Wyvern's Prince (The Dragons of Incendium Book 2)

by Deborah Cooke

  “What have you done to me?” she asked, her words slow and her own voice almost unfamiliar.

  “Ensured that you couldn’t cheat me, my beautiful bride,” Urbanus confessed with a smile. He lifted his hand and she saw the small brace on his thumb, one that held a tiny thorn in place. His eyes shone with satisfaction and she realized that there had been some toxin upon it. He flicked it from his finger and cast it into the forest far below, clearly proud of his deceit.

  “We are the same, my Gemma,” he whispered darkly. “Each intent upon our own objective to the exclusion of all others. Today, I won.” He smiled. “I eagerly await your retribution.”

  Gemma should have been appalled. She should have needed vengeance. But instead, she was falling asleep, powerless against whatever toxin he had given her.

  In that moment, something fell with a crash in the chamber beyond her own. Urbanus stepped back, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “Who’s there?” he called, stepping toward the connecting door.

  There was another crash.

  Urbanus thrust Gemma aside and strode to the door, flinging it open and returning to his own chamber. She barely heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, securing her in her prison once more.

  She was going to fall.

  She made it to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress before her knees gave out beneath her weight. Gemma rolled to her back, against her own volition. Her legs parted, seemingly of their own volition, and once in that position, she was powerless to move.

  She had been enchanted.

  Because she had failed to take the voice’s advice.

  And now it was too late. A languid tide rolled through her body, making it impossible for her to keep her eyes open or lift a hand—much less to kill her spouse.

  Her perfect plan had been foiled.

  And Gemma hated Urbanus more than she had ever hated anyone in her life.

  Vengeance would be hers, Gemma resolved, and then she knew no more.

  * * *

  Something had to be done.

  Venero had watched Gemma succumb to Urbanus’ spell, despite the warning he’d given her. He was horrified by his brother’s obvious intention of making his new wife helpless. The import of that couldn’t be good.

  And it was hardly a fair fight.

  Independent of his own agenda, Venero had to save her.

  He hopped as quickly across the room and forced his way through the gap beneath the door to Urbanus’ bedchamber. It was a tight fit and he scratched his back getting through the gap, but there wasn’t a moment to waste.

  Once in the chamber, Venero leaped to a table and kicked a lantern to the floor. It hadn’t been lit, but the oil had recently been refilled. The glass vessel shattered, making a satisfactory sound, and the oil spread across the floor.

  “Who’s there?” Urbanus demanded, his voice sharp.

  Of course, he had locked the door to his chamber and dismissed the servants. There shouldn’t be an intruder in his sanctuary. Venero eyed another table, its surface crowded with vials and vessels. It was a bit farther than his usual range, but he didn’t want to jump down into the oil.

  Urbanus might start a fire to be rid of him.

  Venero heard his brother’s approaching footsteps. He took a deep breath, gathering his strength, and leaped for the other table. He barely made it and didn’t manage a graceful landing. In fact, he crashed into a number of glass items and sent them toppling. He barged through the rest, sending many of them crashing to the floor, then jumped off the far side.

  He had to hide!

  He made it to the shadow beneath the bed by the time Urbanus crossed the threshold. His brother was still, his gaze seeking the culprit in the shadows, and Venero eased backward just a little.

  “It can only be you, brother mine,” Urbanus whispered, and Venero’s heart skipped a beat that he’d revealed himself. He didn’t regret the choice, though. Urbanus had to learn that he couldn’t have everything his way. “Show yourself willingly, and I’ll be kinder.”

  Venero wasn’t going to bet on that.

  “I can coax you out,” Urbanus said, his voice melodic. “You know I can entice you to reveal yourself, no matter what you plan.”

  Venero remained completely still. He tried to close his ears against any spell Urbanus might cast.

  His brother took another step and reached for a flint. Venero had time to fear that his brother would inadvertently start a fire and that all opportunity for his own salvation would be lost, along with Gemma’s free will.

  Then Urbanus slipped in the oil. He lost his balance, swore, and hit the floor with a thud. There was a loud crack.

  Followed by silence.

  Venero feared a trick. He waited half an eternity, but there was no sound from his brother. He crept out of the shadows, slowly, cautiously, only to find Urbanus unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood on his temple.

  Venero didn’t wait to see more. He didn’t have time for relief. He skirted the perimeter of the room as quickly as he could, squeezed under the door again, and leaped onto the marital bed. The princess was sprawled there on her back, snoring softly. Her position told Venero all he needed to know about his brother’s plans for consummating the marriage, with or without the bride’s agreement or participation. Even from their short acquaintance, he knew Gemma wouldn’t sleep in such a vulnerable pose.

  “Wake up!” he whispered. “This is our chance to escape!”

  Gemma gave no sign that she’d heard him.

  Venero jumped on her belly, to no visible response. He jumped again and again. He flicked his tongue against her cheek and even though it stuck for a moment before releasing and must have tugged the skin, she slept on. He pulled her hair, grabbing a tendril of it in his mouth and jumping as far as he could so that it tugged at the root.

  Gemma couldn’t be stirred.

