by K.N. Lee
“Take her,” Mickelson ordered.
Those words set her fate in stone. Her heart lurched and a cry escaped her mouth. Eyes burning with tears, she grabbed Captain Mickleson’s collar.
She was too afraid to ask the question that burned inside her head. But, she had to know. As did everyone in attendance. Their heated stares burned into her, and the sound of her fiercely beating heart filled her ears.
“Which one?” she asked.
“Prince Lawson,” he said.
Prince Lawson’s face flashed before her eyes and she lost her balance, though Mickleson still held her tightly by the arm.
“No.” Her entire world fell around her and all she could see were lights.
The room spun, her stomach twisted, and before she could form a goodbye to her mother, she was marched from the ballroom never to return.
Chapter 11
THE PRISON DOORS slammed shut, and Rowen was left alone with her shock and tears. Darkness smothered her from all sides, and a damp chill in the air stung her bare arms as she looked out the prison tower’s open window to the snowcapped mountains of Withrae. The smell of mold and urine was only camouflaged by the stronger smell of the coming storm.
Sleet fell in straight lines of translucent sheets, bringing more wind into her small cell with it.
Her home was a place of bitterness, but Rowen preferred it and its warm fires to that dingy prison. Withrae prison was set off of the castle grounds on a nearby mountain-top that experienced a year-long winter.
If she wanted to jump, she could, but even if she were able to shift into a dragon, she’d be shot with an enchanted bolt the moment she stood before the open window.
That was a known fact.
Still, the idea was tempting.
She had no direction, no idea how to cope, and so, she sat on the floor and curled her legs into her chest. Her gown’s skirts were all she had to warm herself, and her tears froze to her face as quickly as they fell.
Prince Lawson. Her champion. Her love. The fate of the kingdom.
He was gone.
It wasn’t possible. How could this happen after all of her planning, after all of their dreams for a life together? It seemed as though the luck Rowen had depended on all of her life had run out, abandoning her to a fate she’d seen but chose to tempt.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should have escaped when she had the chance. Now, all was lost and she feared what was to come.
The noose. She knew that was her end. She just didn’t want to believe it. Now, she had no choice. Treason was a hefty offense, one that came with not only death, but torture.
Rowen’s stomach flipped and she gagged back vomit at the notion of suffering at the hands of the prison torturer. Though nobility were exempt from certain methods, there were others that would make any prisoner confess to crimes they’d never imagined.
With a whimper, she buried her face into her dress and clenched her hands into fists.
Think, Rowen. Think. There has to be a way out of this.
No one told her what to do if she were caught, and no one dared to think the prince would die.
The creaking of the prison door drew her attention, and as she turned around her face paled. Standing in the doorway with a prison guard was Prince Rickard. He spoke a few words that Rowen couldn’t make out to the guard and the burly Dragon nodded and left them alone.
“A smarter girl would have married my brother and then killed him. But, no one ever accused you of being a great thinker. Still, that’s what I’d have done if I were a social climber with no other prospects,” Rickard said.
“What do you want?”
His lips curled into a snarl as he stood before her at the bars. “Look at you. Already breaking, are we?” He lowered himself to her level and examined her face. “I thought you would at least last an hour.”
Tears burned her eyes, and Rowen repeated herself, clenching her teeth. “What do you want?” She should have known. He came to gloat when he should be grieving. That was his way. The way of an opportunistic maniac.
Rickard’s shirt was damp, clinging to his chest and untucked. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Dark hair hung long around his face, wet and slick as if he’d ran through the sleet to reach the tower.
Rowen took a closer look, bringing her face toward the bars. She narrowed her eyes at seeing that his eyes were indeed red, and swollen.
Maybe he had shed a few tears of his own.
“If you loved him, why did you kill him?”
Rowen grabbed the bars and her brows lifted. This was her chance to plead her case. He had more power than most and could help her. Perhaps she could use his attraction for her to free herself.
