Bated: Reverse Harem Dragon Shifter Fairytale (Goldilocks and The Three Dragons Trilogy Book 1)

by Delia Castel

  “He was still breathing when I left him,” Marigold replied.

  “What makes you think that the crimson dragon was male?” Berrin murmured.

  “He was bigger than the green one.”

  Berrin’s eyebrows rose, and he turned to Polaris. Marigold obviously knew nothing about dragons. He hoped this would be enough to prove to Matheson that her presence here was just a coincidence. He placed a hand on Marigold’s shoulder. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “I went from door-to-door looking for work. When I got here, the side-gate was open, so I let myself in. At the time, I thought someone was in the house, because I heard movement. I followed the sound of the footsteps and found the injured dragons. The green one was already dead, and the crimson one was dying. I told him that I would get help, but when I reached the courtyard, that ginger one grabbed me and pulled me back into the house. He was choking me to death when you walked in.” She shook her head. “That’s all there is.”

  “Lies!” Matheson raised his head, glaring at her through eyes that appeared to smolder. “Call the High Sheriff. We’ll squeeze the truth out of her!”

  Berrin’s heart jumped. “No!”

  Marigold’s eyes widened, and she jumped into Berrin’s arms.

  Polaris stepped forward, stopping at Marigold’s crumpled form. “Your story is incomplete.” He reached down, grabbed her arm and pulled her up. “You will remain here until I am satisfied with your account of events.”

  Marigold’s eyes went wide, and she sent Berrin a pleading look.

  Berrin shot to his feet. “Where are you taking her?”

  “Somewhere she will not escape.” He headed towards the basement stairs.

  Carefully avoiding the bloody footprints and ignoring the bile rising to the back of his throat, Berrin followed after them. While he was sure that Polaris would keep a level head, and not mistreat Marigold, he could not say the same for Matheson. He had to agree that Marigold’s story was deficient, but he could not believe that a girl so beautiful and sweet would be capable of harming two innocent dragons. If she couldn’t even tell the difference between a male and female dragon, she wouldn’t even know how to kill them.

  He had to protect Marigold from his brother’s rage.

  Chapter 2

  Marigold wrapped her hands around her quaking body and shuddered. By the time the General had marched her down the stairs, across a wine cellar, and into some sort of oversized cage, her panic cleared, only to be replaced by a shroud of despair. There was no getting out of this. The three men, she shook her head... shifters, thought she had murdered those two dead dragons. A sob escaped her throat. Hurting her bear shifter Parole Officer was bad enough, but dragons ruled Igneous. They would do worse than hang her!

  The urge to lie on the earth floor and wail welled up inside her like a geyser. She stamped her feet, breathing hard, circling the cell. If she was going to survive, she would need to stuff those feelings back to the recesses of her gut. Yes, things were desperate, but as no one was choking the life out of her, and she had a chance to turn around the situation. She squinted in the near dark, assessing her surroundings. The walls seemed to be made of rough bricks, set into a rammed earth floor. Unlike the wine cellar at Lord Arctos’ mansion, this one had ceilings tall enough for a dragon to stand upright. She pushed aside images of the winged creatures sauntering in to pick up one of the barrels lining the wall beyond the bars of her cage and tried to make her eyes adjust. A spasm hit her throat, and she groaned.

  With tentative fingers, she inspected the bruises on her neck. They were as tender as an open wound, and the merest touch made her wince. That dragon’s brutal assault flashed to the forefront of her mind, making her choke anew. Several coughs escaped her throat, which felt like she’d swallowed broken pebbles and rubbed the resulting lacerations with sand. With a groan, she sucked in a deep breath, inhaling a mix of wine aromas. Underneath the pleasant smell was a coppery tang—dragon’s blood. She glanced down at her body and grimaced. The blood soaking the front of her dress and cloak had now cooled, sticking the fabric to her skin like horse glue.

  “Where are you going?” roared that awful, ginger-haired dragon from somewhere in the distance. She flinched at the sound.

