Dragons Realm

by Tessa Dawn

  Rafael shook his head in disgust, trying desperately to control his temper. “I swear, one of these days…” His voice trailed off and he licked his lips. And then he turned to regard Robert, the male who had found a buyer, before addressing the worthless idiot again. “You’re not waiting to unload her. I want you to go with Micah, and I want the two of you to head out now.”

  Micah looked off into the distant forest and frowned. “Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Get the girl, and take her to Umbras. Now. Sell her to this Syrileus Cain before the week is over. Do you hear me?”

  Micah popped his neck on his shoulders as if trying to relieve some stress. “Shit.” He leveled a crosswise glance at Robert and winced in apology. “Yeah, I hear you.”

  Rafael raised his hand and seized the warlock’s heart a second time, just to belabor his point. As Micah doubled over in pain, Rafael hissed his next words with venom. “I am not playing around with you, Micah. Get rid of her. Now!”

  Micah clenched his fists over his heart and nodded profusely, sweat pouring from his tortured brow. His face was contorted in pain, and his cheeks were drenched in rivulets of anguish and fear. “Okay. Okay. Let me go.” He huffed between words, and then he staggered backward, fell to the ground, and writhed in the dirt until Rafael released him.

  He would either obey, or he would die.

  The time for talking was over.

  As Micah Fiske struggled to his knees, retrieved his traveling sack from the hollow of a nearby tree, and headed toward the makeshift corral to untether his horse, Robert got up to join him. “I’ll see you in a couple days, Rafael,” the wiser warlock muttered.

  Rafael inclined his head in response, and then he watched his cohorts scamper away.

  He didn’t really perceive any danger.

  After all, the girl would disappear into the southwestern mountains of Umbras, never to be seen again, just so long as Micah did as he was told.

  Still, it had been so stupid and careless.

  What if Castle Dragon got wind of it?

  What if his own wicked mistress, Wavani, the king’s witch, somehow sensed it and began to question her personal involvement in the slave trade? As it stood, she was difficult to contain, already.

  Why barter for trouble when you didn’t have to?

  The realm was full of young, virginal girls, just ready to be sacrificed, violated, or sold, if not to the shades or other warlocks, then to the Lycanian shifters across the sea. There was no point in tempting fate by taking the sister of a Sklavos Ahavi. One never knew when something unexpected might occur, when unintended paths might cross.

  All Rafael knew was that he was far wiser than Sir Henry Woodson and far more careful than Micah Fiske. He had no intentions of drawing the attention of a dragon prince to their little profitable slave trade, nor did he intend to suffer any fools, not a moment longer than he had to.

  When Micah Fiske returned from selling the girl, Rafael would kill him.

  He would capture his soul, trap it in a bottle, and sell it to the shades as an edible delicacy on his next trip to Umbras.

  As he watched the warlocks take their mounts and head off in the direction of the cage that temporarily housed the girl, he snarled.

  Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  Chapter Six

  Three days later

  Mina slipped out of her bedchamber and padded down the steep servants’ staircase at the far end of the musty hall, clutching a hand-drawn, rudimentary map in one hand and a dimly lit torch in the other. According to the map, she needed to follow the staircase until she came to a forked landing and then turn left. At that point, she could follow the hall toward the rear of the castle and enter a final narrow tunnel that would take her all the way to the kitchens.

  Good grief, this was quite the maze.

  Just the same, she was determined to sneak into the galley; retrieve some wine, bread, and cheese; and make her way back to her room before any of the castle’s occupants noticed her absence. She was edgy, she was restless, and she needed the exercise. So what the heck?

  The day had been unbearably long, and now that it was night, she couldn’t sleep.

  She hadn’t seen Dante in at least three days—a fact for which she was grateful—and the idea of sitting by the window and gazing at the stars, snacking by lantern light, seemed calming, if not entirely peaceful, a momentary distraction from the incessant thoughts that rattled about in her head.

  As she raised her pitch-covered torch and slowly made her way down the winding stone steps, she thought she heard the faint mewling of an animal, perhaps a cat or a stray puppy that had wandered into the castle. Whatever it was, it was coming from the bottom of the staircase, and it made the hair stand up on her arms.

