by K.N. Lee
She did look like him. He hadn’t truly noticed, or admitted it to himself until then. After having her haunt his dreams for as long as he was in his slumber, he knew ever freckle of her face and every line that creased when she was sad, afraid, or angry.
He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it pained him to look at her—for what he’d done.
Still, he kept silent as she approached his cell, and stood before the bars.
She looked him over, with those eyes of storm-gray that they shared, and tilted her chin upward to meet his gaze.
“I do hope you don’t plan on betraying us,” she said.
It brought a smile to his lips. She was definitely his daughter.
Her air of authority was unmistakable, as was that hint of danger in her eyes that spoke clearly that she was not to be trifled with.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A brow lifted over her left eye. “Ah, but I’m sure you have thought of it.”
“Have not,” he said, clasping his hands before him. “I’ve had a long time to reflect on things. This old fool is ready to atone for his sins.”
She rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, giving him a look that resembled a mother prepared to scold a child. She wasn’t buying it, and neither was he. But, it didn’t matter what she believed. He just needed to prove himself.
He leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “I’ll show you the truth of my words.”
She seemed skeptical, but didn’t speak.
“You see,” he said, stepping closer. “I was there throughout your suffering, Rowen.”
The color drained from her face, and he knew instantly that she was disarmed, and baffled. It was as if he pushed her, for her stumbled backward, her eyes widened.
“How?”
Shrugging, he shook his head. “I wish I knew. But, I gather that since we share the same blood—the blood of our ancestors—we are linked in ways I never thought possible.”
He reached for her, and she coiled further away.
“Ways I never imagined,” he said, under his breath.
Her chest heaved, and he could tell this information vexed her, greatly.
“I saw what that sorceress did to you. And, I saw how you made her pay for it. I’ve never felt such pride for anyone I’ve known in my entire life.”
“And, how long is that exactly, Elian?” Rowen asked, narrowing her eyes.
He shook his head, a grin on his lips. “None of that matters. What matters is there’s something special about you, Rowen. I never knew it until then. I want to see it grow.” He clenched his fist and held it out toward her. “I want to foster it.”
“What are you saying?”
“Let me help you win this war, and I will train you how to truly reach your full potential. I will show you the depths of your power, and how to harness and control them. I dare say you’re a danger to this world without the right instruction and practice.”
Rowen’s mouth went agape, and then she shook her head.
“I don’t need you to train me in anything. You’d use me for evil, and I won’t be fooled,” she said, turning away. “No. You help us win this war, and go your own way. Far from here.”
He watched her walk away, but didn’t press the matter. She’d come around.
In time.
Or, he’d try his luck with the little seedling growing in her belly.
9
The cold that bit at her toes was enough to keep Ophelia up throughout the entire night. If she didn’t get any sleep, the morning would be even more awful than usual.
She tossed and turned under the scratchy burlap blanket, and grimaced every time a pine needle poked her in the back or thigh as she rolled onto her side. Spiders skittered across her feet, and the creaking of mice as they ran along the rafters made her skin crawl.
“This is bloody awful,” she whispered into the chilly air.
If only she could warm her toes long enough to keep them from going numb and freezing solid. There had to be a warm fire to snuggle up close to somewhere on the blasted Sangusaria Palace grounds.
A week had passed in Ophelia’s new life as a servant, and with each day she learned just how far she’d fallen. She was in the lowest possible position in the hierarchy of palace hands.
If only she’d gone to Withrae with Rowen instead of agreeing to a marriage with a man she didn’t know. Unable to sleep, she sat up in the low loft of the barn, and stared out into the darkness. Faint light called to her from outside.
She glanced over at Luca’Rosi who shivered next to her. It broke Ophelia’s heart to see her lady be forced to suffer alongside her. She bit her lower lip, fighting back tears, and took her blanket and covered Luca with it. After she tucked Luca in, and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, she whispered to her.
“I’m going to get us out of this,” she said, and gave a nod of determination. “Don’t you worry.”
Ophelia climbed down the ladder and rubbed her arms against the chill in the air.
Little did she know, but horses snored in their sleep, and she smiled at the honey-colored one curled up against its mother, and left to stand outside. She needed fresh air. Her nostrils began to sting with the scent of foul manure and animal urine.
Once outside, she wrapped her arms around herself and glanced upward at the night sky.
The tonic she’d been forced to drink each day kept her from shifting into a dragon, and her soul craved the wild freedom of flying through the sky. She’d give anything to be cured and allowed to return home.
Memories of warm beds and delicious hot quail with thick brown sauce and potatoes haunted her. Her sister’s smile and tender hugs tugged at her heart and made her whimper.
She only hoped Rowen was doing well back in Withrae. She’d married her prince, and became queen, while Ophelia was stripped of her rank and riches, and beautiful home to be made a servant.