  “I want to check on Marigold.” Berrin’s gentle voice echoed.

  “What is wrong with you? Mother and Father’s slain bodies are cooling in the parlor, and you want to check on their murderer!”

  “Calm down.” The General’s voice held a note of restrained anger.

  The three brothers continue to argue, and Marigold tried to tune their conversation out. It became easier as their voices rose and they talked over each other. She exhaled. If they were busy fighting amongst themselves, that would buy her enough time to work out a method of escape. She wiped her sticky, bloodstained hands on the side of her skirts and walked around the edges of her new prison. Her cage was about a hundred square feet, ample enough to hold a dragon. She groped around the metal bars and found the door. Its lock seemed sturdy enough, but she could probably open it with a hairpin. That would have to wait until later to avoid the raging dragons catching her trying to escape.

  She turned and scanned the brick wall. At about hip height lay a small grate around two feet in width. It was likely a shaft for ventilation, as she had seen these in Lord Arctos’ mansion. There was no telling where it would lead, but if she couldn’t work the lock, she would try the grate. She squared her shoulders and exhaled. The brothers seemed determined to interrogate her themselves. Although one of the trio was a maniac, being detained by them was far safer than being handed over to the authorities, tortured and hung without a trial. She would just wait until they had gone to sleep before trying to escape.

  Soft lantern light shone onto the wall. “Marigold, are you all right?”

  Jolting to attention, she spun towards the door. Berrin stood on the other side of the bars, holding a bowl of steaming water. Above him shone a lantern, illuminating the cloth slung over his shoulder. Pain etched his large, aquamarine eyes, and his full lips turned down. His tousled, blond hair framed his face, making her heart twist. He had just discovered that his parents had been slaughtered yet he still cared about her wellbeing. She would have offered her condolences, but the words stuck in her throat.

  He placed the bowl on the ground. “I thought you might want to clean up.”

  Gratitude warmed her chest, filling Marigold’s heart. It was rare to meet somebody so kind and considerate. “I…” She cleared her sore throat. “Thank you.”

  He held the towel through the bars of her cell. “Here. They won’t let me have the keys.”

  “That’s all right.” She stepped forward and took the proffered fabric. How long had it been since she had bathed in warm water? The bathroom in the House of Corrections had been a stone room with two spigots of lukewarm water. Bathing had been difficult with male guards groping themselves while they leered over the prisoners.

  She knelt on the ground in front of the water and glanced up at Berrin who flushed and turned around. “Excuse my lack of manners. I should give you privacy.”

  “No, stay with me, please.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she coughed, trying to get rid of the hoarseness in her voice.

  He nodded and stilled, still with his back turned to her.

  Marigold dipped her hands into the warm water and sighed. The blood left her fingers, and she wiped them clean. Then she wet the towel and dabbed it on her face. The dried blood that had stuck to her skin fell away, leaving her feeling clean and refreshed. After cleansing her face and sore neck, she swiped the towel down the front of her dress and tried to get it off her clothes. Fortunately, they were dark, but if she was going to escape, she couldn’t walk around smelling of blood in the land ruled by sharp-nosed shifters.

  Berrin cleared his throat. “I apologize for the conduct of my brother. We believe he was under the influence of a… substance harmful to
dragons. It doesn’t excuse his violence, but Matheson has spent the most time with our parents, so he’s taking it the worst.”

  “You seem unaffected.” The moment those words came out of her mouth, she cringed. Berrin’s back straightened, and his shoulders rose. Her stomach formed several knots at the thought of alienating her only ally in this horrible situation. “T-that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I-I-I wanted to say that you and your General brother are level-headed in comparison. And I’m grateful! If the two of you were as angry as Matheson—”

  “We grieve in different ways.” His words were clipped, and Marigold closed her eyes against the wave of shame and regret crashing through her body. The sound of a sharply exhaled breath echoed through the cellar. “Just because Polaris and I aren’t raving mad, it does not mean that we are not upset.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Polaris is a General in the King’s Regiment, accustomed to bloodshed. Of course, he’s going to keep calm in a situation such as this.”

