6. Chapter Six

"Mother is asking for you."

Damien's smug smile, and the fact he felt the need to be Mother's errand boy were enough to piss me off.

I slid my baby blue tie around my neck, adjusting it in the mirror, smiling at the image stuck in my brain. The one of Amara's wide blue eyes, the throbbing pulse in her neck, and her nerves.

I would have eaten them up if I could.

Every bit of her.

"Did you hear me?"

My gaze shifted toward my brother in the mirror. He stood beside what was my closed bedroom door and leaned against the doorjamb. His hair was slicked back as if someone plucked it out of the 1920s. "I haven't lost my hearing. I'm more curious as to why you're telling me this. I'm not ready. She can wait."

Damien shrugged his big shoulders. "I figured you would want to know that she's on a rampage this afternoon. She's counting the amount of girls that have dyed their hair blonde for the event."

"I'm sure she'll bring it up. I don't need a messenger boy to tell me."

As long as she stayed away from one blonde, I didn't care about her agenda for the night.

Damien sighed loudly, realizing his attempt to get under my skin was going unnoticed. "So are you going to tell me why you've been sneaking around on the bridge?"

I tightened my tie, making sure it was straight, before turning to face him. "Why are you spying on me? Do you have nothing else to do? It's embarrassing."

Damien smiled. "Just keeping my big brother in line."

"How about you keep yourself in line and find something to do? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Damien walked out of my doorway and glanced over his shoulder. "Let's hope you find a mate soon. I'd hate to have to take the throne away from the firstborn."

I tossed him the middle finger, knowing good and damn well he would do it in a heartbeat. At least he was honest with his desire to be king. I'd hate to have a liar and a snake for a brother.

The vibrations of the horns blown from the front steps of the castle rattled the stained-glass windows in my room. A bustle of voices filtered up the staircase.

My dragon stirred deep inside of me. He'd been ready to see her since we left her room. He stayed hidden most of the time, but he seemed eager to see her more so than anyone else did.

I'd been told to make a grand entrance from my mother, but I didn't want any extra eyes on me before I found her. I stepped into the hallway, taking the entrance meant for the castle employees, and walked down to the kitchen.

All the hired help was bustling around, getting appetizers and wine ready. Glendora caught my eye from the liquor cabinet. "Your Momma is gonna kill you," she said. "Where is your grand entrance?"

"What doesn't kill her will make her stronger."

She was laughing when I pushed open the kitchen door and walked into the midst of the people. The number of beings in the main lobby formed a migraine at the base of my skull.

Did they expect me to speak to all of these females?

I didn't expect to stay there any longer than it took to find Amara. We had things to talk about, and my dragon was itching to get her alone.

I'd made it to the ballroom when my mother spotted me. With her lips pressed tightly together, and her eyes narrowed in on me, I knew I wouldn't make it far before she sent someone after me.

Sighing, I pushed my way through the hundreds of women waiting to meet me. My mother stood when I walked up the steps toward the throne meant for The Dragon Prince. "About time," she gritted through her teeth.

The wrinkles in her forehead deepened the harder she glared. "You're wrinkling," I said, pointing toward her head.

She hissed under her breath, while I sat on the other side of Dad, and looked out at the sea of women. It would have been any man's wet dream. To have so many women at their feet.

Dragon shifters were different.

If they wanted to be happy, they had to make sure their dragon matched with the female. My dragon was pissed at the fact that Amara wasn't here. He stirred around so much irritation that I had a hard time keeping myself calm. His emotions could easily overpower my own if I didn't keep him happy.

I could pick her scent out from miles away, and it wasn"t in this castle.

Biting my lower lip, my mother stood and cleared her throat. "We'll be introducing ourselves to Dorran. If everyone will form a single file line, we'll start the introductions."

Dear God...

One after the other. The smell of freshly dyed hair hung heavily in the room, and the number of blondes made me laugh. It was a sea of women, all more eager than the last to become part of the royal family.

It took more than two hours for the line to dwindle. That's when I saw Amara's friend walk up and curtsy in front of me.

Sitting forward, I braced my elbow on my knee and glared down at her as she found my shoes very interesting. "Where is she?" I asked under my breath.

She looked up. "Sick."

Sick?She'd seemed fine before. Was it an excuse to get out of coming? She stood, and hurried out of the line, leaving me a fuming mess.

My mother clapped her hands loudly. "Let the festivities begin. There will be dancing and mingling."

An orchestra started in the far corner of the ballroom, playing music not suited for a ball, but more for a club. My mother was all over the place. Stepping down, I made a beeline for the hallway.

I couldn't be pulled around the dance floor without knowing if she was okay. The laughter and the overabundance of smells drifted away as I made it to the bridge. Only a few guards stood watch, but none of them asked any questions.

