I’m about to take it when Torrin blocks him, then steers me a few steps away and whispers, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.”
Uh-huh. “You mean because it’s crazy for someone to actually want to dance with me? Is that your ‘bad feeling’?”
“I don’t trust him. Something’s off. He’s not like the other guys your father invited here.”
“He’s not old and fat, and he doesn’t smell like a garbage heap, you mean? No one who doesn’t have sweat stains pouring from their armpits and a carpet of scraggly back hair could actually be interested in someone like me, right?”
Torrin shakes his head. “You’re a St. George. You know why he’s here. He doesn’t want you—he just wants a paladin bloodline!”
I could slap him. Or kick him in the shins. I probably should, but instead I stand there in shock, stinging from his words.
Torrin looks shocked, too, like he can’t believe he said that. Like he knows he went too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“You think I don’t know why he’s here? Why they’re all here? You think I don’t know that the only reason any guy would ever want me is because of who my father is? Let me ask you something, Torrin Hathaway. If you weren’t in training, would you marry me then? To save me from people like him who only want me for my oh-so-precious golden eggs?!”
His face goes bright red, and he sucks in his breath too fast and starts coughing, choking on his own spit. “Not fair, Vee. You know I care about you.”
“That’s not what I asked. It’s a simple question with a simple answer. Yes or no?”
He looks anywhere but at me. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Then don’t lecture me on who I should be dancing with.” I elbow him in the ribs as I shove my way past him and toward the stranger who may or may not be my future husband.
Okay, so I take back what I said. Maybe I don’t want to punch everyone at this party.
When I go on my punching spree, I’ll spare my new dance partner. Who I don’t have a bad feeling about at all. In fact, the way he keeps all his attention on me, like I’m the only other person here, gives me some really good feelings. So Torrin can just take his warning and shove it, because he’s not the one who has to leave the barracks for the first time in almost five years and marry a stranger. And if the one suitor here who doesn’t smell like week-old garbage wants to dance with me, I am not going to argue.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I say, because I might need to know that kind of thing. So when I look at my father’s list of potential husbands, I can point to the right one.
“Prince Lothar,” he says.
I blink at him. Did he just say he was a prince? Or is that, like, his first name and Lothar is his last name? There is no way a prince wants to dance with me. His kingdom must be completely infested with dragons. He’s got to be super desperate for some paladin children.
He’s just staring at me, waiting for my reaction, like his name was supposed to mean something. Like maybe I’m supposed to know who he is already, but, as Torrin so helpfully pointed out, it’s not like I get out much.
“I’m Virginia St. George,” I say, on the off chance that he didn’t know that. That he didn’t come here specifically to check out the auction tonight.
Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s here for Celeste and got confused. But my sister might have finished her training and be a full-fledged paladin, but she’s too valuable to be allowed to marry outside the Families. So if he did come here looking to woo her or whatever, he should think again.
“St. George,” he murmurs, my last name sounding beautiful in his accent. He leans close and takes a deep breath, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was savoring the way I smell.
Must be the chocolate I smeared across my chest. Boys can’t resist.
“So you’re a paladin,” he says. “With the family talent.”
“I’m a St. George, aren’t I?” He’s referring to my family’s ability to bind a dragon’s powers and keep them from working any of their evil magic. Which includes transformations. If I’d had the power, like Celeste, I could have stopped that dragon in the marketplace. As soon as I saw him start to change, I could have trapped him in human form. But I don’t have magic like she does. Not that Prince Lothar needs to know that. If my father didn’t tell him this auction was for an as-is dud, I’m not going to spill the beans.
“And you’re a . . . a prince?” I try not to sound so skeptical. It’s not that I don’t believe him. It’s just that, well, it’s unbelievable.
“It’s a small kingdom,” he says, lifting my arm and twirling me around as the music speeds up. I remember practicing twirling with my mother when I was little, because I thought it was the most amazing dance move ever invented. And yet this is the first time in my life anyone has ever twirled me in a non-practice kind of way. “In the Hawthorne Valley.”
