Page 86 of Bride of the Black Dragon
I can’t break. I won’t break. Not for them. Not like this.
As the guards march me away, I see Dorian turn to the Queen, bowing deeply. I catch the smug flicker of triumph in his eyes and it hits me all over again?—
He planned this.
He wanted the King out of the way. And now he’s trying to pin it on me.
Because I saw…because I know.
And now he’s going to bury me alive.
45
ELAINA
The East Tower is colder even than Xaren’s dungeon cell.
The stone walls sweat with moisture, slick beneath my fingers. The air smells of damp rot and old blood, and the only light comes from a single barred window near the ceiling—too small to crawl through and far too high to reach.
The guards shove me inside without ceremony. The door slams shut behind me with the finality of a tomb closing in the dead.
I’ve gone from being a Princess in the palace to a prisoner in the dark.
My knees hit the cold stone floor, bruising them, but I don’t even care. I curl in on myself and finally—finally—I allow the tears to fall.
For Xaren…for the old King, who never did me any harm…for myself. Goddess help me. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
But somewhere beneath the fear and the despair, a seed of fury takes root.
I will not let him win. I will find a way out. I will tell the truth at that sham of a trial, I swear to myself. And even if no one believes me, I will plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the Court.
I will burn Dorian’s lies to the ground.
46
ELAINA
My cell is small…cold…damp.
The walls sweat in silence, and the floor is nothing but cracked stone beneath the thin woolen blanket I use for a bed. There’s no cot—no furniture at all, in fact. I suppose I’m lucky to get the blanket, as old and threadbare as it is.
There’s a narrow slit in the iron-bound door where food is passed through—cold and tasteless, like everything else in this place. I wish they would have thrown me in a cell in the dungeons. Then, at least, I might have cried out to Xaren and heard his voice in return. But no—I am alone here—utterly alone.
They’ve taken everything from me. My gowns, my combs, even the ribbon I used to tie back my hair. I am stripped down to the barest version of myself—the silent prisoner in the East Tower.
And yet, it’s not the cold or the hunger that gnaws at me.
It’s worry. Worry that coils around my ribs like a snake, tightening every hour.
Xaren. My Dark Prince. My husband. Are you still alive down there in the black?
I close my eyes and try to feel for him the way I have since we made love. There’s no magic in me—not that I know of—but ever since our time together, there’s been a thread…a strange invisible tether that hums beneath my skin and seems to connect us.
But the humming is faint now—so faint. And the glowing golden thread I see in my mind when I picture him is dull—like a fire reduced to embers.
Hold on, I beg him silently. Please—hold on for me.
The scrape of stone jolts me upright. My heart leaps, then stutters in excitement when a familiar form slips through the cell door.
