by Jasmine Walt
29
“All right,” Lucyan said as he shut the door to his suite. “Enough of the suspense. Tell us what happened, Tariana.”
He turned to where his sister sat, her boots crossed at the ankles, her arms folded across her chest. She looked exhausted, shadows thick beneath her amber eyes, and even though she was not Lucyan’s favorite person, he felt a moment’s pity for her.
“The war is not going our way,” Tariana said as Alistair handed her a drink. He handed one to the rest of them too—a fine aged whiskey that Lucyan had been saving for a special occasion, but what the hell? Talking about all the ways their lives were fucked seemed just as good a reason as any to drink the stuff. “We are about to lose it.”
“I thought we were in a stalemate, but pushing forward,” Drystan said. “That is what you told Father at the last council meeting.”
“We have been, but that is about to end,” Tariana said. “Elvenhame’s army is twice as large as ours—they could have crushed us like an ant a long time ago, and they are preparing to do exactly that.”
Alistair scowled. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Elvenhame have waited so long to destroy us if they’ve had the capability to do so all along.”
“Because,” Lucyan said, the answer slapping him in the face. Gods, how could he not have seen this? “You’ve been fucking that pretty elven prince of yours, haven’t you?”
Tariana’s face colored. “Watch your mouth, or I’ll smack the teeth out of your pretty face.”
Lucyan batted his eyelashes. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Enough!” Drystan snapped. His eyes sparked with anger as he looked at Tariana. “Is this true, sister? You really have been in bed with the enemy this whole time?”
“Ryolas is not the enemy!” Tariana snapped back. “He and I are the only reason that our troops are still alive.”
“Of course,” Alistair muttered. “The two of you have been rigging the battles. No wonder we’ve suffered so little loss of life.”
“Rigging the battles?” Drystan echoed. “How is that even possible?”
“Let me guess,” Lucyan drawled as the picture unfolded in his mind’s eye. “You’ve been restricting the attacks and counterattacks to relatively remote areas to ensure that they have as limited an effect on the citizens as possible. You’ve also been exchanging prisoners, which explains why we’ve had no elven officers to torture recently.”
“You always were the clever one, little brother,” Tariana said, giving Lucyan a humorless smile. “Yes, Ryolas and I have been working in concert to minimize casualties until the three of you were finally mated and powerful enough to overthrow our father. The elves had nothing to do with it, and Ryolas and I are both loath to see Dragonfell decimated over a misunderstanding.”
Drystan shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about this. When were you going to let us know that you wanted us to depose Father? Were you just going to spring that on us at the last minute?”
“Is this the real reason you’ve kept me from the front lines?” Alistair demanded. “Because you were afraid I would find out the truth?”
“I couldn’t risk any of you knowing,” Tariana said. To her credit, she at least looked apologetic, though that didn’t quell Lucyan’s anger. In truth, he was angrier at himself than his sister—he should have figured this out. Clearly, he had a long way to go in his spymaster career. “Father has all three of you under his thumb. He may be mad, but he is still very good at manipulating others to serve his interests at the expense of their own.”
“Not as good as you think,” Lucyan growled. He pulled the spell scroll from his sleeve, which he’d snatched after his father had tossed it onto the table and stormed from the meeting room. “Dareena found this in the library.”
Tariana’s eyes widened as she took it from him. “A spell scroll in the library?” she asked as she unfurled it. “Why in Terragaard would such a thing be in our castle?”
“It appears to be an assassination spell,” Lucyan said in a clipped voice. “We believe it was used to kill our mother.”
Tariana’s face went white. “I knew it,” she spat, allowing the scroll to snap shut. “Those bastard warlocks and their black magic. They’ve always been jealous of our superior resources.”
“We called a council meeting today and showed them the scroll,” Alistair said. “Father believes us, but he won’t call off the attack on Elvenhame. He still believes they are the enemy, and since he is under the false impression that we have enough men to defeat them, he intends to continue the war.”
