The sun streams through the Prince’s window, and still, I remain bound. He slumbers in the bed, close enough I can hear his snores.
I caught fragments of sleep between the hours of agony, but each time, I jerked awake to feel his hands on me. Cupping my cheek, kissing away my tears.
A day has passed, I think. Or most of one, since he ordered me tied here.
Several times, I have dreamed of a massive dragon. Four of them, actually. One, I recognize. I know he is mine, even if the Prince has done his best to force me to forget him. His name…why can I not remember his name?
I must make some sound, because the Prince opens his eyes and smiles at me. I hate that smile. Hate him. Yet, a piece of me longs for him and I do not know why. “You are awake, my sweet Lia,” the Prince says, rising and moving towards me. He is naked, and I blink hard as his body seems to fuzz in and out of focus.
When he reaches my side, he kisses my cheek, then whispers a few words that cause the ropes and the gag to fall away.
I fall as well. My limbs are numb; I am too weak to move, too weak to do anything but cry out as my broken fingers send shocks of pain up my left arm. “Now, now, Lia. Is that any way to greet your future husband?”
My mouth is so dry, I cannot speak, but I gaze up at him with all the hatred I can muster. His pale, spindly arms and legs seem so different when he is clothed. Bulkier. Stronger. His nose has changed as well. Sharp and angled, almost hooked. His chin is weak and even his hair is not the same. No longer thick and tumbling over his shoulders, it resembles poorly spun thread, and there is a greasy shine to it.
“The Fae have the power to make themselves look beautiful at all times,” my grandmother says as she sits across from me at our small table. “You must always try to see past their disguises to the beings inside.”
I blink, hard, and the Prince’s visage changes back to the handsome—if not vile—man I have seen for the past three—or is it for now?—days. But when I repeat the motion, his mask falls away, revealing the ugliness both inside and out.
Am I truly resisting him? If so…how?
He lifts me in his arms and sets me on the bed. “You have completed the punishment for failing to spin the straw into gold. There is still the matter of your errant thoughts, and your deception. Hiding the dragon from me will earn you much pain. But I think we will delay that for a time. Perhaps until after we are married.”
That damnable cup of nectar presses to my lips, and I shake my head. “Not thirsty,” I manage, even though I am certain I cannot go much longer without water.
“Yes. You are.” He presses his hand over my heart. “You are very thirsty, Lia. You are desperate for what I will give you.”
The sensation builds until it feels like he is ripping a piece of my mind from my head and the thought ofnotdrinking tears me apart, but still manage a weak “no.”
“She dares refuse me?”
His words are as clear to me as if he spoke them aloud, but I know he did not because his lips are pressed into a thin line.
“What have you done with him?” I search my mind for my dragon’s name. He is my mate. He loves me. He told me there was something inside me I needed to find. “Where is Roarke?”
My triumph at defeating the Prince’s charms is short-lived. He laughs, throwing his head back in a full-body chortle that makes my blood run cold.
“You were, perhaps, hoping to be rescued, Lia?” he asks as he banishes the cup with a wave of his hand. “I think not. Your only hope, the pitiful creature youthinkyou love, is completely under our control, and I believe you need to see just what that means.”
Yes. Bring me to Roarke. Let me see him.
The Prince throws me over his shoulder and carries me down so many flights of stairs, by the time we reach the bottom, I want to vomit from the incessant pounding in my head. A heavy stone door scrapes open, and I hear the King’s voice.
“Take another piece.”
A piece? Of what?
I do not have to wait long for the Prince to set me on my feet so I can see my worst nightmares come to life.
Blood covers the floor. Spatters, long streaks, and a pool directly under my mate’s ravaged body. One of the King’s men, a large Fae with pointed ears and a scar running down the side of his face, takes a silver blade and slides it along Roarke’s upper thigh. A thin layer of skin peels off as I slap my hand over my mouth in horror. An inhuman wail escapes his throat, hoarse and weak, and he jerks against the chains holding him.
A burst of strength infuses my limbs, and I spring for my dragon, slipping on the blood, but managing to wrap my arms around his waist. “Roarke,” I whisper in his ear. “Fight this. Please. Let your dragon destroy them.”
Another guard wrenches me away from him, and something buried deep inside me breaks free. Roarke meets my gaze, and his bloodshot eyes widen. “Aurelia,” he whispers. His voice fades away, or shifts somehow, and then he’s in my head.“Hide your power from them. Now!”
His head drops and his entire body sags in his chains as I’m thrust back towards the Prince, and I shutter my thoughts, putting a lid on my rage and doing my best to appear completely and totally broken.
It is not difficult. Sobs tear from my throat, as the Prince grips my arms so tightly, he will certainly leave bruises. The King tips my head up, and I cry harder, hoping my tears obscure the hatred in my eyes.