  Mina moved forward with caution, careful not to step on the hem of her robe. The last thing she needed was to trip and fall down the remaining stairs. She was just about to place the ball of her foot on a particularly narrow step when she thought she heard the sound again, only this time, it almost sounded human. She peeked cautiously around the corner, trying to identify the source, and she hurried down the remaining steps.

  And then she froze in suspended horror as her eyes struggled to focus and her mind fought to comprehend the horrific scene before her: Tatiana Ward was lying at the bottom of the staircase, her body curled up into a pitiful little ball, her legs tucked tightly to her chest, almost in a fetal position; and her face was stained with rivulets of blood that trickled along the corners of her mouth. All the while, she emitted a coarse, drawn-out moan like the mewling of an animal.

  Mina gasped.

  She anchored her torch in a nearby iron stand and hurried to her friend’s side, desperate to help her, frantic to stop her moaning.

  The Sklavos Ahavi flinched at her approach.

  “Tati?” Mina called out, stooping to get closer. “Oh dear goddess of mercy…” She reached for the girl’s shoulders and immediately drew back when Tatiana shrieked.

  “Don’t touch me!” Tatiana cried, recoiling from Mina’s touch.

  Mina’s hand went instinctively to her own heart. “What’s wrong, Tatiana? Tell me what happened.” She glanced toward the top of the staircase and cringed, imagining her friend taking a horrible fall down the steep, winding passage. “Did you fall, sweetie? How long have you been lying here?”

  Tatiana whimpered, but she didn’t answer.

  In spite of the girl’s protests, Mina gripped Tatiana by the waist as gingerly as she could and gently turned her over, removing her arms from her face.

  Oh. Dear. Gods.

  Tatiana’s face was a virtual wasteland, battered and bloody. Her left eye was practically swollen shut. Dark, crimson blood seeped from the corners of her mouth, and there were harsh red welts in the shape of fingers striped about her narrow throat. “What happened to you?” Mina repeated, immediately ripping a strip of cloth from her own nightgown in order to dot at the blood. She ran her hands over Tatiana’s arms, her stomach, and then her legs, trying to feel for obvious injuries or broken bones. “Please, Tati,” she pleaded, “tell me what happened.” She was about to panic.

  Tatiana winced in pain as she grabbed Mina by the arm. “Please, don’t touch me.”

  Mina drew back as requested. “What happened to you?” This time, her words were only a whisper.

  “The prince,” Tatiana whispered.

  Mina’s brow furrowed in confusion, even as her heart sank with dread. “What? What do you mean, the prince?”

  “Damian.”

  As if someone had just tossed her into a frigid lake, Mina felt her body stiffen, and the air rushed out of her lungs. “Prince Damian did this to you? Why? When? Whatever for?” Her mind was spinning with incredulity.

  Tatiana winced as Mina tried again to remove the blood at the corners of her mouth, and then she met Mina’s eyes with a cool amber stare of her own. “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled. “There was no specific reason.�
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  Mina was utterly dumbstruck.

  Her thoughts were swirling around in violent eddies of anger and fear, but she had to focus. She had to stay grounded in the moment. She had to help Tatiana. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  Tatiana shivered. “The prince has been with me—or should I say, I have been with him—off and on for the last three days.” She thrust two fingers inside her mouth and bit down against the tips to offset the pain.

  Mina rocked back on her heels and took a helpless seat on a cold stone stair. She didn’t want to ask anything else—she did not want to hear what was coming next—but she had to. How else could she help her friend? She rubbed her brow in anxiety. “What do you mean, you have been with him for the last three days?”

  Tatiana began to chew on her nails. “That first day, when Dante called you into the courtyard, Damian called me to his chambers to feed his dragon, and then he called me again on Monday and Tuesday”—she shook her head really hard as if she could somehow dislodge the memories—“and then again on Wednesday and Thursday…only…to fulfill a very different need.”