Tariana let out a disgusted sigh. “Well, that is about to come to an end,” she said. “I met with Ryolas today. His father is beginning to suspect our ruse. He fears that the High King will replace him with his older brother, who has no qualms about crushing us. The elves as a whole are not sympathetic to our plight, not when it appears that history is repeating itself.”
“Fuck.” Lucyan raked a hand through his hair. “How much time do you think we have until that happens?”
Tariana shrugged. “It could be a week. It could be tomorrow. All I know is that if we don’t figure out a way to get Father to surrender, there won’t be a Dragon Force when they’re through with us.”
“Forget the Dragon Force,” Alistair muttered. His eyes, usually so full of optimism, were bleak. “If the elvish forces are as large as you claim, there won’t be a Dragonfell left by the time they’re through with us.”
30
After Dareena returned from her visit with the oracle, she headed back to the library with the intention of doing more research on the curse. But as she stood amongst the stacks, trying to figure out where she wanted to start, she realized her heart wasn’t in it. What was the point in searching for answers when even the oracle had stonewalled her?
She hadn’t been able to find the brothers, but she’d flagged down Lord Renflaw on his way out of the Keep, and he’d told her what had happened. As usual, the king refused to listen to reason. Even if she did find something more substantial than that prophecy, the king would just dismiss anything she found out of hand on account of her being nothing but a broodmare.
Heat rose to Dareena’s cheeks, and she clenched her fists. She’d wanted to rake her nails across the king’s smug face when he’d said that to her. When she’d first come to Dragon’s Keep, she wouldn’t have dared contemplate such a thought, but her time with the brothers had taught her that she was not just a simple commoner. The princes found her smart and funny, and their constant praise and adoration had done wonders for her self-confidence.
No, she was not the serving girl who had left Hallowdale all those weeks ago. She was the Dragon’s Gift, and she mattered.
Closing the book she’d taken from the shelf, she decided to seek out the brothers again. She could take a break from the stacks for one day. Right now, she just wanted to spend some quality time with someone who cared for her and forget about the king and his nasty words.
She was about to round the corner when someone slapped a hand across her mouth and yanked her around. Her muffled scream froze in her throat as she saw the king—he pinned her up against the wall, his cruel mouth bared in a snarl as he towered over her. Waves of fury rolled off him, turning Dareena’s blood to ice and her legs to water. Oh gods. Was he going to kill her?
“Scream, and you’ll be spending the next six months in the dungeon, choking down gruel,” he rasped in her ear. “Do you understand?”
Dareena nodded, tears stinging her eyes. The king removed his hand from her mouth, but he kept her backed up against the wall, barely an inch of space between their bodies. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice breathless with terror. Her hand inched toward the slit in her skirt, where the jade knife Drystan had bought her was hidden. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Don’t try to play me for a fool, whore,” the king spat, his amber eyes blazing with anger. “You aren’t the first woman who’s tried to pu
ll the wool over my eyes, nor will you be the last. I see right through your innocent act, and if you ever try to pit my sons against me again, I will send my Dragon Force to the hovel you came from and kill every friend or acquaintance you’ve ever had.”
“P-please,” Dareena stammered, thinking of poor Gilma. She wouldn’t stand a chance if the Dragon Force came for her, and neither would Tildy. They might even come for Mr. Harrin, and while things had gone bad between them in the end, he’d still helped her when no one else would. “There’s no need to hurt anyone.”
“No,” the king crooned, the cruel expression melting into something that turned Dareena’s stomach. He reached up and brushed the backs of his knuckles across Dareena’s cheek. “There isn’t, is there? I think you and I both know there’s a better way. We don’t have to be enemies, Dareena. Together, you and I could conquer the world.”
He leaned in to brush his lips against hers, and Dareena’s hand closed around the handle of her knife. She trembled as she prepared to yank it out, certain that what she was about to do would spell her doom, and yet she couldn’t just stand here and let the king do this, she couldn’t—
“Father?” Alistair’s voice echoed down the hall. “What are you doing?”
