by Emma Hamm
Danielle trembled. She wiped at her eyes again. This time, with her vision clear of tears, she could see there were more Dread behind him.
Countless monsters hovering in the air, their wings silently beating the air. They all stared back at her with compassion.
These were not the creatures her sister had warned about. They were not flesh eating beasts who wanted to fight, rend, and maim. A few of the females had tears in their eyes, some dripping down their cheeks.
How could these creatures be nightmarish things when they could feel her emotions?
Danielle bit her lip, willing the tears to dry up in her eyes. She cleared her throat and said one more time, “I need you to teach me how to fight. Now.”
The Dread before her was speechless for the first time since she’d seen him. His mouth opened and closed. He stared at her with wide eyes filled with questions. “You’re wounded, Danielle.”
“All the more reason to fight. I have to learn, because I can’t go back there without knowing how to stop it.” She touched a finger to her forehead, wincing at the immediate pain from the touch. “It’s the first time this has happened to me, but not to those I love.”
“Who?” The single word tore from his chest with a rumble of stone against stone. “Tell me who did this.”
She shook her head. “I cannot.”
“Don’t make me guess, ma tigresse.” Something in the set of his jaw and the tight coil of his wings warned of his sincerity. Would he destroy an entire kingdom for a scratched forehead?
Danielle licked her lips, then looked at the other Dread. “Not here.”
Perhaps he understood the desperation in her voice. Or perhaps he was granting her a wish, but she couldn’t speak with so many eyes on her.
Every fiber of her being had been trained to ensure her honor remained intact. No matter how difficult it was to ensure.
Admitting her family, nay, her father was flawed? Such was an act of treason and no one but those she trusted could hear it.
Her Dread stepped forward and reached out his hand. He coiled it around her waist and tugged her against his side. The warmth of his bicep pooled in the center of her back, heating her chilled, muddy skin.
“Trust me,” he rumbled, his voice little more than a whisper.
Danielle pressed a hand flat against his chest and stared up at this creature so different from her. This beast who terrified her people. And the only words she could conjure were, “I do.”
He held her against his chest and fell backward into the abyss of the Hollows. They tumbled through the air but his arms and his wings kept her safe from the blistering wind this time. Instead, he held her so gently she believed she might actually be made of glass.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He turned and spread his wings wide, gliding through the air with effortless ease. “I’m taking you to my home.”
“We’re already in your home.”
“To my home, Danielle.”
Now she understood what he meant. He was taking her to his own private quarters, a place no noblewoman would ever have gone.
Her stomach tightened with nerves... or perhaps excitement.
Chapter 16
Heat radiated off his body as though he were part furnace, even though he spent his days in the deepest parts of the kingdom. Danielle tucked her nose into his neck. If he asked, she would have said it was to conserve her own heat. She was shivering enough for such a statement to be believable. However, it was mostly because she couldn’t get enough of his scent.
Earth and loam. A hint of pine and sap, seeping from the deep wounds of battle-worn trees.
She shouldn’t breathe him in. She shouldn’t care what the Dread smelled like, or how it made her stomach squeeze tight and her heart flutter in her chest.
This was a monster. A beast. A creature whom her kingdom was supposedly at war with.
But all she could focus on was the lovely color of his wings. They beat behind him, strong and capable of holding her aloft as if she weighed nothing at all. Wind whistled through the holes. The sound was a song easing all the pain in her chest, the guilt, the embarrassment, gone from her mind for now.
He made her feel as though she was stronger. As if she really was her mother’s daughter. The once great warrior queen of Hollow Hill. As if she were better than her mother, who had seen his people and fallen to madness.
Danielle licked her lips and stilled her mind as they landed on an unfamiliar ledge. Painted designs decorated the woven door. Dragons, knights in silver armor, warriors with great wings spread wide. All stretching from the door and across the wall, depicting an unknown battle.
The Dread set her on the ground. She slid out of his arms as always, but this time her eyes were focused on the stone.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“My home.”
He strode past her and opened the door. As she passed by the paintings, Danielle trailed her fingers along the verdant green grass and the vibrant blue sky. She paused for a moment to touch gentle fingers to the armored beast with wings.
She glanced up at him. “Is this you?” she asked.
“No,” but his eyes lingered a little too long on the painting. “Come. We have much to speak of.”
They did. She didn’t know how to say the words now. His home lay beyond. The place where he rested his head at night and dreamt.
They’d never been alone together in such an intimate place, she realized. Even the meadow had other creatures to stare at them from the shadows.
She swallowed hard, strode past him, and into the private quarters of her Dread.
The room beyond was much plainer than she had thought it would be. Both the Blacksmith and the Weaver had decorated their walls. Although, now that she thought about it, the decorations had been of their works and profession.
Her Dread appeared to prefer a much plainer abode. His walls were covered with nothing but lichen and moss, all green and spongy. Tendrils of ivy threaded down from the ceiling, although she didn’t know how they grew without the sun.