“Prince Rickard, I didn’t. I swear it. On all things holy and full of light, you know I loved him. And, he loved me. Why would I do such a thing? I would have done anything for Lawson.”
Shaking his head, Rickard licked his lips. With a sigh, he sat on his bottom and stared at her. “That’s what I am here to find out. I wanted to talk to you first, before the law gets involved, before the prison torturer gets his blood-crusted hands on you.”
“But, I didn’t do it,” Rowen said, her shoulders slumping. “Please. Believe me.”
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into slits of bright blue that glowed in the dark like a cat’s. “And, no one will ever believe you. Unless you admit to it. Understand?”
Appalled, Rowen’s jaw dropped.
“Do you understand what I am saying to you, Rowen?”
Rowen shot to her feet. Her voice rose as her cheeks reddened. “I will not! I didn’t kill your brother, and I will never say that I did. To even advise me to do such a thing just makes me hate you even more.”
For a moment, Rickard was silent and watched her from the floor. Then, he lowered his head.
“They will want a confession, Rowen.”
“They will not get it from me.”
“Then, they will torture you for it,” Rickard said, and pushed himself up to his feet.
He gave her one last look and reached out to her. Midway to the bars, he stopped and pulled his hand back, vexing her in more ways than one.
Rowen couldn’t let him leave. Even if she did hate him, he was her only hope. She held onto the bars. “Help me, Rickard. Please.”
He shrugged. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”
Rowen couldn’t formulate a coherent statement. Rickard’s question left her speechless, her mind in chaos.
Once he left, Rowen was left more confused than when she arrived.
Rickard knows I didn’t do this. She covered her mouth. But, he knew something. She had to find out what that was.
A sinking feeling worse than the thought of losing her love washed over her. She looked out to the open window and stepped as far toward it as she dared, her skirts flapping in the wind that grew fiercer.
Looking out to the midnight purple sky, she wondered, who killed her prince?
Chapter 12
THE BROKEN GLASS from a mirror embedded itself into Rowen’s pale flesh. She winced, but kept her mouth shut as she watched her stepfather storm from the sitting room and into the wintry night.
Once he was gone from sight, Rowen and her mother rushed to one another.
“I’m sorry,” Rowen’s mother, Nimah said. “His temper gets out of hand.”
“More often than naught,” Rowen said as she fought back tears and wrapped her arms around Nimah’s neck. She buried her face in her mother’s dark mass of silky hair and breathed in her scent one last time.
There was no room for a half-blood in the manor anymore. She’d known that since she was old enough to realize that the Dragons looked at her differently. Eighteen years of life amongst her mother’s people did nothing to change their minds. Even if her mother was the Duchess of Harrow, it did nothing to remove the taint of the human blood that ran through Rowen’s veins.
Now, she was uprooted from her home once again and
was about to be sent off on a dangerous mission to elevate the entire family.
Money and power were all that her stepfather, the Duke, cared about. Now that Rowen was old enough to contribute, her time had come. If her beauty couldn’t pull them from the poverty her stepfather’s dealings were leading them toward, nothing would.
“Don’t apologize,” Rowen whispered. “You did nothing wrong, Mother.”
Nimah pulled away, and held Rowen out at arm’s-length. “I should have left with your father long ago. Staying here has only embittered the both of us.”
Rowen looked into her mother’s golden eyes that matched her long wavy hair. How many times has Rowen begged the gods to allow her to look like her mother? Being half human muddied her features. There was no shimmer or glow to her skin like the other full-blooded Mount Withrae Dragons. Only a pale peaches and cream that made her stand out like a weed in a bed of flowers.
“The Dragons would have disowned you and the humans would have killed us for stepping foot on their soil.”
Nimah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I dare say that I don’t care. Let me at least come with you to the castle until you get settled. The king will allow it. We are old friends.”
Tensing, Rowen shook her head and took a step away. “No. I must go alone. We both know that. I have to do this on my own.” She grabbed her cloak from the hooks on the wall. A quick glance at her hands revealed that her wounds from the glass had healed within seconds. The blood still stained her palms, however.
