Page 51 of Dragons' Bride
Silence fell like a wet blanket over the dining room. Over the fire and lightning inside Tavias.
Finishing his inspection, Ettienne gripped the third maiden’s hair and pulled the girl to her feet. “I personally like this one the best, but I’m not the one who needs to bed her. My advice, don’t rush into the decision. Ride all three first. See who feels right.”
Ettienne’s smile did not touch his eyes as he let the girl drop and walked out of the room, leaving the princes, girls, and guards once more in each other’s company.
“Is he telling the truth?” Hauck asked into the lingering silence.
It was Cyril who answered. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, he is.”
26. KIT
Yirel and Jared fall in step beside me, herding me toward the stable. With their long strides I have to jog to avoid being trampled. I have a nagging sense that that is the point. Each step down the hall and away from the dragon princes feels like a new nail in the coffin of everything I envisioned for myself. A weighted sadness settles around me, squeezing my chest.
Which is absolutely ridiculous.
Freedom was the end game from the very beginning. Our temporary alliance, our pack, had always been a partnership of convenience. They needed the elixir. I wanted my freedom. That was all it ever was. All the lessons and rutting and touch – those were all just a part of the game. That was clear from the start. Stars, I was the one who’d come up with the rules. The only thing to have changed in the last hour, was how unfairly quick I got to collect my prize.
I have no right to be anything but grateful.
No matter how empty and irrelevant I suddenly feel.
As we close upon the stable, Yirel grabs the back of my neck and pulls me inside the rest of the way, the shove’s momentum carrying me into an empty stall. I catch myself on the wooden wall to keep from falling, the horse on the other side of the partition whining his dissatisfaction at my arrival.
The stable is dimly lit, the lanterns casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the hay-strewn floor. Drawing a breath of the thick, hay and horse filled air, I try to calm my shaking nerves. Plainly, whatever courtesy the guards were feigning earlier is no longer relevant. But that doesn’t negate what Ettienne promised. Or the fact that no one is coming for me.
"Watch that dress, human," Yirel barks at me. "It's worth more than you are." Grabbing a bundle of clothing from the floor, he throws it at my chest. "Change. And don’t rip the fabric or I’ll take it from your hide."
Ah, well, this is familiar. I wait for the stall door to close, but it doesn't. Right. Modesty is one of those courtesies the guards no longer need to pretend to grant me.
Balancing on the straw covered floor, I carefully pull off the delicious silk and satin gown and pull on the rough spun, gray dress the guard has given me. It is too large and the material is scratchy. When I wriggle my head through the opening, the motion sends a shot of pain through my skull. An echo of the agony Ettienne put me through when he forced himself into my mind.
Didn’t Cyril tell me that was impossible?
Because a dragon prince would never lie to a human slave, right?
I stay still until the pain dissipates, then put on the new shoes. At least they are more comfortable than the heels I had with the gown. Small bits of light. Yirel barks at me to move faster, grabbing my upper arm hard enough to bruise when I fail to comply with his standards. On the other side of the stable, the double doors are already open and a windowless carriage awaits.
It’s all happening so very fast.
As he herds me toward the carriage, Jared picks up a pack and shoves it into my arms. "Your things. I'd ration your food if I were you. Or not. Don’t expect to be joining us for dinner when we get to the inn." He laughs as if he knows something I do not. “We don’t like dining with shadows.”
“I’m a shadow?” I ask.
Jared and Yirel look at each other and snort. “No. You are most definitely not a shadow. You’ll know one when you see it.”
I’m not sure what that means, but the fact that the guards do in fact plan on taking me to an inn and have a pack with things prepared is a good sign.
Stopping just short of the carriage, Jared digs into his pocket and brings out a jingling purse. The horses’ heads turn curiously toward the sound. "Your allowance," Jared says.
I hold out my hand. I'm not stupid enough to reject gold.
He opens the little sack and pours half of the contents into his palm before giving the rest to me. "Payment for our services."
“Don't fret,” Yirel adds. “I doubt you’ll live long enough to miss it.”
“Why is that?”
“No reason.” He opens the carriage door for me, adding a mock bow to the proceedings. As I climb inside, Yirel leans over to whisper into my ear. “But if I were you and ever saw a shadowed male wearing a silver dragon pendant, I’d start praying to the undertaker.”
