Curse of the Dragons

by K.N. Lee

  Curse of the Dragons

  Book Six of the Dragon Born Saga

  K.N. Lee

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  A Look at The Wizard’s Daughter

  A Look at Fate of the Goddess

  About the Author

  Also by K.N. Lee

  1

  The darkness was stifling—unbearable.

  Heat and pressure weighed on Rowen as she opened her eyes for the first time in weeks.

  It took a moment for her sight to adjust, but Priscilla was there, waiting. Just like in the hauntings that had plagued her since she and Warwick came to Withrae Palace.

  Rage bubbled within Rowen’s belly, and she fought to rise from the bed. It was fruitless.

  Priscilla straddled her, sitting on her pelvis, with her hands on the small mound stretched above Rowen’s abdomen.

  “So,” the sorceress whispered. “It’s true. A little baby dragon grows inside of the half-blood?”

  Tears burned Rowen’s eyes, as she tried to lift her arms. To be so helpless and without hope was unbearable. She wanted to rip Priscilla’s mask off her deformed face and shove it down her throat.

  Big eyes looked to Rowen. If she hadn’t been tormenting her for weeks, Rowen might have thought the beautiful woman before her looked innocent, like a child.

  “Warwick will be pleased. The Red Dragon from the prophecies isn’t what we believed at all,” Priscilla said. “It is a child.”

  Rowen squeezed her eyes shut as Priscilla stepped onto the floor and placed her hands on either side of her face.

  “A very powerful child,” she said. “A weapon.”

  Her eyes popped open, and in a fit of adrenaline, she snapped her hand around Priscilla’s throat and brought her down to her face.

  Stunned, Priscilla gasped for breath and stared into Rowen’s eyes with absolute disbelief.

  “You—touch—” Rowen began, fighting for the strength to continue, even as the darkness threatened to consume her once more. “And, I will pluck your eyes from your face.”

  Priscilla wrenched herself free, and scrambled onto the floor, backing away from Rowen.

  “Aye,” she said, snarling. “I wouldn’t want to touch you for all of the riches and glory in the world. But, I’ll do whatever it takes to end the reign of dragons and their tainted magic.”

  She stood then, and stormed from the room, leaving Rowen in complete darkness.

  Her life was one of constant agony, and she now wished she’d never agreed to come to Withrae Palace at all. She wished she’d stayed in Harrow, and far from the princes of Withrae and their charms.

  She’d be free now, if she’d have done so.

  The tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the pillow.

  Free and miserable.

  The Duke of Harrow—her stepfather—would have never have given her a moment’s peace if she didn’t do everything he commanded. Her life had always been one of constant duty, and the pleasing of others.

  At least as queen of Withrae, wife to the man she’d grown to love, she had purpose—at least she had an innocent child growing in her belly.

  The child.

  She had to protect him, at all costs.

  The sound of the door opening made her tense. She flickered a frantic glance toward the door and watched with dread as Priscilla re-entered the room.

  The soft thuds of her feet were all too well-known to Rowen, and each one made her cringe.

  The clanging of shackles was a reminder of her time in Withrae Prison, and the glinting of the steel was confirmation that was what the sorceress had in mind.

  “What are you doing?” Rowen asked through a sharp pain in her throat.

  Priscilla grinned in the darkness, and Rowen could see the evil in her eyes.

  “Nothing,” she said, staring at the shackles. “Just come to make sure our investment isn’t getting too strong for her own good.”

  That was it.

  Rowen refused to be held against her will for a moment longer.

  Something stirred within her—a force she didn’t recognize, but also couldn’t deny.

  The rage that bubbled from her belly was enough to fuel her entire body with heat and power. The sensation was unlike anything she’d felt in a long time. It was more than the agony she’d suffered and the brief memories of better times when she was queen.

  This—it was new territory.

  Her body rose from the bed, and before she could restrain the power that rippled though her blood in quick shocks, she outstretched her right arm and opened her balled fist.

  Priscilla’s hair began to shift into those iridescent rainbow colors that Rowen had come to hate—but it was too late.

  What Rowen released was a bright red light that shot through the darkness like a lightning bolt that created steam and tension in the air around it.

  As it seared through the center of Priscilla’s face, tears fell from Rowen’s eyes, and a slow grin came to her lips.

  The look of completed bewilderment on Priscilla’s eyes would forever remain in Rowen’s mind, and as her body fell backward onto the floor, she whispered a quiet thank you to the gift she’d just received.

  Her chest heaved, her body hovered, and all she could think was; now, time to end this—time to end Sir Warwick Ludlow.

  2

  The palace was quiet—quieter than she’d ever remembered it being.

  That didn’t stop Rowen from hunting the wizard who nearly destroyed her world down.

  She stalked the halls, limping from the tingling of her legs, and dizzy from lack of nourishment. She was certain that if she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she wouldn’t recognize herself. A few days longer and she would have withered away from starvation.

