Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

A s a child I often wondered what it would be like to ride a dragon of my own. A dragon who would be my defender and make sure no one would ever see me as a small little girl ever again.

I would drift off during one of the royal tutors' mind-numbing classes and I'd fantasise about being far away from them, on the back of a dragon, with nothing but the wind in my hair and sunlight on my skin. I never thought I'd get to experience that with the king of The Hallowed Kingdom and The Drifting Kingdom's arms wrapped around me. Even with the wind whistling through my ears, I still hear his strong heartbeat thundering against my back.

It's all I can focus on.

It's several hours later when Erax calls out another command, and the dragon lowers itself through the clouds. The sun is still high in the sky when we make our descent. Despite my uneasiness, I cast a glance below. Its gold towers are so tall they can be seen for miles, splintering high into the sky with black onyx dragons curled on top of each one, their heads raised as if looking over the city below. Lush dark green forests and bright yellow fields surround the castle for miles, only to stop at a stone, massive wall that makes a circle around the castle lands with only one gate. There is a cavern to the right that stretches for miles and my eyes drift to it, feeling something strange in my gut. A prison, but a fancy one. The Hallowed kingdom is spread in every direction, brick towns and pretty cities flooding into the mountains which make a half-moon shape around the edges of the kingdom, tipped with snow.

There were once six kingdoms where each one worshipped an elder dragon—Ciagid's gift to humanity. While Ciagi's children, Hekai and Nytar, gave us the night and morning sky, their father gave us dragons—divine beings sent to offer their knowledge and guidance. But man being man, the kingdoms used them as weapons to conquer their fellow neighbours until only two remained. My great-grandfather's kingdom, and Erax's. We've always known the Hallowed kingdom would launch another attack, but I don't think my father believed it would happen in his lifetime. I guess he's paid the price for that now.

I fight back my tears and clutch the saddle tighter, focusing on our descent. The Hallowed kingdom spreads out until the ants scuttling between buildings turn into humans, and heads turn as Crysi swoops overhead, her massive shadow swallowing them whole, but they cheer for her.

They cheer for him. Crysi swoops above the wall and over the yellow straw fields towards the castle, which is all green stone for the most part, only the towers are made of gold this close. It's an imposing building with windows lined in an asymmetric pattern around the seven levels. There is a massive stone door, and a courtyard big enough to land a dragon on at the front. The courtyard is filled with five willow trees, the beautiful green branches blowing in the wind. Green roses and their vines have grown all up the left side of the castle, just touching the gold towers, and it strikes me that this isn't what I thought the castle would look like at all.

Cyrsí lands outside the palace gates. The dragonmeyer is already waiting for her, her green colour robes billowing behind her. I've never seen a dragonmeyer before. My father had no need for them, since we had no dragons to take care of and they hated dragons. Dragonmeyers still lived in our kingdom with their families, but they were not treated with honour. The dragonmeyer's job anyway — to train and look after the dragons. Something about their blood makes the dragons not eat them—or that's what I've read.

The dragonmeyer crosses an arm over her chest as a mark of respect for her king's return. Then I realise she's not welcoming her king home, but rather the beast she tends to. Cyrsí lowers herself to the ground in front of her, the earth shaking beneath her as she lands, and turns to the dragonmeyer. The hooded woman is chanting something to her, but I'm not able to hear what it is. It sounds like more dragon tongue.

Fortunately, there's a staircase beside the dragon this time and a platform leading up to it. I let go of the saddle and prepare to slide off onto it. However, Erax pulls me closer to his chest, and in the blink of an eye, he's sliding down the dragon's body, taking me with him. I have no choice but to hold on to Erax as my voice leaves me in a silent scream. His hand presses against the small of my back, and I can feel the heat from his palm radiating through my clothes.

As soon as we land, I pull away from him. The edge of his mouth twitches as though toying with a smirk. I glare at him and dust my hands down my body, ridding myself of his scent. It clings to me like a flame to dying embers.

Erax approaches one of the many servants gathered outside the palace doors. They line the steps, waiting patiently for their king's instruction. Some of them look genuinely happy to see his return. My stomach twists.