“I have to go, Mother. It’s time.”
Nimah wrung her hands, looking to the open doorway as a chilly wind swept in. “Please, be careful. Life at court is not like at home.”
“Is it better?” Rowen asked.
Nimah pursed her lips. “It is what you make it. But, everyone will have their eyes on you, and if you mess up our plan, there will be no escaping punishment.”
“I know,” Rowen said. “But, I am afraid.”
“Do what your stepfather says, and we will all benefit from your success.”
“But, what if I fail?”
“Then, Rowen,” Nimah said, her shoulders slumping. “We will be ruined.”
The sounds of screaming filled Rowen’s ears when she woke from her dream. Where were the prophecies now? They’d been replaced with painful memories. It wasn’t fair. How could her power abandon her now, at her darkest hours?
Darkness seemed to be Rowen’s only friend as she wasted away in the prison tower, awaiting a friendly face, the return of Prince Rickard, or her legal counsel. The waiting left her on edge, so much so that she spent her days seated on the floor in front of the window, watching the sky, the snowy mountains, and the patch of woods that she could make out far away.
Then, there were the screams. They came and went, sometimes for hours. Sometimes all night. No matter the duration, they made Rowen’s skin crawl and the hairs on her neck and arms stand on end.
Cries of agony and anguish echoed throughout the prison, and there was no escaping it, no matter how hard Rowen pressed the palms of her hands to her ears. It was a constant reminder that soon her own screams would resonate throughout the prison.
Prince Lawson was dead.
Her eyes welled with tears. She’d thought that she had no more left to shed, but they kept coming, rolling down her dirty cheeks as she sobbed into her hands. They’d only known each other for a few weeks, but that time stolen to be together had given her purpose and had made life bearable. His smile lingered in her mind, and then visions of a cold lifeless body took over and sent her into an abyss of grief.
When the door behind her opened, hope swelled in her heart.
She scrambled to her feet and turned to face whatever visitor had come for her.
It wasn’t a friendly face, but a stranger. Hesitant, Rowen watched the tall, older Dragon stand before her cell and fold his thick arms before him.
“Smeathe,” he said with a slight nod toward her that made his long, stringy gray and black hair fall over his shoulders. “Mr. Smeathe. I’ll be your legal counsel in the charges of treason and murder.”
Rowen rushed to the bars. “Where is my mother? Is she safe?”
“Yes, the Duchess is still in the palace awaiting your trial. She petitions to visit you every day.”
Relieved that she hadn’t been arrested as well, Rowen exhaled. “Good. But, why won’t they let her come to me?”
“The king’s orders. No one is to come to you except for myself and the royal family.”
“Princess Noemie? Has she said anything about this?”
Mr. Smeathe shook his head. “She has been grieving in her private quarters.”
“I see,” Rowen said. She flickered a hopeful look up to him. “Listen. I didn’t do it. I assure you there has been a misunderstanding. I hadn’t seen Prince Lawson since the morning of the birthday celebration.”
“So, you did see him that day?”
Taken aback, Rowen was a bit flustered by the question. She snapped her mouth closed and stared at him, wondering if she should reveal the truth of her relationship with Prince Lawson.
“You saw him the day of the incident?”
“What is the incident? What happened to Prince Lawson?”
Mr. Smeathe gave her a look that told her that he wouldn’t believe anything she said. He already thought she was guilty. This was all for show.
“Tell me,” she said despite knowing that he looked at her like the person responsible.
“Poison,” Mr. Smeathe said.
Poison? Rowen didn’t need any disturbing images to add to her nightmares, but picturing Lawson suffering from a deadly poison cut into her heart.
“Will you answer my question now, Miss? Did you see the prince on the night of the incident?”
Rowen glared at him. “You’re not my legal counsel, are you?”
