Page 52 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“A hidden passage?” I breathe.
He gives me a half-smile.
“The palace is full of them. My grandfather had them built during the last rebellion.”
We slip into the shadows together, and the armoire closes behind us with a quiet click.
What am I doing? I think as we make our way up the narrow stone stairs, lit only by a few flickering witch lights along the way.
I’m going to meet a dragon. A massive, fire-breathing beast with wings and scales and a tail that could smash a house. And not just any dragon—Xaren’s Drake. The one who lives inside him. The one who shares his thoughts. The one who has that strangely shaped cock that’s still tingling in my memory when I squeeze my thighs together.
My mind whirls with questions as we climb the narrow steps.
Why does he want to meet me?
What if he doesn’t like me after all?
What if I disappoint him… or scare him… or he scares me and I run?
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
No, I won’t run.
I didn’t run from Xaren and I won’t run from his Drake.
I just hope my courage doesn’t desert me when I meet him face to face.
The steps are narrow, carved straight into the rock itself—steep and spiraling so tightly that I can barely see more than two steps ahead or behind us. I have to stay close behind Xaren just to keep from losing my footing. There’s no railing, only rough stone walls brushing my fingertips and a constant trickle of cool air that smells of damp earth and ancient stone. It feels like we’re climbing into the bones of the mountain the Citadel is built on itself.
Where does this lead? The stairs feel endless, as though they were meant to go on forever, winding like the coils of a great stone serpent. And still, Xaren climbs steadily, barefoot and utterly surefooted, his broad shoulders just ahead of me.
Finally, we reach a flat landing. A yawning shadow greets us—an arched tunnel mouth, tall enough for even Xaren to pass through without ducking. Darkness stretches out beyond it like an open maw.
I hesitate.
"There's no light," I murmur, glancing up at him.
"There are torches just outside," he says. "Wait here."
He steps forward and rummages in a basket to one side of the tunnel. When he returns, he holds an ancient wooden torch in his palm. Without hesitation, he tilts his head and exhales a slow, deliberate breath across the dried kindling at the top.
A flame bursts into life with a whoosh.
I gasp, my eyes going wide.
"I didn't know you could do that!"
He shrugs, the firelight flickering over the lean planes of his face and catching in the golden gleam of his Drake’s eye.
"I'm just borrowing some of my Drake's flame. Don't worry—I would never use it on you or anyone else." He frowns then, his expression darkening. "Though I admit I was tempted in the gardens yesterday."
I shiver at the image that flashes in my mind—Xaren breathing fire at Dorian and the cruel Nobles who stood there watching, silent and complicit.
They would have deserved it. But Goddess, how close did we come to real destruction?
He hands me the torch and reaches for my hand, his fingers wrapping warmly around mine.
"Come," he says softly, and leads me into the tunnel.