  Had Urbanus given her a spell to sleep for a thousand years?

  His ineffectiveness was frustrating and infuriating. He couldn’t just sweep her up and save her. He couldn’t solve the situation. He couldn’t even wake her up. Venero had never felt so powerless in his life.

  He was giving serious consideration to the idea of kissing Gemma, right on the lips, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything to help his curse—but just because it might wake her up—when there was a sudden blur of blue and green.

  The pavofel leaped to the bed beside its mistress. It crouched, tail lashing and eyes gleaming, and Venero didn’t dare to linger. He jumped from the bed, barely escaping the pavofel’s swiping paw, and fled to sanctuary beneath that chest of drawers. The pavofel followed, and slashed beneath the chest with claws bared. Venero retreated so that he was pressed against the wall, apparently out of range of the beast.

  He’d never liked pavofels, but this one, he hated with particular vigor.

  It prowled around the chest and he had more than one heart-stopping glimpse of its bright eyes as it bent to peer into the shadows. Wretched beast.

  Finally, it abandoned the hunt and returned to its mistress’ side.

  Venero peeked out but the pavofel was on the bed, watching him. The ends of its tail flicked, those eyes in the fur seeming to stare at him, too. Venero eased back into the protective shadows, hoping the princess awakened in the morning.

  His first chance of escape in years couldn’t be lost as quickly as this.

  Could it?

  * * *

  Gemma awakened with a foul taste in her mouth. Her head was pounding. She was sleeping on her back, like a trusting child, not the warrior she knew herself to be. She sat up in a hurry, feeling vulnerable. She was still in the bridal chamber but she was alone. Even Felice was gone from the bed.

  Where was Urbanus?

  What had he done before he left?

  Gemma didn’t feel any different and couldn’t smell any indication in the bed linens that Urbanus had consummated their marriage while she was drugged and out cold. She felt her eyes
narrow as she surveyed the quiet room. She wouldn’t have put it past him to do such a thing. What had changed his mind? She could still smell the Seed, and its summons was a persistent hum in her blood.

  The door to the adjoining chamber was closed.

  It was probably locked, too.

  The hue of the light indicated that the sun had risen. How long had she slept? One night or more? She realized that she could hear Felice hunting somewhere in the chamber, so she wasn’t completely alone. Gemma got quickly out of bed and checked the door to Urbanus’ chamber.

  Locked. Of course. The keyhole was blocked, as if he’d left the key in it.

  She pressed her ear against the wooden door.

  Silence.

  She smelled lantern oil and frowned. Why was it so strong? Surely Urbanus hadn’t retreated to his chamber to refill his lamps? She couldn’t imagine him doing such a menial task, much less thinking it was more important than consummating their marriage. She dropped to the floor and tried to peer under the door but the angle was wrong and the gap too small.

  Gemma stood and considered her own chamber again, then noticed that the maid had brought water for her. The realization annoyed her—someone had come into her chamber and she hadn’t even noticed. That was how powerful his toxin had been. Anything could have happened and that made Gemma angry.

  She flung her chemise across the chamber and washed with haste. The water was just barely warm, so it had been there for a while. Where was Urbanus? What was his plan? The worst part was that she’d been tricked by him and it was her own fault. That voice, whoever it belonged to, had warned her, and she’d still been enchanted. Gemma made a little growl of frustration as she scrubbed herself clean, wondering again why Urbanus had just left.

  Their marriage was unconsummated, which meant, she supposed, that it could be annulled. It didn’t do anything to help her avenge Arista, though.

  “Well done,” that voice declared, no longer as unfamiliar as it had been. “Didn’t I warn you to watch his hands?”

  “You did,” Gemma snapped. “And I forgot.”

  “It’s not entirely your fault,” the voice said. “He started to beguile you at the altar. Maybe even before.”

  “How? How does he do it?”

  “I don’t think I can explain.”

  Gemma propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. “I think you should try.”

  There was no response. Apparently, the owner of the voice had abandoned her.

  As Gemma braided her hair, she saw Felice slip behind one of the drapes that hung on either side of the window. The fabric moved as the pavofel stalked something. Felice crouched, there was a faint scuffle as if the intended victim made a run for it, then the pavofel pounced.

  Something squeaked.

  Gemma was disgusted. It figured that on Regalia there were vermin in the bedchambers, even in the palaces, given what a rat her husband was.

  She’d find another way to avenge Arista. Enough was enough.

  The door to the corridor was still locked from the other side. Only the balcony door could be opened, probably because it was accessible only from her chamber. Gemma smiled as she stepped onto the balcony, because Urbanus had forgotten one critical detail. There was a sheer drop of considerable distance to the forest below, but that was no obstacle to Gemma in her dragon form.

  The sky beckoned.

  She was out of this place.

  “Come on, Felice,” she said, more than ready to abandon her new husband. “Forget the mouse. It’s time to go. Goodbye, friend, whoever and wherever you are.”

  There was no reply.

  Felice bounded toward her, some unfortunate creature in her mouth, and Gemma summoned the shift from deep within herself. She should have been in dragon form, poised for flight, just as Felice leaped for her.

