Page 61 of A Witch and Her Dragon
And with a sickening turn of my stomach, I know what I must do.
No matter how much pain it causes us.
ALMOST AS SOON AS ALINA finishes tending to my wounds, her roommates return to the dormitory, and I bid them good night swiftly, trying to ignore their curious gazes as I slip from the room and climb the stairs to my own dorm.
Once inside, I close the door and lock it—though I’ve since learned that Alina must have a way of unlocking it, considering I found her in here the night of my transformation. With the door barred, I press my back against it and slide down until I’m sitting on the cold stone floor.
The night flickers through my mind: Alina’s hand on mine, the moonlight cutting through the glass ceiling of the greenhouse, the slick warmth between her thighs as I slid my finger inside her.
Being around her is intoxicating in a way I was not prepared for. And I know this was all a mistake. Not just kissing her and pushing my hands through her hair and allowing her to please me until I poured down her throat—it was a mistake long before then. Now I must make it right, before anything else happens.
Before I hurt her.
I know that this may threaten the agreement I have withHis Majesty, but if I go to him with this information, rather than allowing something to find its way back to him secondhand, I can control the narrative, control what I say and how I say it. And I can only hope that he’ll understand and that he’ll uphold his part of the bargain: keeping my mother and sisters safe.
Even if he has to send me away, even if I never see Alina again, I have to do this.
For her sake and for mine.
Even though it’s the last thing I want to do.
My mind is made up.
I push to my feet and stride across the room to the small desk near the window. I take a seat, light a candle, and unroll a fresh sheet of parchment. It lies there on the desk, staring up at me in the flickering candlelight. Clenching my jaw, I reach for a quill and dip it into a well of ink.
Then I begin to write.
I tell the king the truth: that Alina is my fated mate, that I’ve known it since she turned fifteen, that I thought I could carry out this duty without faltering in my conviction. But I tell him I can do so no longer. Someone must relieve me of this post, and they must do so swiftly, before Alina and I can grow any closer.
Before I do something I can’t take back.
I don’t tell him about our stolen kisses, and I certainly don’t mention what happened in the greenhouse tonight. But everything else is laid bare on the page. And though every drop of ink is a physical pain pressing against my bones, begging me not to separate myself from her, I don’t allow myself to stop.
Because I have to think of Alina as well, have to remember what my father did to my mother. And I have to protect her from danger—namely, me.
I sign my name at the bottom of the page, a rough scratch of the quill against the parchment. Once the ink has dried, I fold it in three and seal it with melted wax.
Letter in hand, I depart my room, pausing only briefly outside Alina’s door to ensure all is well, then continue down the spiraling stone stairs, moving through the shafts of colorful moonlight that gleam through the stained glass windows. It is late, but many students still roam the halls—it is Samhain, after all.
Charmed candles float through the entrance hall, and I brush one aside, sending it drifting off in a new direction, before pushing through one of the doors and stepping into the crisp cold of the night. The air smells of mead and woodsmoke, and light from the bonfire casts moving shadows through the courtyard.
I make my way toward the stables, which are situated on the outskirts of the castle’s courtyard. Inside, it smells of hay and dust. The horses have already been fed, and the stablemaster is sweeping the aisle, whistling to himself. When he sees me, he jerks upright, then gives me a clumsy bow.
“S-sir,” he says, “how can I help you?”
“I need a letter delivered. And I need to ensure utmost caution. Do you have a messenger suited to the task?”
The stablemaster nods quickly. “I do, sir. Very trusted lad. He’ll get your letter where it needs to go.”
“Good.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a few eldertokens. It’s significantly more currency than this taskrequires, but I want to ensure discretion, and coin has a way of achieving this.
I place the letter in the man’s outstretched hand, then drop the three coins atop it. “One for you, two for the carrier. No one else learns of this.”
“Of course not. And where’s the message to be carried, sir?” he asks, closing his fingers around the letter carefully so as not to crumple it.
I draw myself up and take a deep breath. No turning back now.
“Ravenscroft Castle. To His Majesty the king.”
