Page 93 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Tanzy!” I whisper.
She runs to me, tears already streaking her cheeks. She sets the tray down and wraps her arms around me tightly.
“Oh, Princess—my Lady—I’m so sorry,” she sobs.
I hug her back, pressing my face into her shoulder.
“Shh. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not!” she wails. “You’re innocent! You don’t deserve to…to die.”
The last word comes out as a whisper. She pulls back, sniffling, and uncovers the tray. Steam rises from a small bowl of stew and a piece of fresh bread. My stomach growls, but I’m not hungry. Still, I reach for the bread and tear off a corner, chewing slowly.
It’s warm and savory with a hint of sweetness—the last food I’ll ever eat.
“They’re preparing for the pyre,” Tanzy whispers, wringing her hands. “The execution square’s already being built. And they’re hanging new banners for another full coronation ceremony—deep crimson and gold. The Queen is still in mourning for the old King, but…” She shakes her head. “King Dorian wants to celebrate.”
Celebrate my death—that’s what he wants to celebrate, I think, feeling sick.
My fingers clench around the bread.
“What about Prince Xaren? Have you heard anything about him?”
She hesitates.
“No one’s seen him. But the guards say he’s still alive. Locked up and wearing the collar.”
I nod slowly. At least I can die knowing he still lives. But how much longer can he last wearing that horrible collar?
“I feel him slipping,” I murmur. “I can’t explain it, but… it’s like I can feel his Drake growing fainter. Dying.”
Tanzy sniffles again and stands.
“I have to go before they realize I’m missing. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
She leans down and hugs me tightly one more time. “I’ll be watching. And I’ll be praying—to every goddess and every star I know. You never know, my Lady—there could still be a miracle.”
Her hope almost makes me laugh—it’s so futile. But I nod instead.
“Thank you, Tanzy. You’ve been a true friend to me.”
“And you to me, my Lady.” She swipes more tears from her eyes and then she’s gone. The door closes behind her with a finality that feels like a coffin lid slamming shut.
I sit in the dark for what feels like hours, the stew untouched beside me.
Eventually, I lie down on the stone slab that serves as my bed and close my eyes.
At last, sleep steals over me like a thief.
50
ELAINA
I dream of fire…of soaring through a clear night sky…of wind beneath my wings.
I dream of freedom.
I’m flying—soaring through clouds lit by starlight, the wind rushing over my feathers and scales. No. Not my scales… someone else’s—someone powerful.