After standing for several minutes in silence, Erax gestures for me to follow. "Come. Let me show you your home."

Each of the servants bow to me as I walk by, following in their king's wake. I can only stare at them, confused why they look so…happy. None of my parents' servants ever looked quite like this. They were grateful for their employment, absolutely, but I don't think I ever saw them smile and even blush and giggle as they bowed and curtsied. I certainly never saw anyone do that at the convent. Even the sisters were all miserable, apart from Sister Gabriella. I think she enjoyed their misery too much. Everyone smiles and bows to their beloved king like he is a god walking among them and not a fucking monster. I barely see where I'm walking, as it becomes hard to breathe. I can't live like this. I can't be his wife…I can't…

Erax opens a wooden door, which has two handles and a dragon drawn into the oak across the door itself. The handles are gold, and they might as well be chains wrapped around my neck. "You're not my prisoner. You're my wife. If I wanted to keep you here, I'd shackle you to that bed and make sure you never leave it." He kicks the door open and flicks his chin towards it. "You're free to come and go as you please. Just watch out for the traps my grandfather laid around here. Some of them can be quite nasty, and I don't want that pretty face of yours getting hurt."

I lift my chin, refusing to show the effect his words have on me. He called me his wife. Not his betrothed or his intended, or even his future wife. His wife. And I hate the way my heart jumps when he does it.

"So, I'm safe to wander the palace halls?" I ask. "No one will try to hurt me?"

Something darkens in his gaze as he narrows his eyes into slits. "If anyone tries to hurt what belongs to me, it will be the last thing they ever do before my dragon eats them and burns their home to ashes." He takes in the blush threatening to creep over my cheeks, and his scowl deepens. "Don't get it twisted, Mist. All you are to me is an object, a piece of my property, and an attack to the king's property is an attack to the king himself. It's my duty to protect what belongs to me and you belong to me—whether you accept it or not. So, yes, you are free to walk my halls. Take a fucking stroll through the gardens for all I care. Just don't get yourself blown up because then I'll be really pissed, and you don't want to see that. Got it?"

I can only nod in silence, unable to reply to him verbally. His disdain for me has never been so clear. I really am just an object to Erax. I might become his wife on paper, but in reality, I'll only ever be an object. An object he doesn't even want to belong to him. As I look up into his eyes, it's clear to me that the king hates me as much as I hate him. This will never work.

I never wanted it to.

"I'll send for you when I'm ready," he growls, pulling away from me. "In the meantime, you will make use of the bathing room next door. You smell like a fucking stable."

I pull my lips back in a snarl, glaring at him as he approaches the door. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. Sister Gabriella must've forgotten to hose me down before you arrived. I'll be sure to pass on your feedback to her in due course."

He pauses for a moment, as if contemplating what I said, his hand clenching the door handle. He opens the door and I storm inside, waiting to see if he will dare to come into what must be my room. Blood pounds in my ears as I watch him, my rage increasing. I'm well aware of my smell. I just spent several hours on the back of a dragon, but more than that… I still have blood on my back from last night.

Erax closes the door behind him instead of coming in. I hear no key twisting in the lock, and I wonder if he was telling the truth about not treating me like a prisoner. But even then, it's just empty words at this point. A prisoner without chains is still a prisoner when there's no way out of the cage. I know because I've lived in one for years now. This one is simply prettier.

I cross the room into a bathing chamber where the sound of trickling water carries to my ears. It comes from a small bamboo fountain tucked beneath an impossibly high, sun-shaped window—one too high to reach never mind jump from. It's been so long since I've seen a bath like this. There are no puddles turning to ice on the dirty floor, no grime on the walls or the bathtub itself. The water is clean and fragrant, and the towels folded on a rack beside it are as white as clouds. I walk over and touch them cautiously, my fingers straying to the matching robe and slippers on a wooden shelf next to them. They feel like clouds too.

And they smell amazing—clean, and fresh.

I set the slippers down and focus on the enormous vanity mounted into the wall across from me. Countless products, soaps, essential oils, and perfumes decorate the shelves. I recognise some of the luxury brands from when I used to sneak into my mother's bathing chamber. One of those bars of soap alone is worth more than everything I own.