She caught her breath when she saw the bed in the back corner of the cave. Long strips of gauzy fabric hung from the ceiling in every color imaginable. He slept in a rainbow so delicate it appeared made of fog instead of woven threads. A fire crackled in the center of the room, smoke curling up and disappearing into a hole in the ceiling.
“Have a seat,” he grumbled. Her Dread gestured toward pillows strewn about the fire. “I hadn’t anticipated visitors.”
Danielle made herself comfortable, sat down, and picked up a goblet by the fire. The metal was dented on the side, which made it easier to hold.
She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. “Mead?”
“Not quite.”
The bitter bite of alcohol permeated through her nostrils. Eyes watering, she coughed and put the goblet back onto the ground. “What is that foul odor?”
Her Dread settled down on the pillows next to her, chuckling. “We call it the stomach biter. Care to taste it?”
“No,” she replied, her voice sharp. “I have need of my stomach, and that would burn right through it.”
“Most likely. I don’t think any human has ever tasted it before.” He lifted the goblet in her direction before taking a hearty swallow. “Care to tell me who split your head open like a nut to feast on?”
All the blood drained from her face and settled in her stomach. How was she supposed to tell him her father hit her? How was she supposed to admit she stood there like a dolt while he scolded her, hit her, and then still did nothing at all?
Shame crept back out of its cage. It coiled around her neck and stole all the breath from her lungs.
Danielle licked her lips. She tried to work her tongue in her dry mouth. Then, finally, she let her shoulders slump forward in defeat, and held out her hand. “Give it here.”
He arched a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Hand it over, Dread.”
Her D
read didn’t hesitate. He gave her the goblet.
Danielle pinched her nose and took a mighty swallow. It tasted like brine and dead things at the bottom of a cave floor. She gagged, but the burn in her stomach was promising.
She kept the bitter drink down and did not vomit.
He stared at her with so much concern in his gaze, she didn’t know what to do with herself. The alcohol spread through her body like a warm touch. That, mixed with his stare, unraveled her at the seams.
The Dread motioned with his hand for her to continue. “Speak, princess. You didn’t come all the way to the Hollows just to see me.”
Maybe she had. Maybe she thought this was her one place of solace when all her life had ripped apart.
Danielle squeezed her hands into fists and dug them into her thighs. “My father.”
“Your father what?”
“He’s the one who hit me. I wouldn’t tell him where I’ve been in the afternoons. When he found me, he hit me so hard my head connected with the door.” She touched a trembling hand to the wound on her forehead. “I don’t think he thought it would leave a mark. He’s never left a mark before.”
The Dread didn’t move. He remained frozen in place as though he’d turned to stone. Then, as she watched, his expression darkened. His eyes narrowed upon her, fangs protruding forward, and claws digging into the stone ground.
A faint screech echoed as his hands marked furrows into the floor. “Your father struck you?”
She tried to keep her spine straight. “Yes.”
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Again and again until she realized he was meditating. Just as he’d taught her.
“Dread?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you know of your father?”
“He’s the King of Hollow Hill, perhaps not the greatest, but a king no one will ever forget. The kingdom prospers under his mighty hand and the people... they love him.” But other than that, what did she know of her father? Very little. He was a secretive man and his history was as much a mystery to her as it was to the lowest of peasants.
Her Dread nodded. The muscles of his jaw worked and finally he said, “And what do you think of him?”
“I think the people love him for good reason,” she answered honestly. “He has done many useful things for the country.”
A long pause fell between them. Her Dread stared at her, questions in his gaze and she knew what they were. He wanted her to say more. To speak the honest truth pressing against the back of her throat, tasting of bile and acrid pain.
Danielle looked away from his intense stare. “And I think his family is afraid of him. No, not think. I need to admit my family is terrified. I should have been able to protect them as children, but I couldn’t. Now, I can’t even protect myself.”
“And that’s why you came to me,” he growled. “The Princess of Hollow Hill, seeking guidance from one of the Dread.”
When he said it like that, it sounded dirty and wrong. Like she’d betrayed her people by placing her trust in him.
“You’ve been nothing but kind,” she whispered. Danielle stared down at her hands and for the first time since arriving, saw the dirt caked underneath her nails.
Mud and green grass streaks ruined the beautiful, icy blue gown of her people. She’d lost one sleeve in her dig through the tunnels, and earth marked her bare skin. She didn’t look like a princess. She looked like something which had crawled out of a grave.
Her Dread stood with fluid grace. He strode to the back of the room, giving her privacy in this moment of panic.
What would her sister think of her in this moment? Seeking help from the Dread when she could have gone to Diana. They might have thought of something, anything, that would prevent her father...
No.
They’d tried to enact such a plan before, and it always failed. The King knew his children’s weaknesses and their strengths. If Danielle wanted to escape his clutches, then she needed to surprise him.