  Mina’s stomach clenched as a wave of nausea swept over her, and bile rose in her throat. She bit her bottom lip, forced back her tears, and tried to restrain any coming reaction. “That’s not…that’s not possible. Not even Damian can do that. It’s forbidden before the Autumn Mating. Surely, you don’t mean what I think.”

  When Tatiana’s eyes welled up with thick crystal tears and a heart-wrenching sob escaped from her throat, Mina had her answer. She wanted to wrap her arms around her friend to comfort her, but she was terrified that she would just cause her more pain.

  Terrified, disgusted, and furious.

  Who the hell did Damian Dragona think he was to flaunt thousands of years of tradition in this beautiful girl’s face, as if the customs were mere suggestions, rather than edicts, as if he was above and beyond reproach, even from the king? She wanted to kill him with her bare hands. “When King Demitri finds out, he will punish him,” she snarled.

  Tatiana almost laughed, the sound coming out as a desperate, hollow bark. “Oh, Mina, don’t be so naive.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss her own protest. “I really don’t believe the king will do anything.” She sniffled and drew in a deep breath. “I told Damian that it wasn’t proper, that it wasn’t allowed, and he laughed in my face. He said the king would not refuse him anything—he would give him whatever Ahavi he desired, and he desired me. He said that he could make the rules, break the rules, or screw the rules, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. And when I told him that his brothers might not feel the same way if”—she stumbled over the next words, her tears falling in unbridled rivers—“if I became with child, only to be promised to one of his brothers, instead, do you know what he told me?”

  Mina shook her head.

  “He said that there was nothing to worry about because I hadn’t taken the fertility elixir, and besides, Drake was far too honorable to force himself on an Ahavi—and Dante was too afraid of their father. So even if something freakish happened, there would be no question of paternity…so why the hell not.”

  Mina swallowed a groan of protest. She pressed her hand to her lower belly and tried to steady her nerves. “Oh, Tati.” She brushed a gentle hand over her friend’s cheek and gently cupped her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tatiana sneered. “But you know what really makes it worse?”

  Mina could not imagine anything making this worse. “What, sweetie?”

  “I didn’t fight him. I didn’t try to stop him. I fed…all his appetites…two nights in a row. And tonight? He became enraged because Drake asked me to meet him in the gardens tomorrow for a stroll, something I have no control over, whatsoever, and Damian beat me like…like I was nothing…like I was a shadow, or a warlock, or another man.”

  Mina stared at her friend closely. Her eye looked positive ghastly, and her face was hardly recognizable as the beautiful portrait it had been before. Yet and still, she had felt Dante’s barely restrained power, coiled in his hands. She had seen it in his eyes and felt it in his fire: If Damian Dragona had beaten Tatiana like a man, Tatiana would not be curled up at the bottom of a staircase. She would be six feet underground, rotting in an unmarked grave.

  Mina kept her observation to herself. “Where is he now?”

  Tatiana swallowed convulsively. “He’s in the throne room, just beyond the Great Hall. All of them are. It would seem the king called a late meeting with his sons to discuss court business, something about their future appointments and the treasury—he wants to raise taxes or something.”

  “And he needed to discuss this at midnight?” Mina said, suspiciously. The question wasn’t meant for Tatiana—she was more or less thinking out loud—disgusted by the entire situation and surprised that Damian had chosen to share so much information with a Sklavos Ahavi…right before he beat her. She placed a gentle finger over Tatiana’s lips to keep her silent. “Okay…okay. Save your strength now. Don’t waste your energy on speaking. Just give me a second to think.” She stood up and began to pace the long hallway, hating to leave Tatiana alone, but needing a moment to collect her wits, to shake and clench her fists if she needed to, without further upsetting her friend.

  She had to choose her next move very carefully.

  There were so many dangers all around them. And as much as she wanted to rush in and help, she had to be deliberate: Where would she take her? Who would help her? And how would she keep them both safe? Spirit Keepers forbid, if Damian found out…

  And why did he want Tatiana anyway?

