Page 83 of Bride of the Black Dragon
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ELAINA
The secret passage is darker than I remember but this time I brought a torch.
Not that it gives much light. It sputters and hisses, casting strange shadows along the rough stone walls. The air is damp and cool and smells of old stone, mildew, and something faintly metallic—like rusted iron or dried blood.
My silk slippers scuff against the uneven floor, the soles thin and too soft for this kind of exploration. The soft drip… drip…drip of moisture echoes down the narrow corridor like a warning.
I shouldn’t be doing this. If I’m caught…
But I have to get that key—the key to Xaren’s restraining collar. This time I must not fail!
The Queen might have moved it—might have hidden it away. But I have to at least try to find it. And besides, I don’t think she believes I’ll try a second trip through the hidden passageway. She thinks she has me cowed—that I’m too frightened to be disobedient.
She’s wrong.
A sudden draft blowing through the narrow corridor blows my torch out and I am suddenly in utter darkness. I stifle a gasp—the blackness presses against my eyes like wet velvet.
Don’t panic, I tell myself and force myself to take a deep breath. You got to the Queen’s rooms before—you can do it again.
I keep going, creeping along the stone corridor, hoping I’m still on the right path.
I know it the moment the walls change—from bare stone to smooth, ornate paneling. The air smells richer here, spiced with sandalwood, aged velvet, and a hint of smoke. I grope forward with my fingers, searching for the tapestry.
Instead, I find a door. I trace it with my fingers.
Carved wood, heavy and old, with intricate vines twining across its surface. I hesitate. This isn’t the Queen’s chamber. Or at least, it’s not the same entrance I took before. But maybe this is a different part of her rooms—another entrance into her private quarters.
I feel some more and find a kind of latch. Taking a deep breath, I press it, hoping for the best.
The carved wooden door opens soundlessly and I blink, trying to readjust my eyes to the light.
The chamber beyond is breathtaking—opulent and vast, swathed in royal blue and gold. It’s very unlike the Queen’s taste, which runs to dark red and black, but maybe this is a different area of her apartments.
I look around some more. Heavy velvet drapes block out most of the light, but golden sconces flicker on the walls. A massive, canopied bed dominates the room, its silken coverlet embroidered with dragons and suns.
But as my eyes finally readjust, it’s the two figures on the bed that nearly stop my heart.
There’s an old man, lying there looking shrunken and gray. His long white hair and beard are distinctive, though. It’s the King, I realize. I haven’t seen him in ages—the Queen had put it out to the Court that he was much fatigued with his service to the Kingdom and preferred that she should watch over the country in his stead while he rested. And here he lays, sunken and hollow-eyed in the middle of the vast, grand bed.
And bending over him is Prince Dorian. He has a black vial in one hand and he’s forcing the contents down the old King’s throat.
“Drink it!” I hear him snarling in a half-whisper. “I’ve had enough of waiting, old man. Die already.”
The King’s mouth works around the liquid. He coughs…gags…chokes. Then he stiffens.
And then he’s still.
Dorian straightens and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s a spiteful grin on his face. The vial is still in his grip.
I suck in a breath as the full impact of what I’ve just witnessed hits me.
Oh no. No-no-no. I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t supposed to see this. Goddess, what do I do—what do I do?
I start to back away slowly, but my foot hits something—an ornate statue on a marble pedestal. It’s a ceramic dragon, no doubt meant to symbolize the might of the King and the Kingdom. I see it from the corner of my eye and try to catch it…but I’m too late.
CRASH!