Is this a trap? I step farther into the room, locating the water closet. Does he think I'll fall for this? I can't help but feel like he's teasing me and that any second he'll burst out from the shadows laughing and have me taken to the dungeons.

Still, as I take in more of the gorgeous chamber, finally locating the water closet at the far end, I desperately want to enjoy this, even if it's just for a moment.

I lock the door and strip down to nothing, shoving every piece of garment in the clothing basket by the vanity. I then lower myself slowly into the bath, hissing through the brief pain as the water hits my back. In spite of this, the warm water is an instant relief to my tired, aching body, and whatever remains healing on my back is thankful for the reprieve, too.

I slide down, sighing as I rest my head against the tub, my chin skimming the water. For the first time in hours, I let myself think about Lochlan and our failed escape plan. It only failed because the king arrived early. Had he not, I'd be on a ship right now, headed to my mother's homeland. Instead, I'm trapped in his home, albeit in a very nice, and much needed, bath.

At any rate, there's no going back. I've got to focus on a plan going forward, and to do that, I need to familiarise myself with my new cage. That's the first step to finding a way out of it, and luckily for me, I've already done some of it.

It was years ago, but I remember poring over old maps of the Dragon Palace, and blueprint proposals that had been approved by the former king himself. My grandparents paid a large sum to have the documents smuggled over the border to them, but my father didn't seem that interested in them. I found the documents stuffed away in his study, pressed under an ancient tome that barely clung to its bindings. I made sure to memorise every inch of them, more curious about the dragon aspect than anything at the time. I had no idea how useful my curiosity would turn out to be. It might just be what saves me from this place.

From what I'd discovered at the time, the Hallowed Dragon Palace is mostly like every other palace, except for two major elements. The first is the fact it is a fortress, designed to be impregnable. The second is the dungeons, where they keep their prisoners, but more importantly, their dragons. The floorplan itself covered three large parchments and spanned for several miles beneath the city grounds. The tunnels used to transport livestock to the dragons carried all the way over to the city gates. If I'm to get out of here, those tunnels are my best bet. I need to find them to make sure they're still accessible.

I pull myself from the bath, reluctant to leave its warm embrace. I have no idea when I'll next get to bathe like this. But freedom is more important than comfort. Comfort can easily be given, whereas freedom can only be won. Or taken back from those who took it away from you in the first place. Either way, freedom isn't something so easily obtained most of the time.

Sometimes, you've got to fight for it.

And that's all I can do now, really...

Fight.

I dry slowly, savouring the way the towel practically caresses my body, then I place them in the wash basket before turning to face the vanity. This could be my last chance to experience something like this for a very long time. My reflection takes me by surprise, as it always does, but I try hard not to focus on it. I'm going to enjoy this moment of pampering. Goddess knows I deserve it.

I pull out several of the products and gently massage them into my skin despite that it almost feels silly to be using them. It's not like they'll erase the decade-long bags under my eyes, or the trauma buried deep within my bones. But they smell nice, and it's been so long since I've been able to smell nice like this.

I'm still worthy of things that make me feel pretty inside.

I spray my body with a small bottle of lavender mist and then twist my hair into a loose braid down my back. My eyes stray down to my reflection and tears well in my eyes, briefly distorting my vision.

I'm still worthy, period.

I step back into the bedroom and really look at it for a moment. It's a room fit for a queen and reminds me somewhat of my mother's private bedroom. Soft furnishings, floral wallpaper and thick fur rugs on the wood floor. At the other side stands another door that leads to a massive walk-in clothing chamber. It's almost the same size and length as the main room. I open the wardrobe, surprised to find a variety of items and not a single gold dress in sight. What surprises me the most is the leggings. I take a pair of them out, running my fingers over the soft, black material. Fur lines the inside of them, yet they're completely weightless in my hand. My parents would never let me wear something like this. Princesses were only ever allowed to walk around in pretty dresses and ball gowns. My mother would often reprimand me when I trudged into the house with mud on my skirts from playing in the gardens. I always hated wearing those stupid dresses. Now I'd give anything to hold one of them again and smell her scent. To even just hear her shouting at me to act more like a princess and not a stable hand.