The corners of Mr. Smeathe’s mouth twitched, but he kept his composure. With a nod of his head, he answered her question.
Defeated, Rowen gave up and went back to her spot by the window.
“Let’s drop all pretenses now, young lady. Tell me how you did it and why.”
“I’ll tell you nothing. The other ladies-in-waiting can account for my whereabouts.”
He lifted a brow and his mouth twisted.
That wasn’t reassuring. Rowen stood back on her heels and her shoulders slumped. “What is it?”
Mr. Smeathe stared at her with cold, dark eyes. “The ladies-in-waiting are all testifying against you.”
“No,” Rowen said. She’d have sat back down if there had been a chair. She couldn’t let this stranger see her sitting on the floor like a peasant.
“Yes. You haven’t a chance but to tell us the truth. Maybe we can avoid sending you to Jahns.”
Rowen didn’t ask, but she had a feeling it was someone she didn’t want to see. “Wait,” Rowen said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. Picturing Ishma and the others sneering at her while she fought for her life was too much. “That cannot be. They have no right. Whatever testimony they plan to give is a lie.”
“They are not the ones on trial. You are. Let’s not forget that.”
Rowen opened her mouth. Nothing came out but a painful wheeze. She coughed and turned away, embarrassed by the hacking sound she’d developed after days of being subjected to bitter cold and little food and water. When the coughing fit ended, Rowen wiped her mouth and stared out the window.
This was all surreal. If only she could wake up, she could sneak off to Lawson’s quarters and give him the kisses and passion he desired the last time she saw him.
“You said the ladies-in-waiting are all testifying.”
“That is correct.”
“Even Lady Brea?” Saying the words cut deep into her already tender and broken heart. He’d already given his answer, but she needed to hear it again. She needed to prepare herself for the betrayal that was to come.
“Lady Brea has compelling eye-witness account
s against you. They will likely use her to solidify your sentence. Now, aren’t you going to tell me everything so we can move this trial along?”
Rowen chewed her bottom lip and sucked in a breath of cold air. It was too much to take in. No one prepared her for this. Lady Brea had been prepared to help her escape if need be. Now, she was willing to aid in Rowen’s execution. The notion embittered her in a way that took her sadness away. There was no room for sadness anymore.
“No,” Rowen said. “Leave me.”
“Suit yourself. They will hang you for this.”
Rowen shot him a glare, her hands balled into fists as pain and rage filled her veins. “They can try.”
Chapter 13
ROWEN COULD TASTE freedom as she was taken from the prison tower and led down the stone mountain path to her trial. The taste was bitter, because she was not free. Her arms were bound before her with ropes, and she’d been clothed in a plain gray gown that reached her leather shoes.
Her ordeal was just beginning.
It had been nearly another week since she’d seen or spoken to anyone other than the prison guard who brought her bread and water. That morning, she was allowed to clean herself with an old rag and a pail of cool water. There was nothing she could do about her hair, but rake through the tangles with her numb fingers.
Cold and shivering, she could barely keep up with the guards that led her down the icy path. Snow fell from the dark sky of dawn, and Rowen’s arms were tight with gooseflesh. The howling of the wind had become a lullaby. Now, it wrapped around her and blew her dress out, nearly lifting her from the ground.
“Lucky Jahns didn’t get his hands on you,” Morse, the prison master that led the way said over his broad shoulder. He had a bald head and wore armor that had the Withrae crest on the left shoulder. “He’d have stripped that pretty flesh of yours right off the bones. Killing the prince. They’d have impaled a peasant for much less. And, you get off without so much as the sting of a whip. Damned lucky, you are.”
Rowen ignored him. She was tired of hearing about luck. Her feet were sore and her toes were frostbitten, but she kept her head held high and her eyes ahead. Weary and full of anxiety, Rowen was led through the prison gates, and out onto the road. A black horse and tumbril awaited her, to transport her to the Withraen courthouse. Without a word, Morse lifted her from the ground and set her inside the wooden tumbril.
