Page 122 of Triumph at Pemberley

That was their only other plan, if the Gate failed to kill him. The dragons had already said they could not stop a mad dragon, and the clearing was full of people she loved.

She had to do something, or they would all be trapped. Or worse.

“Seize her!” Napoleon commanded. “Bring her to me!”

Desperate, Elizabeth charged forward, her cuffed wrist held out as a shield.

The guard grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. She twisted wildly to escape his hold, but he pinned her hands behind her back, ignoring her struggles as he dragged her to face Napoleon.

She gasped for air. It was hopeless. She prayed the others would have fled, that Darcy would have the good sense not to come to her aid. That somehow he would survive this disaster.

It was too late for her.

“Make her look at me,” the French emperor growled.

The soldier tipped her chin up, but Elizabeth kept her gaze to the side. Letting him meet her eyes would destroy her.

“You will look at me.” A rush of dragon Talent poured towards her.

Ysmeina’s Cuff grew hot on her wrist. Napoleon’s Talent parted and flowed harmlessly past her.

Napoleon tried again, the wave stronger this time, but the same thing happened. “What trick is this, Dragon Companion? No one can stand against me!”

Unless they were wearing Ysmeina’s Cuff, which shielded her from his fae magic.

With a disbelieving laugh, Elizabeth said, “I can.” At least she could die while her mind was still her own. And she looked straight into his shifting eyes.

But his guard still held her tight. Cerridwen’s vision had said she must never let Napoleon touch her. If he gained control of her and her Gate-opening ability, the entire world would suffer immensely under his yoke.

She would rather die. Could she exhaust her Talent and let that kill her? Her only magical tool was Gate-making, and that could not help her here.

Or could it?

That was the answer. Napoleon could not survive a second Gate. Nor could she. She would accept that price to save the world for Jenny.

The idea of dying terrified her. But every other choice was worse.

Trembling, she bit down hard on her lip until she tasted blood, and then she spat on the ground in front of her. Would it be enough? She reached for the power of the Artifact hanging from her neck. Her terrified mind could not focus on an image to target. Instead she stared at the oddly shaped notch near the top of a tree beyond the clearing.

Then she grabbed at the foundations and opened the Gate.

The familiar cloud of sparkles filled her vision, less than a foot away. It wobbled unevenly, but it would have to be good enough.

There. If Napoleon came towards her, he would go through the Gate and die. If the soldier dragged her forward, the Gate would kill her. Either way, Napoleon could never force her to open Gates for him.

And in this heart-pounding moment, it was enough. She knew deep in her bones that it was worth her life to stop this mad dragon.

But oh, how she ached to live! To be in Darcy’s arms once more. To see Jenny grow up.

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed. “You have done something. What?”

“Come here and see,” she invited. Her lip throbbed painfully.

“I think not,” he said slowly. His head turned from side to side as he studied his surroundings. “An illusion?” he asked scornfully. “I am no fool.”

He reached out his Talent and tore away the illusion. The only thing that had been hiding Darcy and the others.

No! “I am your enemy, not them,” she shouted.