Page 52 of Dragons' Bride

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The door shuts, leaving me in the gloomy darkness. I don't know whether Yirel’s threats have merit or if he’s just enjoying toying with me. It could go either way. If we were dealing with anyone but Ettienne, I’d say there was no point in getting me out of the city just to kill me, but I know better than to try and predict the king’s intentions. Still, for now I have no option but to take Ettienne at his word and try to rest while I can.

Despite the darkness and constant motion, the sleep I seek still takes hours to find me. Yes, maybe that’s because a part of me was still waiting to hear dragons’ roars and guards’ screams as a pack of dragons swooped in from the sky to stop the carriage and take me back.

Take you back to what, exactly?The reasonable part of my mind demands.Back to the trials that are likely to kill you? Or back to being an exotic pet in their hoard? Whatever their feelings, this was never going to end with you staying together.

I rub my eyes and try to make myself comfortable on the hard bench. Despite the reality of our deal, I refuse to believe that nothing the princes and I shared was real. Unfortunately, that brings little light to the situation. Maybe the princes are letting me go because they no longer need me. And perhaps they are doing it to keep Ettienne from ending my life, he had Lola’s. The end result is the same either way.

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My final thought as I drift off to sleep against the rattle of the wheels along the cobblestone, is that it's good that I wasn’t followed. For my sake and theirs.

The opening door of the carriage jerks me awake sometime late into the night. In the lantern light, I make out a two-story building that is constructed of weathered timber and fieldstone. A faded wooden sign hanging above the entrance depicts a prancing horse and a tankard of ale, and despite the late hour, the common room appears active.

Yirel negotiates with the stout inn keeper for a set of rooms and, despite the guards’ threats to the contrary, has a bowl of soup and bread sent up to my chamber. I expect to be locked inside for the night, but the pair laugh at the question.

“This ride is for your benefit, not ours.” Jared scratches his beard, which is in need of a good trim. “If you want to run off, we just go home sooner.”

Yirel, who is already strutting toward the downstairs common room, nods in agreement. “You know why jewels are locked up and rocks aren’t?” he says over his shoulder. “Because no one needs the rutting rocks.”

I close the door against their ongoing remarks and quickly eat my late supper. I’m not so far gone from my slave days to miss the chance to eat. Then I stare at the closed door, the slave brand on my arm starting to itch fiercely again. I bite my lips to keep from clawing at it. There won’t be anyone to wrap it for me anymore, to give me salve to stave off infection. With nothing more to do, I go to bed. But not to sleep.

The downside of having rested in the carriage, is that I can’t settle myself at all now. The town bell chimes two past midnight when I decide that a trip to the latrine is in order. The inn’s facilities are outside and, as I make my way through the darkness, I wonder if I shouldn’t take my things and leave my fearless escorts behind. Except where would I go? My foot catches a stray rock on the dark path and I nearly twist my ankle before I regain my balance. No, the only sane place for me to go in the middle of the night, is back to my room. Tomorrow, I can contemplate other options.

I’ve a feeling that convincing Yirel and Jared to entertain themselves a few days on the king’s coin instead of driving all the way to whatever village Ettienne has planned will not be an issue. Hell, getting them to do their job might be the harder part. But that is a decision to be made when I can see more than a foot in front of me.

After the night’s darkness, the lanterns lighting up the inn’s corridor and common rooms seem unusually bright. I rub my eyes, only to repeat the process in reverse when I walk into my own dark room. For a disoriented moment, I wonder why in the world I turned off the lantern before leaving my chamber and then I remember – I hadn’t. But the oil in the lamp had been running low.

Despite the logical explanation, the darkness tightens around me, my heart speeding up as I peer into the shadows. They are still. As they always are. There is no sound beyond the general commotion of the first floor. Except, I don’t feel like I’m alone anymore.

"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone here?"

There is no answer, but as the branch outside my window shifts in the wind, a sliver of moonlight trickles into the room. That’s when I see it. A flash of silver, in the corner.

My stomach clenches. I want to scream – I try to scream – but my throat is suddenly too tight to make a sound. Too tight to breathe. As if someone is cutting off half my air. I grip the wall, panic rolling through me. Yet the next time I take a breath, it fills my lungs without protest.

Stars. It is all in my imagination. Walking back to the door, I feel for the handle and back into the hallway to grab one of the lanterns hanging on the wall. Imagination or not, I feel better having a light. Bringing it inside, I let the light fill the room, the clicking of the door behind me making me jump regardless.

And that’s when my gaze finally falls on the shape I thought I’d imagined earlier. A cloaked male figure sitting in the shadowed corner of the room. His clothes are as black as the night, blending into the darkness – all except for a small silver dragon hanging from a thong around his neck.

This time I know it is his doing when my scream stops in my throat.