  Marigold bowed her head. Why had she opened her stupid mouth? After spending so much time with officious bear shifters who took offense at the slightest hint of disrespect, she was used to guarding her tongue. Something about Berrin had disarmed her, and now she had offended the only person in this wretched house of death who wanted to help her. She would have apologized again, but his rant continued.

  “And I’ve been at school for the past decade, only coming home for the Festival when invited. I’m just as distraught as Matheson, but the shock and impact just aren’t the same.”

  Marigold slumped forward, defeat bending her spine. Obviously, Berrin was feeling guilty for not being as stricken with grief as Matheson. As an orphan, the notion of having family was abstract and distant, mostly focused on the gold bracelet that had led her to misfortune. But she hadn’t been judging him. “I really didn’t mean for my words to come out like that.” Her voice broke into a rasp. “Please, forgive me. Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying!”

  His shoulders lowered, and the tension in his posture seemed to unwind. Still with his back turned to her, he tilted his head to the side. “What were you doing in our house?”

  Instead of answering, she recounted the events of the day, starting with when the General had pulled Berrin away from their conversation at the stagecoach station and ending with being nearly choked to death by an enraged Matheson. She even told him about the strange footman who had offered her a place to stay. “Ask around all the houses. I wouldn’t have had the time to overpower and kill two dragons.”

  With a sigh, he turned around and gave her a soft smile. “I believe you.”

  Her heart soared, and her spine straightened. “You do?”

  “I don’t.” Matheson stepped out from a blind spot on the right of the cellar. “Mother and Father would never leave the gates and doors unlocked. She’s obviously from the Assassin’s Guild.”

  Marigold’s mouth fell open. The Assassin’s Guild was a secret organization that recruited only the most elite of youngsters to train in a variety of deadly skills. She’d overheard talk of the Guild from her inmates, but it was all rumor and speculation. No one had even met an assassin, let alone a scout. The thought of the Guild wanting her to join their ranks was ridiculous. “I’m not an assassin!”

  Berrin’s brow crinkled. “Aren’t they all based here in Austellus? I met her standing at the coach from Boreas.”

  “That proves nothing. And the Guild has branches in all of the territories.”

  Her eyes widened, and she stared up at Berrin. “But I’m not—”

  “Can’t you see?” Matheson spread his arms wide. His eyes gleamed with madness. “They recruit children, train them for years, and set them free to murder!”

  She shot to her feet and clenched her fists. “I said I’m not an assassin!”

  Matheson folded his arms and curled his lip. “Then who are you? Is Marigold even your real name, or is it an alias you used for the job of killing the Governor of Austellus and his wife?”

  She staggered back, her hand over her heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had suspected that this grand house belonged to someone of great importance. But the Governor? She choked. In Igneous, each of the four territories were ruled by a Governor. This was a high-ranking dragon who reported directly to the King. They were deemed to be as important as the four Dragon Princes. She rubbed her sore throat. “Why don’t you contact the Assassin’s Guild? They’ll tell you that I’m not one of them!”

  Matheson laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound. “Oh, you are good. The stupid act is very convincing.”

  “You’re hardly being fair,” said Berrin. “We should be inquiring about the real killer, not torturing an innocent young lady!”

  She ground her teeth and glared into Matheson’s manic, green eyes. It seemed that anything she said would be twisted and used as evidence that she was an assassin. “How can I prove my innocence?”

  “You shouldn’t have to.” Berrin pressed his face to the bars. “It’s obvious you didn’t do it, and I won’t stand for—”

  The General stepped out from the blind spot. “Stand down, Berrin. Matheson has a point.” He peered into the cell. “Habilis has sent assassins to murder the King, and each one has failed due to the diligence of the Regiment. It is not unreasonable to assume that they are now targeting the Governors.”

  Marigold’s throat dried, and she stepped back. Her heart jolted in her chest like a jumping frog. She had hoped that the General’s reasonableness would balance out Matheson’s hot-tempered accusations. But this line of inquiry was going to get her tortured to reveal secrets of a country she did not even know. Shaking her head, she said, “Please, you have to believe me. I’m not from Habilis!”