The king’s gaze shuttered, and he pulled back. “Just having a friendly conversation with my future daughter-in-law,” he said as Dareena let go of the knife handle. Alistair looked between them curiously, and Dareena forced her features into a blank expression. It took everything she had not to collapse to the floor in relief, but she couldn’t let on that anything was amiss. “I’m trying to get her to tell me which one of you she plans to choose…but alas, the wench’s lips are sealed.”
“That’s too bad,” Alistair said, looping his arm through Dareena’s. “I’ve been wondering that too. I’m afraid we must be off now—I promised Dareena we’d take a walk in the gardens together. With your leave, of course.” He bowed, and Dareena forced herself to follow suit.
“Of course.” The king’s eyes glittered. “Enjoy your stroll.”
Dareena said nothing as Alistair gently steered her up the hall. Her heart was still pounding, her body trembling. The king had come so close, so close—
“Shhh.” Alistair pulled her into a deserted parlor room and shut the door behind them. “It’s all right,” he said as Dareena began to cry, and he gathered her into his arms. “You’re safe now.”
“I was going to stab him, Alistair,” she sobbed into his chest as he held her tight. “He was about to rape me, and I was going to stab him.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Alistair said as he gently rocked Dareena in his arms. “My father is a rank bastard. But he is also the king. From now on, you must never leave your room without an escort. Make sure you are always with us, or if not, with your maid.”
“My maid isn’t always available, and neither are you,” Dareena said, sniffling. “You can’t protect me all the time.”
“The hell I can’t,” Alistair growled. He wiped Dareena’s tears away, then gave her a gentle kiss. “Maybe not by myself, but between me and my brothers there is no reason for you to be alone. You’ll sleep in one of our beds from now on so that you’re never alone at night, and one of us will be with you at all times during the day. We’ll protect you, Dareena. On my life, I swear it.”
Dareena swallowed, her fear finally fading. “Thank you, Alistair,” she said, cupping his cheek. “You’re always so sweet to me.”
Alistair smiled. “I’m just trying to serve my lady,” he said softly, pulling her close again. He kissed her tenderly, and Dareena sighed, the tension bleeding away. Drystan made her feel powerful, Lucyan drove her wild, but Alistair—he was the one who calmed her soul, who soothed her nerves and banished her fears with his gentle touches and kind smiles. It was an odd contradiction, as he was the soldier of their bunch, but though Alistair was a warrior on the outside, he had the heart of a poet.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Dareena let Alistair bring her to the couch and soothe the stress and terror of the past few minutes away. Here in Alistair’s arms, she was safe. The king wouldn’t barge in here and try to take her again.
“I’m glad you’ve returned,” Alistair said once her heartbeat had slowed and her tears were gone. “I know you’ve just been through an ordeal, but we have much to talk about.”
Dareena sighed. “I already heard from Lord Renflaw. The king is not going to cease his attack on Elvenhame. He will defeat them and then go on to attack Shadowhaven.”
Alistair laughed bitterly. “Except he isn’t. Our king thinks he has the numbers necessary to overtake Elvenhame, but we have been facing only a fraction of their force. The elves may soon crush us if we don’t convince Father to surrender or negotiate a truce.”
Dareena frowned, pulling back so she could look into Alistair’s eyes. The despair she saw in them made her feel sick. “What do you mean, we’ve only been facing a fraction of their force? How could we have been so grossly misinformed about their army?”
Alistair sighed. “Because Tariana’s been playing a deadly game of chess with the enemy.”
He explained to her all about how Tariana and Prince Ryolas were working together to minimize casualties, but that the High King of the elves was catching on and there was a real danger Ryolas would be removed from command. Dareena’s veins filled with icy horror as the situation became quite clear—if they did not stand down, Dragonfell would be destroyed, and the last of the dragon line along with it.
“That is it!” She jumped to her feet, her heart racing as she paced around the room. “We cannot just stand aside and let your father lead our kingdom to ruin.”