  Despite the aching in her gut, she pressed on, eyes sharp and ears desperate for any tiny sound. The soft rug beneath her feet keep her from the creaking of the wood underneath, and she stuck to taking the carpeted corridors as she continued her search.

  Fear no longer ruled her world, and all she wanted was for this nightmare to truly end.

  “What have you done?”

  Rowen tensed. The deep, male voice came from behind her.

  Warwick.

  She closed her eyes, and her shoulders slumped as she tilted her chin upward.

  “I killed her,” she said, quietly.

  She could feel his rage pulsating through the air between them. She could also smell the heavy heat of magic, and slowly turned to get a good look at the man who started this whole mess.

  He was fairly good-looking, tall, with a decent build and attractive face. None of that mattered. All she saw was the darkness of his eyes that was hidden behind the azure that glared at her.

  “Sent a bolt of light right through her face,” she said, taking a step toward him. “And, watched her fall. It was beautiful. I’d pay to watch it all happen again.”

  His jaw clenched, as did her fists.

  “How shall I end your life, Sir Warwick Ludlow?” Rowen asked, standing a foot before him.

  He was much taller, so she had to look upward, but the authority was all hers in that moment. Even as he raised his wizard’s staff, she could see it in his eyes.

  He was afraid of her.

  T
hey stared into each others eyes for a long moment, before he made a move.

  He reached for her throat, but Rowen anticipated it. Why was it that men always went for the throat first?

  Her stepfather had shown her many things, and for once, she was grateful for this lesson.

  Rowen sidestepped him, and used the light from the torches to build a divine, red ball of power. She hovered before him, collecting more fire from each torch that lined the palace walls, until they were in darkness that was only lit by her flames.

  Warwick stared at her in disbelief.

  “Remarkable,” he said, lowering his staff. “Such raw, untamed magic. I could show you so many things.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I’m afraid I’m not interested,” she said, and threw the ball of fire at him.

  It shot across the hallway, speeding with purpose.

  He was quick, and cast an air shield in between them that nearly extinguished her flames. The sound of the fire meeting solid air was staggeringly loud, but Rowen wasn’t ready to let go.

  She would not lose.

  She held tightly to the energy she’d collected, and fed more to the magic ball of fire before her. Even as she did so, her inner strength threatened to give out.

  While Warwick’s air shield wavered, and began to melt away, she urged the ball closer to him. Sweat poured from his face, forcing him to his knees. Teeth clenched, he held his staff outward, and the ball at the end crackled and sparked.

  For a moment, Rowen went dizzy, and saw black before her eyes.

  No. Not now.

  The child needed her to fight—to be strong—stronger than the wizard at her feet.

  It was too late. He sensed her weakness and took it as a chance to gain an edge on her.

  “Tired, are we?” Warwick asked. “I thought we were just getting started.”

  That comment gave her renewed energy, and she rose higher in the air, until she nearly touched the vaulted ceiling.

  Perhaps she should run. To fly out of the palace would be an escape, but she’d leave Withrae at Warwick’s mercy.

  “Do you know she was all I had left?”

  Rowen pursed her lips, but the cracking of his voice gave her pause.

  Why should she care? The woman had tormented her for so long she wasn’t sure exactly how much time had transpired.

  “It won’t matter once I’m done with you,” she said, and he grinned at her.

  “You know, Gavin was right about you,” he said, and her brows rose. “You are a strong one.”

  What did Gavin have to do with any of this?

  Her question went unanswered as a sharp pain filled her throat, and sent blood gushing from her lips. The pain blinded her, and sent her cascading downward to the ground.

  Right into enemy hands.

  3

  Everything became a blurry whirl of scant sparks of light and darkness as Rowen fell.

  Once she crashed to the hard marble floor, Warwick was upon her like a cat on a mouse. His large hands grasped her neck, and squeezed.

  It wasn’t shocking. She knew it was coming. But, what she didn’t understand was why he’d given up on using magic against her. Had he discovered that his magic was useless when met with her own?

  Nevertheless, this didn’t feel like just another kill.

  This felt personal.

  He seemed to take a twisted pleasure in watching her gasp and writhe in panic.

  His heavy weight nearly crushed her thin and weakened body, as his knee pressed into her abdomen. “You think you’re strong, half-blood? Your tainted magic will die with you and the abomination growing in your belly,” he spat, and tears burned her eyes.

  She reached for his face, to scratch or do anything to stop the brutal assault, but it was fruitless, every limb felt heavier than a mountain.

  “Elian passed on his power to you, and the child has also given you an unnatural gift—one I will smile to smite from this world.”

  The hate that shone down on her from Warwick’s eyes was enough to strike an unsettling fear into her very soul.

  But, his words haunted her. What did he mean about her child giving her an unnatural gift?