  He advanced on her, his tall, broad frame even more threatening than that of his unstable, ginger-haired brother. Marigold shrank into herself, wrapping her arms around her aching chest. If she didn’t do something, death by hanging would be the least of her worries. She raised a hand to her throat. “I swear to you, I’m just a servant who fell into an unlucky situation.”

  The General’s gaze bore into her with the intensity of an ice pick. He remained silent for what felt like an eternity. Marigold wanted to look to Berrin for help, but she was caught in gaze of those accusing, blue-black eyes. Her heart pounded so hard, she could have sworn the sound echoed across the wine cellar. When the weight of his stare made her knees buckle, he asked in a voice as coaxing as a garrote, “Who are you?”

  “M-Marigold.” She shuddered, predicting his next set of questions. In moments, she would have to reveal that she had escaped her parole, attacked a bear shifter, and bribed an official. These were all offenses that would send her to the gallows, but anything was preferable to being tortured for secrets.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  Despite accepting her fate, she hesitated. She was innocent of killing dragons, and revealing the truth of her origins and past whereabouts would prove this. She ran her shaky hand through her blonde curls. Was she ready to be handed back to the bear shifters?

  “I see…” said the General.

  “Polaris, give her time,” Berrin murmured. “Please don’t hand a frightened young lady over to the inquisitors.”

  That was the last bit of encouragement she needed. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, the shame of what she was going to reveal too heavy to bear. After taking a deep breath, she told them everything. When she’d finished her story, she peeked up at Berrin through her lashes.

  His face was a rictus of horror, and her heart sank. She supposed that the son of the Governor of Austellus would be disgusted. A real lady would have gone through the proper authorities when Lord Arctos had snatched her bracelet. After all, the sisters at the Priory Orphanage would have had a record of her mother’s jewelry.

  But how could she explain to a shifter the corruption of their own species? Although no dragon had treated her unjustly, the Governor w
as still a dragon shifter who did nothing to stop the injustices of the bears. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. “Do you believe me?”

  “Are things really that bad in Boreas?” asked Berrin.

  “They are worse,” she replied.

  “Right,” said the General. “I will verify your story with Uncle Hertz.” He turned on his heel and walked away. Matheson shot her a filthy scowl before following.

  Marigold crinkled her brow. “Who is Uncle Hertz?”

  Berrin reached through the bars and placed his hand over hers. Warmth spread through her arm, surrounding her chest. Then, he said, “He’s the Governor of Boreas.”

  Chapter 3

  Polaris turned from the girl and walked through the darkened wine cellar. He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He hadn’t thought that Marigold had killed Mother and Father, but one never knew with assassins. The Guild was recruiting them younger and younger each year. It stood to reason that an enemy country’s Assassin’s Guilds would also instill the same policies.

  Ever since humans had overthrown the dragons that had ruled the small island nation of Habilis, there had been rumors that their revolutionaries were planning on inciting the humans to do the same here in Igneous. To aid their human brethren, they had made several attempts on the life of King Vulcan.

  On legs that felt like lead, he climbed the steps, heading towards Father’s study. A shiver ran down his spine. It would mean passing the parlor, where their bodies lay. He sucked in a fortifying breath and pulled back his shoulders. The responsibility fell to him, as the eldest, to take charge and to bring the killer to justice. He reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the door.

  He tried not to look at the blood on the marble floors, but its sharp, metallic smell was inescapable. The soles of his feet stuck to congealing liquid as he walked through the hallways, the ripping sounds tearing through his heart with a mixture of revulsion and sorrow. Turning his head away from the parlor, he grimaced. Father had taken the brunt of the attack. As a smaller dragon, he would have been more able to dodge, leap and glide to fight off the killers. To prevent this, they had broken his wings and ripped their membranes. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard. He would never see this place as home again. Not now that it had become the location of his parents’ brutal slaying.