Page 34 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
Lord Reggie doesn’t know. He can’t see me like this.
My hands fall to my pocket and frantically fumble there, grasping for the amulet within. But my fingers curl around parchment instead of dragon scale—Bene’s old letter.
The steps grow louder. Closer.
“I’m fine—” I start to say before a warm, strong body that is very male and very muchnotReginald Lockhart rounds the corner and slams me against the column, knocking the air from my lungs. Pinning me in place.
Confusion crashes into fear as rough fingers seize me by the chin and jerk my face upward, leaving me staring into steel-gray eyes.
“Are you trying to start a war?” King Friedemar growls, his breath hot against my ear. “If you wanted more of my attention, all you had to do was say.”
“What?” I gasp, wrenching my face from his hold.
The king’s features contort into a look of irritation.
“Idespisewhen women play coy,” he coldly informs me. “You know exactly what I mean.” Before I can react, his head ducks low until the tip of his nose is nuzzling against my throat, breathing in deep of my perfume. “You knowexactlywhat you are doing to me.”
Those words vibrate through me, husky and dark. Dangerous.
The Air presses in close in reply. No, not Air—Aether. And with it, the voice returns, a whisper that skims across my thoughts and yet speaks directly to my heart. That single word again:
« Run. »
This time, I don’t question it. I don’t think. I just act.
I jerk my knee upward and strike the King of Briarhold in the groin.
Friedemar staggers backward with a hiss of pain. “Why, you little—”
I don’t stay to hear the rest.
I dash down the dark corridor, guided only by my own glow. Ragged breaths rattle past my lips. Panic claws at my throat, desperate to be loosed.
Just up ahead, I spy Lord Reginald stepping out of the ballroom, clearly looking for me. Relief crashes over me. My legs tremble, threatening to buckle as I race toward him—my one ally.
“Reggie!”
He turns toward me at once, his eyes ticking across me. He has no reaction to my glow beyond a single blink.
Perhaps Papa once told him of my strangeness.
But when he looks beyond me, his stance shifts. His expression hardens.
“Get behind me, Miss Weaver,” Reggie calmly instructs.
I scramble to comply, ducking behind him. Using him as a shield.
“Please, we need to leave,” I quietly plead, tugging at the back of his coat. With my free hand, I finally wrench free the amulet in my pocket and slip it around my neck.
The effect is immediate. My glow winks out, as if a candle has been snuffed. And just in time. I flash a glance to the left and find myself staring into a ballroom full of wide-eyed onlookers.
We have an audience.
“Please, Reggie,” I beg again. “Let us go.”
“Your Majesty,” Reggie calls out, his tone tense yet diplomatic. “I believe there has been some misunderstanding. Do excuse me my rudeness, but I will be escorting Miss Weaver and her mother home now.”
I try to remember my breathing exercises. In through my mouth. Out through my nose.