I suck in my breath and hope that when he wraps his arm around me to pull me close for the next dance step that he doesn’t notice the slight shudder of fear that runs through me. “That’s in the middle of nowhere.” And by nowhere, I mean it’s in the middle of dragon country.
“Is that a problem?”
“You must have a lot of dragons.” My voice shakes. At least three separate clans live in that valley. Even Celeste has only been to the outskirts. “A lot of attacks.” He was starting to seem too good to be true—of course there had to be a catch. His strong arms are around me, his body so warm and so close to mine. The kinds of things that should make me feel safe. Protected. Like they do when . . .
Like when I’m with Torrin. Good old fireproof Torrin. But I’m not going to think about him.
Prince Lothar draws me close, ignoring the dance, and gazes into my eyes. His voice is dead serious when he says, “Believe me, Virginia, no one—dragon or human—gets in or out of my kingdom without my permission. No one.”
He really sounds like he means it. I nod my head, acknowledging his statement, but I don’t know how it could be true. And if it is—if he really can keep dragons from preying on his tiny, unknown kingdom in the middle of a dragon-infested valley—then what does he need me for?
He relaxes, sliding his hand to my waist to continue the dance, but I hold back.
“That’s . . .” I swallow, not sure if I should even believe him. Nobody’s security could be that good. “That’s a pretty big claim.”
“It’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”
“But . . . Dragons could look like anyone. How can you be sure?”
He grins and leans in close, whispering in my ear, “That’s a secret. But maybe I’ll get the chance to show you one day. If you come to live with me.”
A shiver runs down my back. Is he saying what I think he is? He’s really here for me, and he already has all the protection he needs from dragons, so . . . I take a step back, looking him over, watching his face for signs that this is some elaborate prank. “Who are you? Did Ravenna put you up to this? Or Justinian? Or . . .” Or anyone at this party. I should have known a handsome stranger who’s supposedly a prince and has a kingdom safe from dragons would be too good to be true.
A hurt expression tugs on his features, wrinkling his forehead and giving his mouth a sad, pouting look. “I am who I say I am. Prince Lothar, of the Hawthorne Valley.”
“Then you’re lying about your security. If you’re here tonight, it’s for one reason, and that’s that my loving father put me up for sale. You don’t know a damn thing about me except for my bloodlines, so don’t tell me that’s not why you’re here. Or why you’re pretending to be interested in me.”
“Oh, he’s not pretending.”
Both Prince Lothar and I turn to see who just spoke. There’s another guy standing there, about my age. He’s got messy black hair, with one streak dyed bright red in the front.
Recognition flashes across Prince Lothar’s face. “Amelrik,” he growls, his eyes narrowing. “I should have known. Back from the dead, I see?”
<
br /> “Well, I guess you two know each other,” I mutter.
The guy with the red streak in his hair—Amelrik—looks me up and down and raises an eyebrow. He speaks with the same clipped accent as Lothar. “This is how you like them now, eh, Lothar? Soft and covered in . . .” He glances down at the stain on my chest. “Well, I hope that’s chocolate.”
Prince Lothar grabs my arm, jerking me toward him, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Hey!” I shout.
“She’s mine,” he snarls, ignoring me and speaking only to Amelrik. “I got her first. And, besides, you’re dead. Or supposed to be. I don’t know what my father was thinking, letting you go, but I’m happy to correct his mistake.”
Amelrik swallows, the muscles in his face tensing. But it only lasts a second, and then he’s smirking at Lothar, as if his threat didn’t bother him at all. “It’s going to be awfully hard to kill me if you’re dead.”
Lothar’s grip on my arm tightens. “Let me go!” I scream. I stomp on his foot as hard as I can, and I’ll admit my stomping skills might not be up to Celeste’s level or anything, but it should still hurt. Except he doesn’t even flinch, just wrenches my arm instead, dragging me even closer to him with a strength I wouldn’t have thought possible. It feels like my arm’s going to break.
