I gripped the fabric of my skirt, choosing silence while he refilled his cup and drank deeply. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his manners slipping the more agitated he grew.
“The world changed the moment those damn trees took root,” he growled. “Suddenly, the people servedtheminstead of their rightful rulers. Even the kings and queens were reduced to glorified gardeners, bound to serve and guard the oh-so-holy arbors.” His eyes gleamed with resentment, years of bitterness boiling to the surface.
I frowned, heart thudding. “But the goddess gifted the sacredtrees so the people and lands would flourish. They were meant to be a blessing.” It was a belief I’d clung to for as long as I could remember, even when the Puritans railed against magic and condemned the goddess’s name. Deep down, I’d always thought the trees were a gift.
Alaric’s once-heated gaze softened to something worse—pity. The kind reserved for children who still believe in fairy tales.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low and patronizing, “where do you suppose a god or goddess gets their power?”
I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to throw my goblet at his smug face. “Worship,” I grated. Reluctantly adding, “And…sacrifice.” The word tasted bitter. I couldn’t help wondering how much of a boost Hathor got from my sacrificed soul.
“Correct.” Alaric’s smile was thin, triumphant. “Now, what do you suppose Hathor gained by gifting mortals with those magical trees?”
“You mean…” My stomach turned. “In exchange for the sacred arbors, she gained worshipers.”
“Exactly. And as with all gods, no gift comes without a price. Magic always demands something in return.” He gestured broadly to the broken castle, the barren lands beyond. “Look what it did to Pyrrhus.”
The words pierced deeper than I wanted to admit. My gaze followed his hand to the shattered stones, the lifeless earth.
“The sacred tree is why Pyrrhus was attacked,” Alaric pressed, sensing my hesitation. “Its power attracted The Dark One, and we were nerfs to the slaughter. The people grew fat and spoiled because of Hathor’s so-called gift. I’d hoped, with it gone, that we would return to the old ways. Instead, the civilians who survived fled to other kingdoms still shackled to their arbors.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, certainty slipping like sandthrough my fingers. Was I wrong to have idolized the sacred arbors for so long? “I’m…sorry,” I whispered. “I had no idea.”
Silence pressed heavy between us. Doubt gnawing at me, I picked at the scraps on my plate—until his voice shattered the quiet.
“Enough of that,” he boomed. “We speak of dark topics when this is supposed to be a celebration.”
The change of pace was more than welcome. “Quite right.” I straightened in my seat, setting my fork next to my plate.
Alaric rose from his chair and thrust his hand beneath my nose. “Dance with me.”
I peered up at him, expecting to see a teasing smile. Brow furrowed, lips tipped down, he stared back.
Oh dear. He was serious? I leaned away as if he’d offered me poison nightshade. “One, I can’t dance. And two, there’s no music.”
His hand didn’t waver. “It’s been hundreds of years since I’ve danced with a beautiful woman.”
My cheeks warmed. I kept forgetting that only yesterday this man had been a dragon. “They’re your toes. Who am I to refuse to step on them?”
Alaric guided me to a vacant spot in the room.
“One moment,” he said before striding to the sideboard. Alaric cranked the handle on the side of a box, and the clatter of something mechanical hit my ears.
As he turned to face me, music played. Metallic tines strummed a variety of strings, the sound as if an ensemble of tiny musicians sat beside us.
I gaped at the dragon king. “That’s incredible.”
“Youare incredible,” he said, sweeping me into his arms. And in that moment, it seemed I lived in a fairy tale. I, the sad little orphan turned slave. The girl who excelled at cleaning bedpans.
Alaric spun me around the room, and the silken length of myexquisite skirt caressed my legs. My perfectly coiffed hair gleamed beneath the candlelight—not a frizzy coil in sight. I twirled in the arms of an adoring king. Gorgeous gems encircled my throat. Instead of stale bread and watery stew, an unbelievable meal nestled in my belly. In that dazzling moment, I had all the things I’d dared to dream of.
Except freedom.
The dress I wore wasn’t mine, nor of my own choosing. The feast I’d indulged in was due to someone else’s hard work and success. The man who held me tight in his arms...
Wasn’t the one I desired.
Reality crashed in like cold water. I felt the slow, possessive slide of Alaric’s hand along my hip. The diminishing space between us. The unwanted press of his erection against my stomach. My gut knotted, battling with the bit of pheasant I’d managed to eat.