A bowl of water thumped onto the ground next to her. The crack of sound made her jump, but it was his hands at her face which made her whimper. He grabbed onto her cheeks as if he owned them.
The Dread held her in place when she tried to pull away. “Easy, princess,” he murmured, his voice a low hum.
“What are you doing?”
He reached with a scrap of fabric, dunked it in the water, and then lifted it toward her face. His clawed hands were gentle as he brushed away the dirt from her face. He smoothed the cloth over every crevice. Cool fabric soothed her burning cheeks.
His thumb scraped the edge of her jaw, rough and worn from years of hard labor. He reached out with his other hand and cupped the back of her neck. He held her still, so gentle and yet, strong.
Danielle let her eyes drift shut. She let him take over, take care of her, ease the anguish and pain from having admitted what happened.
He didn’t ask her for any more details. Not even when he released his hold on her, picked up the bowl, and returned to the small stream of water.
She watched him dump out the dirty water and refill it once again. He returned to her side, silent, yet not frightening nor imposing.
Words slipped out before she even realized she was saying them. “I thought the Dread were supposed to be terrifying.”
“We are, for the most part.”
The trickling of water soothed her once again. Droplets fell into her lap. He picked up her arm and placed her hand on his shoulder. With her palm braced, he smoothed the fabric over her muddy skin.
Danielle watched every movement. He dug his fingers into her rigid muscles, forcing her bicep to relax. “I don’t think you’re frightening at all.”
He chuffed, the sound foreign and strange. “Your people have always known about the Dread. I was surprised when I met you in the meadow, alone. We’ve been fighting for years. Trying to tear each other apart for control over the kingdom.”
“No one ever told me there were people living underneath Hollow Hill.”
“No, I suppose your father wanted you kept safe and sound in that tower of yours.” He plunged the cloth back into the clear water which now ran brown and red. “But your father has always had a love for pain and blood.”
Danielle’s heart stopped. Her breath grew ragged in her lungs and she tried to catch his gaze. When he wouldn’t look at her, she moved her hand to cup his chin. She tilted his face to her. “You know my father?”
He bit his lip, worrying it with fanged teeth. “I know the sound of your father’s scream, and I know the sting of his sword.”
Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. “Tell me.”
Her Dread covered her hand with his, holding it against his cheek. He drew in a deep breath. Slowly, ever so slowly he drew her palm away and pressed his lips against her fluttering pulse at the wrist.
He drew her hand up, past the scars on his brow, to the broken horn atop his head. He placed her fingers on the ragged edge. She could feel every sawed off ridge, digging into her sensitive fingertips.
“No,” she whispered, her voice shuddering. “Tell me it isn’t true.”
“Your father dreams of darkness without light. He destroys, he hungers, and in the end, he always wins.”
The Dread dropped his hold on her hand, but Danielle kept her hand on the broken horn. She drew herself onto her knees until she could smooth a hand down the curved length.
She touched every broken piece of him before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the blunt end.
Danielle sank down in front of him once more. “I cannot make my father’s choices better. I cannot go back in time and save you from his wrath. But I can make the future better. I can claw my way out from under my father’s thumb. And once I do, I promise you, I will make this right.”
The Dread’s eyes grew wider with every word. When she finished, he reached forward and stroked a thumb across her cheek. A single tear clung to his finge
rtip. “You’ve already tried to do so, princess.”
“Tried and failed. But I will not give up.”
“I’ve never questioned that.”
“Dread...” There were so many things she wanted to tell him. So many things she wanted to plead for. Assistance with her father. An army. Something, anything, which could help her.
But her father had taken from him. Her father had already left his mark on this creature and asking for more was wrong. This wasn’t the Dread’s fight. This was her own.
Danielle flung herself at the Dread. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. She soaked in his warmth until he hesitantly placed his arms around her.
She whispered against his bare skin, “I came here intending to ask for help. But I don’t think you can help me in this.”
“I would if I could, princess. I will teach you all I can, but I’m uncertain this is a battle you can win with sword and steel.”
He was right. He was always right.
Her father needed to be dealt with in the way of politics and men, not in the way of the Dread.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “You’re right. I hate that you’re right, but you are.”
“I have faith you’ll know what to do. When the time is right.”
“I just wish I could help you.” Another tear slid from her cheek and down his shoulder, disappearing between the valley of his pectorals.
“Help me?” he chuckled. “Princess, you came all the way from the palace to the Hollows. You came to the heart of Hollow Hill where you can hear the beating core of the kingdom itself. And you worry for me? Worry for yourself.”
“I’m not good at that.”
He squeezed her tighter in his arms, drawing her so close she could hear it. The thumping heartbeat of the kingdom, the beating of drums leading her toward an unnamed future.
Perhaps, if she listened hard enough, she would know what to do.
The Dread said, “I used to know a woman like you once. I’ve been remembering things I didn’t know were in my mind. But I knew a woman once who wouldn’t give up no matter how much life threw at her.”