Page 74 of A Witch and Her Dragon
“No.” King Jorvick stands and paces to the fire, one hand stroking the length of his beard. “They will be watching for us. If we don’t comply with their requests, they will disappear with Alina, and retrieving her will be made even more difficult.”
“Your Majesty, I insist—” Sir Larsen starts, but I cease listening.
They took Alina. My princess. My mate.
And they will suffer for it. They will perish at the tips of my fangs and beneath the might of my claws.
I know what I must do.
“I don’t believe they will harm the king,” I say suddenly, stopping whatever Sir Larsen was saying midsentence. “They want me, not him. And they can have me.” I curl my fingers into fists, trying to control my breathing as my dragon thrashes inside my chest, causing the chain to burn hot against my still-damaged skin.
“You are certain of this?” the king asks, his brows drawn low over his eyes.
“Yes. I ask only that my mother and sisters are looked after, regardless of what happens to me.”
There’s a long moment of tense silence. The only sounds in the room are the fire crackling and the wind tapping at the windowpanes.
“It is done,” the king says.
I square my shoulders. “Then we will trade me for Alina.” I grit my teeth, then say through the tension in my jaw, “And at the first opportunity, I will destroy them.”
Chapter 33
Alina
SUNLIGHT WAKES ME SOFTLY. IT creeps around the edges of the drapes, sneaking into the room one inch at a time.
My senses turn on slowly. I’m warm, held comfortably in a deep mattress with blankets draped across my body. The air smells of woodsmoke tinged with dust. I’m still wearing my nightdress, if the silky slip of material across my skin as I shift in the bed is any indication.
I go to lift a hand to my head, where a headache has started to blossom, and I’m startled to realize my wrists are bound.
This wakes me immediately.
I shoot up in the bed and wriggle the unfamiliar blankets away to see that I’ve been put in shackles. They’re metal, but the cuffs themselves are wrapped in plush linen, likely to spare my wrists from the bite of the iron.
Why?
When I dig through my hazy memories, I recall being awoken, Tristan at the door telling me Raelan had been injured, the carriage, and then—
The powder.
It knocked me out immediately, before I could even think to fight back.
Tristan did this to me.
My heart stings with betrayal. I thought he was my friend, thought he may even have had an interest in being more than that. Now I’m quite certain he was only trying to get close to me for his own nefarious purposes—whatever those purposes may be.
My heart gallops as fear spikes through my body.
Focusing on the shackles, I attempt to bring ice to my hands, to freeze the metal and hopefully make it brittle enough to snap, but nothing happens. I try again, and though my magic tingles through my veins, it can’t manifest outwardly.
The cuffs are stifling my magic, dampening it.
Shit!
Trying very hard not to panic, I kick the blankets away and am relieved to find that I am, indeed, still dressed in my nightclothes. I twist about and set my feet upon the floor, which is chilled despite the fire burning in the hearth. Quietly, in an effort to not alert anyone in this place that I’ve woken up, I cross from the bed to the window and use my bound hands to shift the drapes aside.
The sun is much higher in the sky that I expected. It seems I slept through the night and a good portion of theday. As if to remind me of this fact, my stomach grumbles pathetically.
