How the Fae King did not sense the shifter within me, I do not know.
“Look at him,” the King says to one of his guards. “What kind of idiot do you need to be to be running across the lands without clothing?”
I kneel. Not by choice, but because his influence forces me to my knees and I am too disoriented to fight back.
“What is your name?” the King asks.
“Roarke,” I answer.
With a few words in Gaelic, the King uses his air charms to steal my breath, and I clutch at my throat. My own magic fights to escape, but I force my mind to blank—as much as I can—so my thoughts cannot betray me.
“You are a magic bearer,” the King says as he releases the charm and I wheeze.
Three guards advance on me, and as their fists rain down over my back and torso, the King chuckles. “How delicious. Listen carefully, Roarke. This realm is mine, and those with magic enjoy many privileges. Provided you transfer some of that magic every single day into the Ley lines. Do that, and you will be rewarded. Refuse, and you will spend your life toiling in manual labor, and your pain will feed me and my people.”
After calming Javer and Brall, my beast has awoken, and he roars in protest at being forced to hide for so very long. I tighten the chains I keep wrapped around him. I haven’t let him out since the Fae magic trapped us here. Dragon shifters—any shifters, really—carry so much magic within us that if the King knew, he would find a way to imprison me and torture me for an eternity.
But every time I’m close to Aurelia, my dragon fights even harder to escape. He knows she belongs to us. She’s our mate. White hot flames lick along my spine, and I run from the square. I don’t stop until I’m deep into the tall trees that surround this place. Here, no one will see me. Or the fire I need to release before my dragon takes over.
Closing my eyes, I clench my fists and take a deep breath. As I release it, a stream of fire hits the mossy undergrowth. It rained two nights ago, and the flames don’t catch, only fizzle out in the damp foliage.
“You willnottake control,” I manage as the monster inside me fights to be freed. “If I let you out, we both die.”
The beast whines, but deep down, I know he understands. And now, some of his frustration released, I can go back to the market. Today,Iwill purchase one of Aurelia’s blankets. And if she lets me, perhaps I’ll finally be able to kiss her.
Chapter Two
Aurelia
The crowds part as the King and the Prince walk through the market, followed by four Fae guards. They are all beautiful in an odd sort of way. Blond, nearly white hair, perfect skin. But I can see through the facade. Their eyes, so pale they are almost silver, give them away.
Disdain. Disgust. A desperate need for power. That is what I see. They feed off of the suffering of others, and if they are in the wrong mood, they purposely torment the outcasts, threatening us with imprisonment or death.
Those of us with useful skills can often escape scrutiny. But not always.
“What do you have for me today?” the King asks as he and his entourage stop in front of my tent.
“My liege,” I say with a little curtsey. “The finest yearling wool cloak, hand-dyed and tightly woven.” Spreading the dark blue garment over my table, I wait for the King and the Prince to examine it.
Neither look pleased, so I duck down and withdraw the most perfect, beautiful garments I have ever crafted.
“I also have these.” The silk tunics have taken me over a year. So many late nights, spinning and weaving until my fingers were raw and almost bleeding. One is embellished with dark red accents, and the other, a rich green. “I-I made one for each of you.”
Fear churns in my belly, and the Prince inhales deeply. “What is your name, spinner?”
“Aurelia, my liege.” My voice falters, and I lower my gaze.
“These are passable, Lia,” the Prince says, his tone full of disdain.
Passable? They are my best work!
“Watch yourself,” the King says sharply, and I gasp. It has long been rumored that the Fae can read our thoughts and our deepest desires, but until now, I did not believe such things. “We will take them, spinner. The cloak as well.”
As they head for the next booth—without paying, of course—I stagger back and sink to my knees. I want to vomit, but I cannot let them see how frightened I am. It would only antagonize them further.
Roarke rushes over to me, ducking into the back of my tent and helping me to my feet. “Breathe, darling,” he whispers in my ear.
“You cannot be here.” I struggle from his hold, but I am too unsteady, and I lean into him, relishing the strong muscles, how warm he is, and his protective embrace. “They will see.”