People have started to notice what’s going on. There’s murmuring around us and gruff voices and Torrin shouting, “Vee!” from across the courtyard.
“You can’t kill me,” Lothar tells Amelrik, his nostrils flaring in a smug expression that makes me want to barf. I can’t believe I ever liked this guy. You know, thirty seconds ago, when I was young and naïve. I’ve matured a lot since then.
“No, I can’t,” Amelrik says. “But they can. Or did you forget you were surrounded by paladins?” He reaches into his leather vest and pulls out a dagger. It happens so fast, I blink and almost miss it. There’s a flash of metal in his hand, and then he’s shoving me out of the way and plunging the dagger straight into Lothar’s chest.
2
A PIECE OF ADVICE
There’s a horrified murmur running through the crowd. Paladins shouting and surging toward us all at once. Time slows as I watch the blood flow from Lothar’s chest, soaking his clothes, his hands, the stone courtyard around him. His eyes are wide, shocked, as his life seeps out.
I feel like the whole world just turned upside down. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or scream or huddle in a ball in the corner. I haven’t seen this much blood since my mother died.
Amelrik grabs my arm, dragging me into the crowd and away from his victim. “Listen—”
“You killed him!” I shriek. “You just freaking killed him!”
“A piece of advice.” Amelrik bends down a little so his eyes are level with mine and says, “Run.”
I twist out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me!”
He lets me go, holding up his hands and backing away. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then he turns and hurries toward the front gate, following his own advice and shoving terrified partygoers out of his way.
I’m watching him go when there’s this horrible wet crunching sound behind me. Followed by the sound of skin ripping and tearing. Noises I haven’t heard in four and a half years. My stomach twists into a tight knot, and my blood freezes in my veins, because I know I have to turn around and look.
I hope I see a human boy, even if it means he’s bleeding to death. Because that would be better than the alternative.
But when I turn around, there is no Prince Lothar. It’s like I dreamed him up. At least, there’s no human version of him. Instead there’s a purple-scaled dragon rearing his head. I look for the wound where Amelrik stabbed him, but it’s already healed.
Amelrik knew him—he knew what he was. That’s why he told me to—
Lothar’s eyes gleam as he looks right at me. I feel like he can see through me, like in this form he knows all my secrets. How I froze when the dragon attacked my mother. How I’m freezing now.
He rears back his head, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know what’s coming, but I stand there anyway, gaping like an idiot, unable to move.
“Vee!” Torrin shouts. He lunges toward me, pushing me to the ground and landing on top of me just as Lothar breathes fire over the crowd. The flames crackle around us, scorching hot. People scream. The acrid stench of burning hair and skin fills the air.
Torrin’s fireproof body is the only thing keeping me from frying to a crisp.
Swords shink as paladins draw their weapons. I hear Celeste’s voice loud and clear over all the craziness. “Follow me!” she shouts, and I feel a wave of relief. My dragon-killer sister is here to save the day. Father can hang Lothar’s head right outside my room for a month if he wants, and I’ll ignore the stench and the flies and how creepy it is having a dead dragon’s head five feet from my bed. Just as long as Celeste makes this nightmare stop.
“Come on,” Torrin says. The flames have ended, at least for now. He gets up and grabs my hand, not daring to leave me to fend for myself.
And yeah, okay, plus one hundred points for saving my life.
He pushes through the crowd, dragging me toward the edge of the courtyard.
“Get back here, you little coward!” Lothar’s deep dragon voice rumbles into the night. At first I think he means me, until he adds, “You can’t run this time, Amelrik—you’re dead. You hear me?!”
Torrin swears under his breath. He shouts for someone to bring him his sword. “Vee, get inside. You’ll be safe there.”
Yeah, right. Lothar is here because of me. This whole disaster is because of me, and I’m not just going to run inside and hide like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t care what happens to Torrin or Celeste or anyone. Even if I just stand here, like an idiot, I’ll risk my life like everyone else. I have to see how this plays out.
