Page 92 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Liar!” He descends the dais in two strides and slaps me hard across the face. The sound echoes like a whip crack. The guards don’t move—no one does.
My cheek burns and I taste blood on my tongue but I won’t bow my head or cower. I won’t give him that satisfaction. I glare at him instead. He can lie all he wants but we both know he killed the old King.
Dorian turns to the Court, raising his voice.
“Do you hear her? Even now she lies! She lies to save her own neck!”
He points at me, his face twisted with rage.
“This woman will pay for her blasphemy. She will pay for the murder of our beloved King…for conspiring with my treacherous brother. And she will pay for daring to slander your new King before all of you!”
The Nobles cheer in agreement. Dorian waits until they quiet. He’s clearly playing the room—pausing for dramatic effect. He looks around at the crowd, his voice rising to a roar.
“You will burn for this, Princess! You will be stripped of your Royal title and burned alive before all the Court—your screams will be the music of justice!”
The Nobles roar their approval—the sound is deafening.
I feel my mouth go dry. Burned at the stake? Oh Goddess of Mercy, no—no, please! I saw a witch burned once, when I was a child. I remember how her skin crisped and her hair went up in a torch as she screamed and screamed and screamed. I had nightmares about it for years afterwards.
No. No, please. Not fire, I think, my stomach clenching like a slick fist. Anything but that. Anything!
I tremble, staring up at Dorian through the haze of panic and fear and he smirks back at me. But even as terror grips me, something else stirs inside—a spark of defiance. I won’t go to my fate easily—I’ll have one last word.
“You won’t win, Dorian,” I say, glaring up at him. “Xaren will rise again. His Drake will rise. And when he does, your fire will be nothing compared to his!”
His hateful, handsome face twists—the smirk turning into a scowl.
“Take the murderess away!” he commands, his jaw clenching. “I can’t stand the sight of her! Remove her from my Royal presence at once!”
The guards haul me to my feet. My cheek throbs where he struck me, but I keep my chin lifted as they drag me from the hall. Behind me, the Nobles are still shouting, drunk on bloodlust and spectacle.
The Queen’s voice cuts faintly through the noise—low, sharp, reprimanding—but Dorian doesn’t listen. He’s too busy basking in his own cruelty.
You think this is over, I think, as they drag me through the corridor toward whatever cell they’ve chosen for me next. But it isn’t. Not yet. I saw what you did, and I’ll make you pay for it.
Even if it kills me.
49
ELAINA
The cell is so cold tonight—colder than it’s ever been. The stones seem to leech the heat from my skin. No matter how tightly I curl into myself, I can’t stop shivering.
There’s straw in the corners, but it’s moldy and damp. The single slit of a window high above lets in a shaft of moonlight so pale it feels like a ghost, stretching across the stone floor like a long, accusing finger.
Tomorrow I die.
The thought echoes in my head, over and over, like the tolling of a funeral bell.
I don’t cry. I thought I would, but the tears won’t come. Maybe they’ve already dried up inside me. What I feel instead is a hollow ache—a silence so vast it doesn’t seem to have a bottom.
The bond I once felt with Xaren—so warm, so alive—has gone quiet. Dim. Like a fire banked too long…or a heartbeat slowing to stillness.
Is he gone? Or just slipping away from me, moment by moment, breath by breath? I don’t know. And not knowing is its own kind of torture.
Footsteps echo down the hallway—soft and hurried. I sit up, heart hammering.
The little door creaks open, and a small figure slips inside carrying a covered tray.