A bitter smile came to her lips. How her father would howl with rage if he knew of the reversal of fortune. He’d always put her above Rowen in every way, for as long as she could remember.
As she glanced down at her hands, now sore and blistered from constant work, she frowned. She and Luca spent their days toiling in the fields with the other workers, helping with the harvest, cleaning the stable stalls—whatever the other servants could think of to make their load more manageable.
Their afternoons were then filled with peeling potatoes and shucking corn in the kitchens while the scullery maids giggled to have their menial work passed along to the uppity lady and her lady’s maid.
Constant drudgery.
No, this was not what her life was meant to be—not what fate had in store.
Ophelia stormed across the pasture, ignoring the looks of the scattered men who were still awake and sitting around fires and herds of sheep and goats. They stood, startled, and shouted after her. She ignored their warnings.
“Stop,” one of the stable hands cried. “They’ll beat you for disobeying.”
She shrugged, and trudged along through the tall grass that reached her knees. “Don’t worry,” she said. “The king is expecting me.”
King Kelton would hear her, and she didn’t care what it took.
“Time to be brave,” she said to herself, as her fingers curled into fists and she set her determined gaze on the palace yards before her. “Time to make your own fate.”
10
Ophelia didn’t make it too far into the palace, but that wasn’t the plan.
No, she had a better idea.
Guards stopped her just inside the side doors that led into the palace from the stable courtyard.
Once they grabbed her by her arms and began to pull her out of the palace, she mustered all of her strength and determination, and began to fight.
The initial shock from the guards was satisfaction enough, but as she disarmed one of them by sliding his sword from the scabbard at his waist, the men began to take
her as a serious threat. Sword in hand, Ophelia pointed it directly to the throat of the guard she’d stolen it from.
Her eyes narrowed, and the four men around her paused, their swords directed toward her from all sides.
Tilting her head, she hissed, like a snake and tossed her hair away from her Dragon scales, showing them off. The shining scales covered her left shoulder and the side of her neck. They seemed to glow under the dim light of the narrow hall, and she hoped the humans got a good look at it.
This was her only shot.
“Hand over the sword,” one of the guards demanded, and she pressed her sword’s point onto the soft flesh of the guard’s neck before her.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think I will. You see, as a Dragon, I have more than just the ability to shift. Did you know Dragons could curse others? That I could make the lot of you forget your name, and perhaps convince you that you’re indeed pigs, so I can watch you snort on all fours in the mud outside.”
A giggle escaped her throat.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?”
She could tell from the way they stiffened that they were unsure of what to believe, and she smiled inwardly.
“You have at least heard of my sister, haven’t you? The Dragon queen with the magic of a wizard…”
That sent the blood draining from their faces.
If she knew nothing about the human realm, she knew how much they feared Dragons, and how much more they feared magic.
Pitiful, ignorant souls.
“I do reckon I have a bit of that same magic flowing through my veins. Like lightning bolts and flames, I could burn the hair from your heads with the snap of a finger,” she said, and lifted her brows. “Would you like to see it?”
Grumbles emerged, and the men began to back away, unsure.
“Or, you could summon King Kelton and let him deal with me,” she said. “That would be far better, I suspect.”
They began to lower their swords when her luck just began to shine.
King Kelton walked in behind them, dressed in riding clothes, and carrying a bloody carcass of a wolf. He dropped it at his feet, and looked from her to the guards, and back.
With furrowed brows, he took off his gloves and handed them to the young man who followed behind.
“Carve off the dire wolf pelt, and feed the meat to my lions,” he ordered, not breaking the gaze he and Ophelia shared.
Lions?
He looked her up and down, and that smirk that made her face flush whenever she saw it came to his lips. Every time he gave her that look, there was a darkness in his eyes, a sense of mischief and amusement that left her unnerved.
This instance was no different.
Her cheeks heated and she swallowed, unsure if what she’d just done was as clever as she’d imagined.
Then, he stepped over the carcass and walked past the scene which she knew must have been incredibly odd to witness. Her shoulders slumped with defeat as she watched him.
So much for her grand idea.
“Come,” he said, without looking back. “Seems we are due for a chat.”
A sigh of relief escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, thanking the gods.
When she opened her eyes, she looked to the guards, and cracked a satisfied grin.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, handing the sword back to its owner, and turning to follow the king down the corridor.
Perhaps, she did share her sister’s knack for luck after all.
11
While Ophelia followed King Kelton into the main section of the palace, she worked at gathering her wits and composure.
The palace was quiet, with an eerie air about it that made her skin crawl. Dark, and with statues of horrifying creatures, it was the complete opposite of King Tilton’s home.
She’d truly had no idea what to expect, and had raced head-first into the fire pit. Luck didn’t begin to describe what had just happened.
