The king considers this, then nods. "Agreed. But she must be married within the month. We can't risk the dragon coming for her."
The dragon.
My dragon.
Is he even alive? I saw him fall, saw the blood pooling beneath him, draining from his neck. If he's alive, he's not coming for me. He can't. And even if he could...
Would I want him to?
He kidnapped me. Kept me asleep for a century. Stole my life.
But he also kept me safe. Loved me. Claimed me. Was gentle with me.
And now I'm here, being sold off to a prince who looks at me like I'm a burden he's willing to bear for the right price.
The pain in my stomach intensifies, and I double over, gasping.
"Is she ill?" the king asks, frowning.
"She's weak," Benedict says dismissively. "A century of sleep will do that. She'll recover."
Will I?
I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.
I black out.
When I come to, I'm in a bed. It's soft, but not as soft as the one my dragon gave me. The sheets are a dark green silk, but they feel wrong against my skin. Too smooth. Too cold.
I'm naked.
Panic flares, and I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate. I'm too weak, too disoriented.
And then I see him.
Prince Benedict. Lying naked beside me, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim light. He's awake, watching me with a smug expression.
"Good," he says. "You're awake. We need to get started on those heirs."
My stomach churns. "What... what did you do?"
"What do you think I did?" He smirks. "You were asleep. I took advantage of what is owed to me. You owe me for saving you from that... monster." He shivers dramatically. "He was truly repulsive. I'd say you owe me quite largely."
He raped me. While I was unconscious, he raped me.
Rage floods through me, hot and sharp, but I'm too weak to act on it. I try to get up, but the world tilts, and I fall back against the pillows.
Benedict’s hand is on my thigh, and I want to break every one of his fingers.
"We should begin tonight," he says, his voice carrying that particular blend of entitlement and false courtesy that only royalty can perfect. "Your cousin promised me eight heirs. Eight sons, preferably, though I suppose daughters will have to do if that's all your body can manage."
I stare at the tapestry on the opposite wall. Some pastoral scene of shepherds and sheep that's supposed to be calming, I imagine. My face remains perfectly still.
"Adelaide?" The prince's fingers tighten on my leg. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you." My voice comes out flat, emotionless. Good. Let him think the century has hollowed me out, made me pliant. Let him think I'm grateful.
He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. Nothing about him reaches anywhere meaningful. "Good. I know this must be overwhelming for you. One hundred years is a long time. But you're safe now. Free."
