“And you believe that will keep you safe?”
“I believe that will keep me alive.” Camilla lifted her chin and stared him down. Despite her short hair and risque past, she looked like everything a Queen should.
Loren opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again when a massive form swept up from the outer wall. Wind rushed by as the dragon shot into the sky mere feet from them, a blast of fire crackling through the air. He ducked low and, given some sense, Camilla did the same with a high-pitched gasp that almost curdled into a scream.
“Man the ballistae!” a soldier shouted, and a dozen moved around them to get into position. “Fire at will!”
The violet dragon dove back down, raining fire from above on the battlements in front of Loren and Camilla. His heart thundered from the dump of adrenaline, and he watched in furious wonder as his soldiers went up in flames.
“Shoot the fucker down!” Loren cried over the sounds of his men screaming, standing back up and pointing to the beast as though no one else could see the thing.
A massive ballista flew through the air, missing the dragon by a mere breath as it arched backwards and flipped right-side up to roar back down the length of the wall—straight towards Loren.
“Protect His Majesty!” The command came from somewhere behind him, yet he did not flinch as he glared at the wild beast. Whether the creature knew of his importance or not, it did not matter: he was alive, and he was considered an enemy. Therefore, he would be a direct target.
Well, let it come.
Behind Loren, Camilla screamed, and he heard her slip as she took off running towards the tower where the staircase to safety lay. In front of him, inhaling deep, the dragon prepared to breathe its fire again, only to choke off its plan in favor of rolling out of the way of yet another ballista as it flew by.
“Net!” Loren called.
The dragon righted itself and hurtled back toward him and the other soldiers not yet dead by its fire. No sooner did it pass the tower ahead of Loren than a silver net was shot out over it, heavy weights on its outer circumference buckling the beast’s wings. It wavered, sinking lower than it no doubt desired, then slammed belly-first into the battlements a stone’s throw from Loren’s boots.
Stone crumbled down from both sides of the wall as the dragon shrieked in protest to the sudden entrapment. The strong scent of sulfur came before a feeble blast of fire that Lorenside-stepped with ease. With the weight of the metal net on its face, turning to cast its vitriol at him was no easy feat.
Soldiers hurried in as the dragon floundered, trying to find its footing on the collapsing wall with pikes and spears ready. As one such vampire moved around Loren, he stepped forward and took hold of the pike in the soldier’s hand. He relinquished it only at the acknowledgement of his King.
A beastly roar echoed from the thing as the first pike was driven under the violet scales. The dragon twisted, trying to swing its barbed tail at the attacker and snapping its jaws at anyone who came too close. Still, another huge spear was rammed into the softer underbelly of the creature—followed by another and another. Again and again, the dragon screamed from the onslaught, its blood soaking the stones beneath it as it tried to stretch its wings beneath the heavy net to no avail.
Loren stepped in after watching the beast writhe, waiting for the opportune moment. When at last the dragon stretched its head high, Loren struck, driving the sharp end of the pike into its head from its soft palate.
Blood rained down on Loren as the dragon ceased its thrashing. Only then did he rip the pike back out and toss it to the ground. The thrill of killing a dragon had his hands shaking while he turned away from the violet corpse of what was, mere moments before, a true threat to all their survival.
Across the battlefield, cries of dismay echoed from the dragons that flew over the armies. Did they know of this dragon’s death? Could they feel it? The sounds they made—those he knew to be from creatures on the brink of death—had Loren wondering just how deep their connections went.
But Loren did not have time to ponder it. He nodded to the soldiers around him before wiping his face on his sleeve and finding Camilla in the spiraling stairwell that led down from thewall. Her eyes widened at the sight of him before he once again grabbed her arm and hauled her down the rest of the steps.
“Is it dead?” she asked as they neared the bottom. Her voice quavered, as it should, yet she shed no tears for the creature.
“Killed it myself,” he confirmed, exiting the tower at the ground level. “But there will be more, and we must be prepared.”
Camilla picked up her skirts to jog alongside him in an attempt to keep up through the drifts of snow inside the Hub. “Where are we going?”
“To the tower, of course.” Loren eyed the massive building at the center of the walls. “It is the safest place to keep you and where my new armor awaits.”
To her credit, Camilla said nothing against his plan. She merely followed like an obedient cur into the tower, where he dragged her along as he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. After all, despite all his talk about making her his Queen in the event of Ariadne’s death, her first and foremost reason for being present at the Hub was to act as bait. Though she had more than likely sussed that out, it was still a viable way to ensure Ariadne’s cooperation once he took control of her once more.
Inside his old office, where General Wintre now kept his effects, Loren found his own equipment prepared for him. He shoved Camilla into the chair behind the desk with a firm command for her to stay there and turned to where his full set of golden dragon-scale armor glittered in the corner of the room nearest the dying fire alongside a new sword with a hilt of gold and inlaid with rubies. A crimson cape hung from the back of the breastplate, and a gold helm rested on its rack with a crown inlaid around its circumference. More jewels—diamonds, rubies, and sapphires—encircled it amongst curls of filigree.
Loren grinned as he pulled his bloodied shirt off his back, wiping down his face with the few dry lengths of cloth beforetossing it into the hearth. He picked up a fresh shirt from where it lay folded beside the armor and slipped it on before turning to his new ensemble.
Nowthiswas the armor of a King.
If there was one thing about having a bondheart that Ariadne hated, it was the shared pain. Even after Whelan was whisked away by Anthoria, the phantom injury in her spine continued to haunt her as she tried to find someone—anyone—she recognized in the confusion of battle. It reminded her far too much of her time hanging from chains in the dungeons ofAuhla.
But nothing compared to the echoes of death that came from the death of a bondheart linked to everyone.
Ariadne could never forget the agony of Rhun’s death that took Gavrhil during the ambush in Laeton. It’d been the first time she experienced such horrific pain that she questioned whether or not she still lived. Unfortunately, she knew that by going into battle alongside dhemons and dragons who had strong vinculums, she would likely feel it again.