  It hit her like a bucket of cold water. The magic she’d used to kill Priscilla wasn’t her own.

  It was his—the growing baby inside.

  While Warwick clenched his teeth, determined to squeeze the life out of her, spit dripped from his bottom lip and onto her nose.

  Rowen gasped for air, but there was none. She wanted to reach for something—anything to strike him with. All of the torches were bare, and there was no fire or light, just the agony that burned in her lungs.

  Her legs were weak. Her arms felt like stone. The world began to spin.

  Then—there was relief. The pressure on her body was lifted, and the air surged back into her lungs.

  “Get up!” Noemie’s voice shouted, and all sounds returned to Rowen’s consciousness. “Rowen!”

  Above her stood the princess of Withrae, a heavy object that Rowen couldn’t decipher in her hand.

  For a split second, she marveled at what she saw—the poised and elegant princess participating in violence. She’d knocked Warwick out, and looked ready to do much more than that as she glared at his body.

  Rowen did as she was told, and scrambled to her feet. Together, she stood with Noemie, and stared down at Warwick. He’d fallen backward and slammed his head into the ground.

  She couldn’t tell if he was dead, but she didn’t want to chance it.

  The second his eyes began to flicker behind their lids, she snatched what she discovered was a torch and bashed him in the face, again, and again, until nothing but blood and mush could be distinguished on what was once a lovely likeness.

  Covered in his warm blood, she turned and looked to the princess, who she noticed looked more disheveled and unlike herself than ever. Her skin was paler than Rowen had ever seen it, and her hair looked dry and matted as if she hadn’t brushed it in weeks. It was the look in her eyes that made Rowen’s blood run cold.

  Haggard. Dangerous.

  No one would ever call Princess Noemie that before that fateful night.

  They would also never imagine the princess rushing to Rowen to throw her arms around her neck, and weep like a distraught child.

  Rowen stroked her hair as she wept, unsure of what tortures Noemie had experienced while she’d gone through her own, but also uncaring.

  The sorcerer and his sister were dead.

  Finally, life might return to normal. Finally, she could focus on rescuing her sister from the Trinity brothers in the human realm.

  “Now what?” Noemie asked as she pulled away, and wiped snot and tears from her face. Her lips trembled, and her shoulders slumped.

  Rowen shrugged, shaking her head. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. All she wanted throughout this entire ordeal was to see the two sorcerers dead.

  “Does it matter? He’s dead. He can’t hurt us anymore—or anyone else.”

  Noemie’s eyes widened slightly, and realization filled her expression.

  “But, it does,” she said, turning her attention to Warwick.

  “Why is that?” Rowen asked, weary, and growing dizzy.

  Noemie covered her mouth, and every muscle in Rowen’s body grew tense at the look in the princess’ eyes.

  “Because, he was the only one who could end the curse he started.”

  4

  It was a mistake—a foolhardy attempt at escape.

  But, it was worth it.

  Ophelia now found herself imprisoned, but without the luxuries she’d been afforded back in King Tilton’s castle.

  Kelton kept her now, and her already destroyed world looked a little more bleak.

  Luca’Rosi slept in the bunk below her, her soft snores providing the only spark of home Ophelia could cling to. She’d tried to escape, and found herself captured and dragged back kicking and screaming to the king she’d once thought was kind. The look on his f
ace when she’d been brought back said it all.

  He no longer trusted her.

  Of course, Kelton had agreed to bring her back to his castle while the war continued to rage on with her people.

  Her only hope was for the Dragons to win.

  Still, it wasn’t guaranteed that she’d make it out of the war alive.

  As the ship rocked back and forth, she steeled herself against the lurching of her stomach and tried to occupy herself with staring at the ceiling of her cabin. She’d been a fool. Tilton had at least been kind. She hadn’t a clue what to expect from Kelton, but more of what he’d already showed to her.

  Once they arrived at Sangusaria, she was led directly from the port and to the palace. It was just as Kelton described it; a marvelous group of mountains far from anything else for miles. A beautiful fortress, with the castle built directly into the mountain range.

  While King Tilton’s kingdom was sprawling, and stretched outward for miles upon miles, Kelton’s was a city of great magnitude, built upward and within the range and stones.

  Ophelia had never seen anything like it.

  The elaborate bridges and archways, and vaulted buildings of white and gray stone seemed to be designed by the gods. Lush trees protruded from the architecture, creating an enchanting canopy over the citizens of Sangusaria.

  It took her breath away. Even as she was led by cart up the paved roads of the city, she couldn’t keep her jaw from falling in awe.

  The city was alive that morning, with bustling shops, merchants rolling in on their horse-drawn carts and caravans, and scores of people filling the streets and alleyways. The sound of constant shouting from the merchants and chatter in the air was a sweet reminder of home, and the times her father would bring her along to the docks to check on his ships and shipments.