The moon was bright and glowing, luring me forward to her room. The closer I got the hotter my skin grew.

Slipping my fingers under the window, I lifted it and crawled inside. The anger inside of me dwindled at the sight of her. She wore the blue dress meant for the ball, her body limp over her mattress, looking small and frail.

"Amara."

She sat straight up, tear streaks marked her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy from crying. "This isn't the ball, Little Mouse."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and smoothed her palms down her dress. "I—I've been sick," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Please don't tell the king—,"

Stalking around to where she sat on the bed, I pressed the back of my palm against her forehead and bent down in front of her. "You've been throwing up?"

She wiped at her mouth again. "Yes."

My gaze moved around the room to a pair of glass slippers sitting on a corner chair, and a glass on her nightstand. "Do you need to see the doctor?"

She shook her head. "No. I think it's a little bug."

I wasn't buying it. "So, no one else in your house has it? Your mother was able to attend the ball?"

"Stepmother and my stepsisters."

"Well," I said, placing her glass slippers on the bed beside her, I dragged the chair next to her bed and propped my feet beside her. "We'll just make the most out of this then. Warn me if you need to puke, and I'll grab the trash can."

Amara's mouth opened in shock. "Won't they miss you at a ball meant to find your mate?"

"They'll get over it, I'm sure."

Amara grabbed her stomach and leaned back against her pillow. Leaning forward, I placed my palm on her knee. She stared at the movement, her breathing shallow and heavy. "Are you okay?"

"Umm-hmm," she moaned and bent forward.

Lifting her into my arms, I carried her out of her room and toward the nearest bathroom.

She curled over and spewed her guts out.

"What did you eat today?" I asked, irritated that she felt so sick and I couldn't fix it.

She sat back. "Not much. I was busy trying to finish my dress. I had a cup of tea this evening. Some toast this morning."

I blinked at her several times. "That's all you ate today?"

She nodded.

I huffed, and carefully lifted her into my arms. "That's unacceptable, Amara. You have to eat."

She stared up at me with confused eyes as I walked her back to her room and sat her on her bed. My gaze went to the tea on her nightstand. I picked up the cup and twirled the small amount of liquid around. "Something was put in this."

Amara glared up at me. "What do you mean?"

"Who gave it to you?"

"My stepsister—," she trailed off, her eyes moving toward the shoes sitting on her bed.

My anger flared. My fingertips tightened around the cup until it broke into shards in my palm. Amara yelped.

"Why would she do this to you?"

Amara pushed her hair back from her forehead. "She wanted to wear my shoes, and I said no. They were my mother's."

"Are they mean to you?"

A blush traveled along her face, but she didn't answer. I grabbed one of the shoes in my palm. The glass shimmered in the moonlight from the window and glistened appealingly.

Slowly bending down to my knees, I slipped the slipper onto her foot, and her gaze settled on mine. My fingertips cradled her leg causing goosebumps to span up her body, and her mouth to open.

"These are beautiful—,"

Irritated voices came from downstairs and then the door slammed loudly. "The audacity of Dorran not to show up. I spent so much time on my hair and makeup. I can't believe they're rescheduling."

I straightened to my full height, to go downstairs and wrap my fingers around the little twat"s neck that put something into her drink.

"No," she begged, jumping out of the bed and grabbing my forearm. "You can't say anything to them. It will make it worse."

The fear on her face floored me.

Leaning down, I watched her cower away, and it all hit me.

"They are cruel to you?" I asked in a whisper.

Amara swallowed, her eyes lowering to the floor, but I lifted her chin, demanding she look at me. "Why are they cruel to you?"

"I—,"

The sound of footsteps drew near, and my fingers curled into tight fists. "Tell me," I insisted. "All because of your shoes?" I asked, grabbing one of the glass slippers on her bed. "Or is it always like this? Tell me."

Her gaze shifted toward the slither of light beneath her door. "There have been times she locked me in my room for a week, forcing me to miss school and activities because she didn't like the way I cleaned the house at the age of ten. My father's will states that I have to stay here because of my inability to stay alone. She hates me for it. Please—,"

Inability to stay alone? What in the hell did that mean?

"Please leave," she begged.

Her small body began to quiver.

The footsteps drew nearer.

"Tell me. Are they always like this?" I asked again, my voice dropping even lower, my dragon growing angry.

"Always. They've always been this way."

The floorboard outside of her door creaked, and with every ounce of my self-control, I slipped from the room like a ghost in the night.

I made it to the bridge before I realized I held her shoe in my hand, and I had been moments away from breaking that door and sending her family flying across the room.

Before I could stop it, my wings spread wide, and I took flight.

My dragon wouldn't let this go. I wouldn't let this go. I would save Amara from that hellhole if it was the last thing I did.