by Mina Carter
Sawyer frowned. “But why?”
“Because I should be king!” Henrick snarled, slamming his hands into the bars between them, his face purple. “Not some woman without the head for leadership or the balls to take our people where we need to be.”
Sawyer had seen some nutcases in his time, but Henrick was totally delusional.
“You’re not a white though. You can’t be king, only the queen’s consort,” he pointed out, which got another snarl from Henrick.
“I am male,” he insisted. “And once Cadeyra is my wife, she will do as I say. She will bend to my will, and if she doesn’t…” He shrugged. “Accidents are easy enough to arrange and if she dies without an heir… then as her consort, the throne will fall to me. And there’s nothing you can do about it down here, mutt… even if you managed to live long enough.”
“Wait… what?” Sawyer exclaimed as Henrick turned and walked off, but the shadows snaking into his cell cut his sentence off right there. Recognizing the same black magic that had surrounded the golems and the basilisks, he backed up into the corner.
“Shit.”
Yanking at the chains on his wrists in desperation, he tried to get them off. He needed to get out of here. Needed to warn someone, anyone, about Henrick. That he planned to seize control…
And kill the queen.
Chapter 9
It was her wedding day, yet she’d never felt less like a bride.
Alone after she’d dismissed the ladies in waiting who had helped her dress, Cadie looked at her reflection dully in the mirror. The white gown with its golden accents was beautiful and suited her coloring, the delicate veil held in place by the crown that perched atop her coiled and pinned hair. In her hands was the requisite bouquet, the scent of roses and baby’s breath rising to surround her.
On the surface, she looked like a bride. But for anyone who chose to look closer… her skin was pale and her makeup didn’t quite cover the deep circles under her eyes from her recent sleepless nights. Her gown, custom made for her only a few weeks ago, hung off her petite frame, displaying the weight she’d lost in only a few days and her hair was dull under the layers of lacquer used to tease it into the elegant updo.
To top it all off… her dragon wasn’t talking to her.
It didn’t want Henrick. It wanted Sawyer. End of. And it blamed her for his absence.
Despair filled her, tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. She knew how it felt. She wanted Sawyer as well but all the legal experts she’d tasked with pouring over the treaty agreed. It was binding. No one knew why or when her father had signed it, the only witnesses from Henrick’s court or long since dead. Since he had, its terms bound Cadeyra into a marriage she would never have agreed to, didn’t want and would do anything short of causing war to get out of.
She’d even put calls out through a few more… discreet channels to seek help but nothing had come back. A sigh escaped her. It had been a long shot at best, but still… she’d held out hope until now. Her gaze cut to the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten fifty-five. The ceremony was at eleven. She was almost out of time.
There was a soft knock on the door. Before she could answer, it was pushed open and the tall figure of her cousin filled the frame. The look on his face made her shake her head.
“Don’t say a word,” she advised softly, the ring of command in her voice. “There’s nothing you can do or say that will make this better.”
“I could rip his fucking head off and play skittles with it down the length of the throne room?” Calan suggested with a growl as he entered the room. Walking over to her, his gaze swept up and down her and he leaned in to air-kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, cousin-mine, but you’re marrying the wrong guy. It should be Sa—”
“Please, don’t,” she begged, her voice shaking. She closed her eyes for a second to regain her composure. When she opened them she looked directly at him. “I don’t want you to give me away. No, wait,” she ordered when he started to argue. “I know you. You’ll blame yourself for this forever. I made this decision rather than the alternatives, so I will shoulder the consequences.”
Calan caught her arm, forcing her to look up at him. The concern on his face almost broke her heart all over again. “Please… You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I do. And I will. If you really want to help me, ensure Sawyer is okay. Please? For me?”
He nodded, dropping her arm and stepping back. “Of course. He’s a black. We always have each other’s backs.”
“Thank you.”
She’d run out of time. Cadeyra nodded, took a breath to fortify herself and swept from the room in a rustle of silken skirts.
As soon as she passed through the door, she drew the mantle of queen around herself, using it like a mask. It had always been her shield, her armor, and would continue to be so. She’d let Sawyer in, for a brief moment, and look where that had gotten her… heartbroken. She would never love again. Ever.
The double doors opened in front of her. Readjusting her grip on the bouquet in her hands, she walked through them and into the throne room. It had been hastily decorated for a wedding, white satin banners fluttering on the pillars and cascading displays of white and gold roses like sentinels between them. Rows and rows of chairs were set either side of the aisle, the red carpet stretching out toward the throne and the small group standing in front of it—a priest and her bridegroom with his guards.