Lothar lunges at Amelrik, who’s trapped inside the just-closed front gates, unable to make his escape. If he hadn’t told me to run, he might have made it. Everyone screams and moves out of the way. A circle of space opens around Amelrik, probably because nobody wants to be anywhere near the guy a dragon just threatened to kill.
“Show your true form and face me!” Lothar shouts.
Your true form. That means there isn’t just one, but two dragons here tonight. Here, at the barracks, invading my world. This is the one place that’s supposed to be safe. There’s a reason I haven’t stepped foot outside of it in four and a half years.
The dragons were never supposed to get in here. They weren’t supposed to come to me.
As I feel my world shrink, my bubble of safety popping and disappearing, I watch the fight playing out before me. Someone shoves me on their way into the barracks, probably to hide. I stumble and almost trip over an abandoned glass, spilling punch across the stones.
A spear flies through the air, hitting Lothar in the back of his right thigh, but he shakes it off. He lunges at Amelrik again, jaws snapping. Amelrik’s face is pale, panicked. But he stays human.
“Come on,” Lothar bellows at him. “Take your true form!” He laughs, like there’s some kind of joke none of us is in on.
Amelrik ducks as Lothar takes another swipe at him. One of the paladins thrusts out her hands and shoots a blast of magic straight at Lothar. He scrambles backward, out of the way, letting it hit the stone wall in front of him. The stones shatter and crumble. But he doesn’t even glance at his attacker and instead keeps his focus on Amelrik. Because apparently that’s more important than the dozen paladins trying to kill him.
Celeste’s voice rises above the noise, shouting orders for the others to cover her while she casts the spell that will bind a dragon’s powers and force him back into human shape. Our family’s specialty.
Lothar must hear Celeste, too, because he seems to recognize that this is over. He makes one last lunge for Amelrik, who drops to the ground and rolls away just in time not to get mauled to death. Lothar shouts something an
gry and guttural in a language I don’t know, and then he’s a blur of purple scales and flapping wings, launching himself into the night sky. The air whirls around us, getting dust in my eyes and making me squint. The smell of sulfur prickles my nose as Celeste finishes casting. There’s a flash as the magic leaves her hands, followed by a crackling sound as it fizzles out and dies, its target no longer there.
Amelrik gets up from the ground, ready to run, but Torrin grabs him and forces him down before he can escape. The other paladins rush to help, and Celeste holds up her hands to cast again, though she looks tired now and sweat drips from her forehead. Magic takes a lot out of you—or so I’m told—and I swallow, painfully aware that it should be me casting this time. I should be able to take some of the burden off of her.
But if I could, Father never would have opened up this party to outsiders, and none of this would have happened.
There’s another flash of magic as Celeste finishes casting, binding Amelrik’s powers so he can’t change forms. But it seems to me that if he was going to change, he would have done it by now. Either to fight off Lothar or to fly away or whatever.
Not that I care.
Celeste’s voice rings out, echoing across the courtyard. “Prince Amelrik of Hawthorne clan, I, Celeste St. George, hereby declare you under arrest.”
Prince? There were not only two dragons at this party tonight, but they were both princes?
The crowd cheers. Medics show up to tend to the wounded. The other paladins gather around Celeste, congratulating her as they haul Amelrik down to the dungeon.
Everyone except Torrin. “I told you I had a bad feeling,” he says, grinning playfully at me to soften his words.
“I was this close to marrying him.” I pinch my fingers together to emphasize just how close.
“Nah, that wouldn’t have happened.” He puts his arm around my shoulders.
“You’re right. He probably would have ripped me to shreds before then.” My throat is dry. I try to swallow, but with no saliva, and that just makes it worse. “If Amelrik hadn’t shown up, if he hadn’t tried to kill Lothar . . .” But why had he tried to kill him? It seems to me that Amelrik didn’t want anyone to know he’d been seen. So why did he show up to this party and reveal himself to Lothar in the first place? Was he here to rip me to shreds, too? But if he was, why did he tell me to run?
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