“Call upon Lady Bethany!” I scream.
Several guards grab me by the arms as more race down the staircase, following our protocol. They drag me across thefloor back to the farthest wall near my bed, my body contorting on its own as my clawed hand slips into my pocket.
Right to where that handkerchief is.
He’s getting stronger. Perhaps it's inevitable.
He pulls that stained handkerchief out, my arm shaking as I brace against him like the strongest swell of the ocean. Every movement is jerky, like he rewires my entire body just to pull the fabric to my nose. I snap my head away, forcing myself to remain still as my guards clamp the shackles around my ankles, then my wrists. My hand contorts again. This time, shifting back to my own.
He’s no match for dragonfused shackles.
I feel him hissing in the corners of my mind. Feel how he slithers away, surrendering control. I sag back against the wall into the comforts of the chains. My breath is quick and my eyes flutter closed.
Almost out of breath, I hear Lady Bethany’s voice across the room. “My King?”
Drained beyond shaking my head with my eyes closed, I murmur, “It was here, Lady Bethany.”
There’s a moment of quiet before scattered footfalls enter the room. A warm hand cups my cheek. Followed by someone forcing my eyelid open. Lady Bethany is crouching in front of me, checking my eyes. Assessing.
Most of my guards leave the room and shut the bedroom door, while Devin stands back with other soldiers.
“It was in the mirror, this time. And…” I suck in a breath and look down at my bloody hand. “It spread to my hand.”
Lady Bethany drops her gaze to the rest of my body. “No scales, though?” When I shake my head, she prompts more. “No tail, horns, wings, nothing?”
“No. The reflection held more transformations than my body did.”
“He’s testing you, Cyrus. Checking for weak points where he might be able to break through—” she pauses. Then gingerly picks the handkerchief on my abdomen up by the corner, squinting at it. “What is this?”
“I can smell them. All the women you’ve brought to me for reaping.”The memory of his threat rolls over me with a chill.
“My handkerchief I used for Lyra’s bloody nose earlier tonight. He said he could smell them.”
She stands slowly, pocketing the handkerchief with knitted eyebrows.When she turns her attention back to me, her expression is deadly serious. “I can give you a temporary concoction so he can’t venture outside your mind. But it’s up to you to overpower and keep him there.”
“Whatever,” I rasp. “Whatever it takes to keep him away.”
Yet that lingering doubt comes to the forefront of my mind.
But what if you can’t?
Twenty-One
- LYRA -
What in the heavens would Marcella want to speak with me for? And to sneak out after the dinner bell?We’ve been told since day one we are to stay in our rooms until daybreak. And I’m not one for breaking rules.
Rather than bathing and settling into my nightwear, I pace barefoot about my room in my gown. Tossing glances out the window as I wait for the moon to climb higher into the sky.
Eventually I sit on the bench seat beneath the window. Absentmindedly tracing a finger against the window as I fight against exhaustion and the haunting memories of today’s trial.
Something slips across the tiles from underneath my bedroom door. I freeze. A small letter sits on the marble-veined floor.
My breath kicks up a notch. I’ve been in here maybe an hour since we were all escorted back to our rooms.Is this from Marcella?When I pick it up, I flip it to the back to find a wax seal of a dragon stamped on it. I rip it open.
Would you like to see the gardens?
-C
