Page 78 of A Witch and Her Dragon
Up on the driver’s bench, the king clears his throat. That’s the signal to tell me we’re approaching the meeting place.
I draw a long breath, fighting the heat burning through my veins. I calm myself, banishing my emotions, focusing only on the task at hand. And when I let out that breath, I’m ready.
The wagon creaks to a halt. Outside, words are exchanged in low voices.
“Hail, traveler,” says an unfamiliar man. “What brings you down the Serpent?”
“My mule came this way,” the king says, using the code the Hand set out for him in the second letter of correspondence. “You haven’t seen her, by chance?”
There are mumbled words and the shifting of boots and cloaks.
“We have. Come with us,” the same man says.
Then the wagon is moving again, but this time, footsteps accompany the creaking wheels and the crunching of leaves on the path.
We continue on in this way for five minutes, and then the wagon turns, likely onto another side road.
“Stop here!” the man calls.
The wagon stops.
I’m still calm, still collected. I will not do anything that will put Alina in danger. I will not compromise this exchange.
“Your Majesty,” says a new voice, this one female. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
I can’t tell if her tone is derisive or not.
The king doesn’t bother with niceties. “Where is my granddaughter?”
The female lets out a low laugh. “She’s fine, good king. And you will see her as soon as we see our package.”
Package?
Inside, my dragon snarls. I calm it just in time for the wagon door to swing open.
Cold night air rushes in, scented with leaf matter and rich soil and the hint of an approaching rainstorm. Mixed with these smells are the scents of the people who must be standing at the open doors, looking in at me.
“You!” the female voice calls. “Come here.”
Boots thump over soft dirt, and then a familiar smell hits me. Immediately, I growl.
Tristan.
It was him. I should’ve know.
“Is this the shifter?” the female asks.
“Yeah,” Tristan says, and just the sound of his voice draws claws down my spine. “That’s him.”
I knew all along something was off about him, but I let my bond with Alina get in the way of my instincts, which have screamed at me all semester to be wary of Tristan, to keep him well away from her.
Now I know why. And it’s yet another thing I’ll berate myself for in the quiet hours of the night, assuming I get through this encounter alive.
In centuries past, dragon shifters were hunted almost to extinction. It’s why there are so few of us now—and why the king chose to hide my secret, even from his own men, his ownfamily. We are both feared and desired, wanted alive just as often as we’re wanted dead.
And depending on who hired the Hand to obtain me, I may very well not live to see the light of day.
As long as she’s okay.
