Page 36 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
And all because of me.
Desperate, I sink my fingernails into the back of Friedemar’s hand. I claw at him, breaking skin, drawing blood. He grits his teeth but ignores me further. If only I had a blade like Lord Reginald. But I do not.
Helpless. I am helpless.
Threads of magic glitter just out of reach, taunting me with my uselessness. If I could, I would use them to free myself. But I can’t.
“I am a woman, not a Jewel!” I cry.
But even as those words escape me, my mind reels back in time. To the garden. To Bene. To the first time we met.
To the moment he said to me,“I’ve smelled plenty of girls before, and you’re no girl.”
A dark shadow passes over my heart. Is Friedemar right? Am I something… else?
Did Bene know what I am?
Did Bene… keep the truth from me?
No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. I wrote to him after my glow first began. I asked him directly if he knew what I was. And he said he didn’t.
But he sent the amulet to help mask my glow all the same.
Friedemar laughs again—a cold, cruel sound.
“Please,” he sneers. “Save your lies, my dear. I know good and well the prize I have just won. So, scream all you like. Claw me to your heart’s content.”
When he next looks at me, the gleam in his eyes turns my stomach. It makes my skin crawl. I know I have to get out of here before it is too late.
Especially when Friedemar whispers, “But they will do you no good. You are mine, now, Aurelia Weaver.Mine.”
Chapter 11
Aurelia
Now
My feet scrabble against the marble floor—slipping, fighting for purchase—but it’s no use.
Friedemar drags me onward. Up the stairs. To the fifth floor of the palace. To the end of the hall, where he throws open a heavy door, wrenches the mask from my face, and shoves me inside.
I stumble into darkness and crash into something solid: a desk. Moonlight spills through the balcony doors, casting long shadows across the enormous room. Tapestries adorn the walls.Gilded furniture. A thick, plush carpet underfoot. A four-poster bed draped with silken gauze.
My heart beats a staccato rhythm against my ribs as the door slams shut behind us.
I am alone. Alone in a bedroom with the king.
“Now, darling,” he rumbles, his voice sounding from just behind me. His booted feet fall heavily against the floor, growing closer by the moment. “You and I have some matters to discuss.”
My pulse quickens. I scour the desk for anything I might use as a weapon. My fingers close around the first thing I find—a letter opener. Small. Sharp.
It will have to do.
When Friedemar seizes my shoulder and wrenches me around, I slash outward, aiming for his stomach. He hisses and jerks back.
The blaze in his eyes tells me all I need to know. Pain. Rage.
Ihurthim.
