armor, does nothing to hide the magnetism of his power.
Tugging the sheer fabric around my thighs, I shift in my seat the best I can, hoping he doesn’t get a glimpse and rests the shackles in my lap.
When his gaze lands back on my face, the look of disgust is unmistakable. “Take them off,” he demands.
My glasses?
Before I can respond, a shadow detaches from the wall: his beastly guard.
He lumbers forward, his hooves thudding on the floor. His scent hits me like a sledgehammer—sweat and something rancid, with a skeleton key dangling between thick, black fingers. He shoves the key in the lock like a brute.
I snatch my hands away from the immediate sting,red welts marking my skin. “Ow.”
He grunts. “Hold still.”
“Stop being a brute,” I snap.
His eyes darken, his grip tightening around the key.