Alistair raised his eyebrows. “I agree,” he said slowly, rising from the couch. “But there is nothing we can do to stop him. Even when you choose one of us, which is inevitable”—a hint of bitterness crept into his tone—“our father will still be king until your mate is strong enough to challenge him, or until he dies.”
“And yet,” Dareena said, coming to a stop and trailing a hand down Alistair’s muscular forearm, “you and Lucyan have been going through the same changes as Drystan, haven’t you? I’ve noticed the mood swings and the irritability.”
Alistair nodded. “We have been getting stronger.”
Dareena smiled, then rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Call your brothers here. I think I have a plan that can finally end this madness once and for all.”
31
The last few days of the final week went by in a blur. Every day they trained, every night they made love, and all the while, they clung to the hope that Dareena’s plan would work. That she hadn’t misinterpreted the prophecy, and that they would convince the king to step down and let them take over.
Dareena knew the brothers wanted to end this peacefully, without bloodshed. She sincerely hoped she could give them that gift. Their father might have gone off the deep end, but he was still family. The bond between father and son was not easily broken, even by such a powerful force as madness. With any luck, King Dragomir would remember that bond, and would do the right thing.
For the most part, they tried not to think about what could go wrong, and focused on making sure that everything went right. But all too soon, the big day came—the day when Dareena would stand before the king and all of his courtiers and finally announce which of the princes she’d chosen as heir to the Dragonfell throne.
“You look stunning, my lady,” Rona gushed as she stepped back. She’d brought a special dress out just for the occasion—a sleek gown of gold and white that hugged her curves in the right places. Gold jewelry dangled at her ears, her Dragon’s Gift collar curled around her throat, and her hair was left to hang loose down her back. It was the perfect combination of innocent and sexy.
“You did a wonderful job with this dress, Rona.” Dareena skimmed a hand down the silken fabric of the skirt, wondering if it would still be this pristine by the time the day was ended.
“T
hank you.” Rona beamed. “Are you ready, my lady? I hope you don’t feel too nervous.”
“Not at all.” Dareena smiled even though that was the furthest thing from the truth. Her stomach was a roiling, greasy ball of nerves—she’d barely been able to choke down her breakfast this morning, and now she regretted eating at all. What if she was wrong? What if the plan failed, and everything they’d strived so hard for came crashing down around their ears?
Stop thinking that way, she scolded herself. You’re only making things worse. How are the princes going to have faith in you when you have no faith in yourself?
Dareena forced herself to calm down, taking slow, even breaths. She fingered the stone on her mother’s ring, which she’d worn on her right hand today. The cool white stone comforted her, slowing her heartbeat and drying the sweat that had started gathering in her palms. A guard came to escort her, and she kept a neutral expression on her face as he led her to the audience chamber, where the king and his sons were waiting. Just as last time, he sat in his throne with his sons to his left and his daughters to his right, but unlike last time, the galley seats were filled to the brim with nobles, the hall buzzing with excited conversation. The chatter faded as Dareena slowly approached the dais, and she did her best to ignore all the eyes on her as she curtsied deeply before the throne.
“My king,” she said, her voice low and respectful, not a hint of the anger and betrayal that sizzled in her veins.
“Rise,” the king said, and she did. The room fell silent, and Dareena could practically feel the air humming with anticipation. This was it. The moment they’d been waiting on tenterhooks for.
“Dareena Sellis of Hallowdale,” the king boomed in a loud voice, his eyes glittering. “You are the Dragon’s Gift, sent to us by the gods themselves to wed the future dragon king. Who amongst my sons have you chosen to further the dragon line with? Who amongst them is worthy of being my successor?”
Dareena turned to look at the princes. They stood solemnly, their hands clasped behind their backs, and for a second, she hesitated. There was no reason to do this. She could simply choose one of them, and things could go on the way they were originally meant to. They could bide their time, wait until they were stronger.