  Except that nothing happened.

  Felice collided with Gemma’s upper arm and fell to the ground with a mew of displeasure. Gemma couldn’t see or feel the shimmer that came before a shift. She tried again, with no better luck.

  Was it because she’d been drugged?

  Panic slipped through her, but Gemma was undaunted. She called imperiously to the change. She commanded her body to shift shape, willing it with all her might. This ability was her birthright and part of her nature, after all.

  But still, nothing happened. She was standing nude on the balcony of Urbanus’ palace in her human form. Even her nails hadn’t changed.

  What was going on?

  “It won’t work,” that voice declared. “He must have planned it that way.”

  “I thought he forgot my abilities.”

  The voice laughed. “He doesn’t forget anything.” His laughter faded. “Well, maybe he forgot one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Me.”

  Gemma looked around. There was no sign of the speaker. “Well, it would be easy to forget you since you don’t show yourself. Maybe you’re not even real.”

  “I’m real enough,” the speaker insisted, then yelped. “Ouch!”

  Felice spat out the creature she had caught, shook her head and backed away. It was small, small enough to fit in Gemma’s palm, and gray. It might have been a mouse, but it hopped. It didn’t hop well, but crookedly, as if it had been injured. Felice batted it with a paw, as Gemma bent down to look.

  It was a toad.

  Its front leg was bleeding, and it hobbled behind the open door to take refuge, leaving a trail of blue behind it. When Gemma moved the door, the toad was examining the damage. There was something very untoadlike about the way it looked at the limb, then tested it and surveyed it again.

  “I hate pavofels,” the toad muttered, revealing the source of the voice that had given Gemma advice. Felice slipped behind the door, so sinuous that she might have been without bones. She stalked silently, eyes glittering, her intent more than clear.

  Gemma scooped up her pet. Felice was too far away to strike the toad but tried anyway. “You’re a toad and you talk!”

  “I talk,” the toad agreed grimly. “Take it as proof that you’re not the only one who’s enchanted.”

  “So, he did beguile me?”

  “Aren’t you sure?” the toad demanded, its tone skeptical.

  Gemma bent down. “Why did he stop?”

  The toad was actually many shades of silver and gray and green, and less unattractive than Gemma might have expected. Its eyes shone like amber beads and when it met her gaze, as it did in this moment, she felt as if it were almost human.

  “Because I saved you,” the toad said.

  Gemma laughed. She couldn’t help it. “You? Saved me?”

  “And a very near thing it was, too.” The toad glared at her. “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you save me?”

  “By distracting Urbanus. I broke a lantern in his room, so he went back to find out who was there.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “No. He slipped in the oil and hit his head.”

  Oh! Gemma felt herself blush. “Then I apologize. Thank you.” She straightened, suddenly aware of her nudity. It shouldn’t have mattered in front of a toad, but Gemma had a feeling that in this situation, it did. His eyes seemed to have gotten brighter. “I suppose you want a favor now, or a wish.”

  His tongue flicked and he chuckled. “How about a kiss?”

  Gemma was disgusted. She stalked back into the chamber and cast Felice onto the bed. She pulled her chemise over her head.

  “I suppose it is too much to hope for.” The toad hopped after her, its tone indicating that he thought otherwise.

  “It’s frogs who are saved by kisses, not toads.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” Gemma straightened and turned to face the toad. She saw Felice crouching, intrigued by the toad all over again now that it was moving. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I’m looking for help, of course.” He lifted his foot. “Would you want to be a toad?”
<
br />   “Then you’re not really a toad?”

  He sighed with forbearance. “Do toads talk on Incendium?”

  “No, but there’s no telling what’s normal on Regalia. It is said to be a place where everyone in the royal family is a sorcerer.”

  The toad cleared his throat pointedly.

  “Point taken,” Gemma said. “But I can’t help you, not trapped in this chamber.”

  “You wouldn’t be trapped if you’d listened to me.”

  Gemma snatched up Felice just as the pavofel would have pounced on the toad. The creature protested loudly and the toad retreated, still trailing blood. “Are you hurt?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “And you don’t have to be stupid,” the toad replied, his irritability clear. “I thought the dragon princesses of Incendium were supposed to be smart.” It gave her a look, then glanced down at another small puddle forming on the floor. “This would be blood. Blood flows when the body is injured. Ipso facto, I’m hurt.”

  “I didn’t know toads spoke Latin.”

  “It appears that there’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to be so cranky.”

  “Don’t I? My advice was ignored by the one person who could help me, ensuring that she can’t help me after all, and now I’m being mauled by her pet. Looks like it’s true that no good deed goes unpunished.”

  Gemma considered the chamber, unable to argue with that assertion. “It does, doesn’t it?” She flung Felice on the bed and the pavofel curled up, its disdain clear. “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry for Felice’s hunting, too. Is there anything I can do for your leg?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Will you tell me more about the spell?”

  The toad puffed up, becoming almost double in size. Gemma thought it looked revolting. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Felice leaped from the bed suddenly and the toad cried out as it was seized in the pavofel’s mouth.