When he led her up the stairs, and to his private quarters, she almost wanted to stop and bring up protests about decorum, her reputation as a lady, and a whole slew of nonsense that would have probably earned a hearty chuckle from the king. Instead, she swallowed her pride and reminded herself that her time as a lady of honor was long past.
This was a time of survival.
She’d do anything to return home.
He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside.
The delicious warmth of a hearty fire in the hearth in the back corner of the room welcomed her. She released a delighted sigh, and closed her eyes.
Once the door closed behind her, her eyes opened and she turned to face him.
With reddened cheeks, she immediately turned back around once he stripped his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. The quick glimpse at his chiseled chest and defined abdominals left her a bit light-headed.
She’d never even seen her husband without his shirt. As he walked around toward the back of the room, the redness in her cheeks deepened when she saw he’d removed his pants and now just wore white underpants that were all but translucent.
“Uh,” she began, stuttering, and backing away toward the door. “Would you like me to wait outside?”
He pulled the rope beside his bed, and a servant entered from a side door. “Why would I want that?” he asked, lifting a brow as he gazed at her from across the room.
A nervous giggle escaped her lips as he pulled his underpants off and stood naked before her and the servant.
“Dear spirits,” she whispered, as her eyes paused at the sight of his manhood—a feature she’d yet to ever see in all of her twenty years of life.
That was entirely more than she bargained for.
Kelton then stepped into the tub and hung his legs over the edge.
“Bath,” he said, and before long several buckets of hot water were poured over him.
He draped his arms over the sides of the tub and watched her fidget and try to avert her eyes.
“Come closer,” he said.
She chewed her bottom lip, and did as she was told, walking across the bear hide on the floor and to the stone portion where she found a small stool to sit on.
At least he was covered by water and bubbles from the soap he scrubbed onto his body. She could finally look at him without blushing.
“So,” he said, scrubbing his neck and chest. “Had enough of the servant life, have we? A little hard work never hurt anyone. My father made my brothers and I work in the stables one summer. Taught us all a lot.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not about the work,” she said. “I want to go home.”
He shook his head. “Not going to happen, lass. Sorry.”
Standing, she crossed the room and leaned over his bath, her hands on the edges. For a moment, they stared at each other, each headstrong and stubborn, neither budging.
“What is it?” Kelton asked, lowering his voice. The moment she realized his eyes were taking her in, from her lips to her cleavage, she nearly lost what she wanted to say.
“I will not be prisoner here any longer,” she said, through clenched teeth. “My sister will come for me if you aren’t careful. You do not want to contend with her magic.”
The wicked smile that stretched across his face left her unnerved.
“Ah,” he said. “I don’t plan on keeping you prisoner. I plan on selling you to the highest bidder.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Her heart rose into her throat.
He poured water over his head, and the blond strands of his hair darkened as they clung to his unnaturally handsome face.
“Sources tell me your dear late husband was as into women as a pig to a duck,” he said, and her mouth went agape. “So…that makes you still a maid. A pretty virgin would fetch an even prettier price to my friends, even more to my enemies. I could use you to unite the human kingdoms.”
The thumping of her heart in her chest was so loud, it reverberated within
her ears.
“No,” she said, terror flooding her veins. “You can’t sell me. I’m not cattle, or a slave. I don’t belong to you.”
Before she could react, or scream, or do anything, he pulled her into the bath. Water splashed and bubbles sploshed over the edge of the tub as he set her on his lap, and held her by her hair with one hand. The tension of her hair and the way his hardness between her legs startled her was exciting in a way she’d never experienced.
He looked into her eyes, and gripped her left thigh in his other hand.
“Right,” he said. “But, we can change that.”
The kiss that came crashing down on her mouth vexed her. Then, it sparked hidden passions and dormant desire that rose like flames up her legs.
A soft moan rose from her throat as their tongue intermingled, and his hand climbed higher up her thigh to squeeze her buttocks.
“Trust me, I don’t want to sell you,” he said. “I’d like to keep you.”
She coiled back, appalled.
“Keep me?” Ophelia repeated with disgust. She climbed out of the water and stood before him, nearly soaked from the waist down. “I’d rather be sold than be your pet.”
It was his turn for his cheeks to redden—and redden they did.
That smirk of his faded. “Very well,” he said. “I’m happy to have that arranged. Guards!”
With that, the doors were burst open and Ophelia was whisked away before she could utter another word.
Nonetheless, as they pulled her away, she glared at King Kelton, but kept her head held high.
I am no one’s pet.
12
Nearly two weeks passed, and Rickard refused to leave Rowen’s side while she recovered.
He ran his hands through her hair, watching as the dark blonde strands fell perfectly back into place, like a sun-filled meadow.
The color had began to come back to her face and skin, and almost all traces of Priscilla’s dark magic had started to fade. Her wounds would heal, and soon all would be back to the way they should.