  The concept was maddening, especially when Cassidy was such an obvious choice—Damian and Cassidy were two peas in a pod, two selfish, power-hungry beings, cut from the same cloth.

  Ah, but then she remembered…

  Of course.

  It was one of the reasons Tatiana was here: She was a wizard with numbers and a guru of economics. She could be used for more than her beauty or her body—she could be used to elevate the prince and solidify his district. Mina swallowed a lump in her throat and pressed her hands to the sides of her head, thinking. Where could she take her? Who would help them?

  When Tatiana began to choke and spit up blood, Mina spun around on her heels. By all that was sacred, this was serious. The girl might be dying. She ran to the top of the stairs, stared hastily at the ominous line of golden strings, the cords attached to the servants’ bells, and chose the one for the squire, Thomas. Dante had said the boy was an ally, although Mina had no idea why. She darted back down the staircase and waited, hooking her hands gently beneath Tatiana’s armpits to try to pull her upright. “Try to sit up,” she urged her. “I’m going to take you to my bedchamber and call the squire. You need a healer. Do you think you can—”

  “No!” Tatiana protested, her voice thick with alarm. “Please, don’t call any of the royal staff; it’ll just anger Damian further.”

  Mina frowned. “And would he have you die in your present state? How would that serve him in the end?” She mulled it over in her head. “Very well, at least allow the squire to help you back to my chambers, and then I will clean you up myself.” And then I will go find Dante, she said to herself, seething.

  She didn’t give a royal damn what Damian Dragona wanted. Perhaps it was time he picked on someone his own size.

  His own species.

  Not that Dante would oblige Mina—or ever defend a slave—but still, she had to try to intervene.

  She had to.

  This was beyond repugnant and reprehensible. It was immoral and unthinkable. It was evil and obscene. And then, she remembered Dante’s words: “He is not a patient dragon. He is not a moral prince…Damian would just as soon behead you as wed you.”

  Mina shivered, fully understanding the danger she was in.

  Just the same, she couldn’t let this go. If nothing else, Dante had the power to heal Tatiana with his blue fire, to soothe her with his mind; perhaps he c
ould even erase her memories. Who knew what all a dragon could do?

  Mina knew better than to wander through the castle at midnight, to go anywhere near the throne room or the king, to dare to approach Dante for help when he could barely tolerate Mina as it was. She knew they were hardly allies or friends—she was only a glorified servant, and he was most certainly her master. It would be as foolhardy as it would be dangerous to seek him out…

  Still, she also knew right from wrong.

  There were some things, some people, worth sticking one’s neck out for. And Tatiana Ward was one of them. She hadn’t deserved this, and it would not go unanswered.

  Fortifying her resolve, Mina shifted her weight beneath Tatiana’s shoulders and prepared to lift her, just as a tall, skinny youngster descended the steps.

  The boy walked as quietly as a mouse toward the Sklavos Ahavi, his curly blond hair reflecting a myriad of natural highlights in the firelight, his downcast eyes brimming with curiosity and kindness. “Yes, mistress Ahavi. How may I serve you?” His voice was as gentle as his countenance.

  Mina lowered Tatiana back to the floor and took a careful step toward the squire. “Are you Thomas?”

  “I am,” he answered respectfully, still averting his gaze.

  Mina forced herself to swallow her fear. “And you and Prince Dante have a special friendship, do you not?”

  The boy’s face lit up, and he raised his head, exposing bright hazel eyes that seemed to shimmer with curiosity and intelligence. “We do.” The words were merely a whisper, but Mina heard them just the same.

  She nodded. “Very well, then can you keep a secret?”

  He bit his bottom lip and frowned as if thinking it over. “What kind of a secret?”

  Mina looked over her shoulder at Tatiana and gestured toward her battered body. “This kind.”

  The boy cringed as he stared at Tatiana’s terrified, broken form, slumped on the ground like so much garbage. He swallowed a lump in his throat and met Mina’s seeking gaze. “If nobody asks me a question, I will not say a word. But, if I’m questioned, I must answer honestly.” He averted his eyes in a gesture of apology. “Even then, I will try to say as little as possible.”