A matching tunic hangs beside the leggings. I pull both items on and secure the tunic with a rose gold belt found in one of the many accessories hanging inside another wardrobe. Each section of the clothing chamber is divided by occasion—gowns for formal events, outdoor garments for hunting and riding, and everyday wear, which is where I found the leggings and tunic. A final wardrobe stands alone by the window, its doors gilded in intricate details. It's empty when I open it, but the gold railings and level of detail on the outside tell me that it must be important. Royal attire, maybe.

Pity I won't find out. I don't plan on sticking around for that long.

I slide on a pair of brown boots and fasten the laces from my foot all the way to my lower thigh. They're just as light as the leggings and tunic, and equally comfortable. The fashion here is so different from when my parents had ruled. Their taste was more about how many jewels you could hold on to your body and buttons made of diamonds or jewels. So many buttons. I remember feeling like a bag of coins at formal events, my clothes jingling when I walked.

The thing I hated most was the small but sharply cut gems the servants would weave painfully into my hair. It had all felt uncomfortable and unnecessary to me, but to my parents, it was all about tradition. And they really cared about upholding traditions, especially the royal ones.

My steps are soundless as I walk to the door. I can do this. I am not a weak princess, born to be captured and bred for what children I can have with him. I want to be free, and I have to give myself every chance.

Or I die.

If not the death of my body, but my soul will die if I'm forced to be his wife. My handshakes as I turn the handle and the door just opens to an empty corridor. Sounds echo from the south of a vast corridor, filled with steel knight statues and framed paintings that look old—and priceless. But nothing alive is in the corridor. I can barely believe I'm getting a moment of good luck before I run straight to the servant stairs I spot at the end of the corridor and slip inside. The room has three doors and a hatch on the floor, just like I suspected it might do. The blueprints I saw said there were escape hatches into the tunnels in every servant quarter because they wanted their servants to have a chance to escape if war came. My father laughed when he was told about this and claimed it was a weakness to want the weak to escape.

He was wrong for that. I'm now the weak he once laughed at needing an escape and I just know he would be happy I am getting a chance at all. He'd tell me to run. The hatch is heavy, and my hands slip several times as I lug it open until it slams on the floor, and I brush my hands on my tunic. Heat blows into my face when I look down and see nothing but a staircase leading into something hot and glowing red at the bottom. I don't give myself a second to talk myself out of this mad plan before I climb down the warm wooden stairs and drop down onto a rough stone pathway—through a lava pit. Lava pours in rivers on either side of the path and spits embers occasionally. I trust in the gods, in the bit of luck they have already given me, before I start walking fast down the pathway. The path empties out into a stone tiled dome, and there are four tunnel entrances to choose from.

Crap, which one?

I rub my arms as I take them in, listening for any clue of which way I should go or even just a little sunlight, but there is nothing but darkness in each one. Left. I'm going to take the far left one. I don't know why I choose it but every second I pause is a second closer to the king finding I'm missing and figuring out where I am. I take one step into the tunnel, only for a gate to suddenly begin to slam down behind me. Thick hands wrap around my waist, yanking me out of the tunnel just as the gate slams down in front of me and lava floods the tunnel, brushing against the gate where I was just standing.

Breathless, I turn and come face to face with a furious Erax. "Do you want to burn to death, Mist?" He moves so close, our lips inches away. His eyes flicker over my face, down to my lips, just for a second. Something twists in the depths of his eyes. Lava pours closer to us, but neither one of us moves out of its way. "This place is full of traps designed to kill you. None of these tunnels lead out. There is a secret door, you utter fool."

"I'd rather be a brave fool trying to escape you, then you're stupid and quiet wife!" I snarl right back at him.

I step away, but he grips my wrist, tugging me against his body. My heart races as he runs his hand through my hair and shakes his head. "I don't want you to be silent and stupid, Mist. Just my queen, like our kingdom's need. I don't want you either, but I will not let you go."

Liar. "You won't get me."

He smirks and lets me go, walking away from me. "We will see. Stop trying to disappear like mist. I'll see you anywhere."