She looked away from them, fixing her gaze just above them on the throne. That was why she was here. Duty. No other reason. She was Cadeyra the White, and she always put her people first. The guests murmured softly as she passed them in silence. The cream of draconic society was here but there was none of the excited buzz present at a normal wedding. It was as if they all knew this was a diplomatic arrangement, one forced by treaty and decades-old scrolls. Plus, it was well known that Henrick was a dick.
Perhaps she could have him sent to Antarctica or something once they were married?
Reaching the end of the aisle, she came to a stop in front of the priest, ignoring her bridegroom completely. Unfortunately, he didn’t afford her the same courtesy, reaching out to touch her waist as he said, “My dear… you loo—”
She cut him off with a snarl, her voice like ice and the flare of her dragon in her eyes. “Do not touch me. Never touch me,” she hissed. “This is a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”
Turning to the priest, she gave him a nod. “Get on with it, please. The sooner this is over, the better.”
The shadows were no longer pretending to be basilisks.
Sawyer stood lightly on his feet in the middle of his cell, weight perfectly balanced as he watched his “opponents” writhe and coil, shaping themselves out of nothing. They formed two, roughly man-shaped figures either side of him. Tension built in the air as none of them moved. Not yet.
Sawyer’s dragon, alert and responsive the instant they’d learned of the threat to Cadeyra, brushed scale lightly against the inside of his skin. He couldn’t access it, not in here. The suppression charm on the cells stopped his shift magic. He could feel his dragon, even communicate with it, but he couldn’t break scale or drop a claw through his human skin.
He was on his own.
Against the same dread magic that had powered the golems and killed twenty of the court.
But… he wasn’t just a black dragon. He was a soldier too. And when it came to fist fights, he’d learned from some of the best.
With a yell, he launched himself to the side, running lightly up the wall to spin around one arm trailing to allow him to use the length of his chains and hammer a solid punch into the shadow-man on the left. As expected, it dissipated with a pop, the other one already running toward him. Sawyer dropped to the ground and rolled away, using the momentum of his movement to yank on his chains where they were fixed in the wall.
The first shadow came after him again but he was already back on his feet, jumping and looping the chains around it. A gri
n split his lips as they caught on the shadow form, holding it in place for a moment and visibly weakening it before the other one hit him in the side and made him drop the chains.
He swore as he backed up, fighting for breath as pain lanced through his side. But he’d learned what he needed. The spelled chains were made of iron. And anything… anything… magical was susceptible to iron. Keeping up his fancy footwork, he danced around the two shadows, using the chains to slow them down and his movements to yank on the fixing in the wall. He needed to get it free to reach the front of the cell. Once he could, then he could reach the lock…
And hopefully soon. He felt himself slowing down with the exertion. Without being able to access his dragon’s strength, he was on human-level stamina and in a fight with magically created beings. He was about to be in trouble. Fast.
With a snarl, he redoubled his efforts, straining every muscle in his body as he threw his weight about the cell. The manacles cut into his wrists, blood dripping onto the floor and making the flagstones slippery. Finally, with a squeal, the rusted in pin came loose of the wall.
He grinned in triumph, yanking the chain toward him and catching the pin when it slapped into his hand. Tearing it loose from the end of the chain, he whirled and threw it like a knife. It hit the shadow creeping up on him from behind in the center of the chest, slamming it backward to pin it against the stone wall of the cell. It scrabbled and writhed, trying to free itself from the iron.
Sawyer spun on his heel, racing across the cell to the bars at the front. Looping his arm through the bars, he shivered in relief as he felt the suppression lift from his hand. Punching a claw through the skin of his fingertip, he raised a hand to slice it through the lock…
The remaining shadow hit him from the side, pinning him against the cell wall and the bars as it looped thick tendrils of smoke around his neck. He struggled against it, twisting and turning his body to try and buck it off, but it had a solid grip. His air cut off, his vision started to go grey at the edges, and his strength deserted him even as his dragon roared in rage and frustration within. If he could only trash the lock, the spell would be broken and he could toast this mother-fucker with his fire.
But he couldn’t reach the lock.
Helplessness washed over him as his dying brain began to accept the inevitable. He had no way out. The shadow would kill him and then Henrick would be free and clear to kill Cadeyra. His little mate. At least, in death, they would finally be together.
FIGHT, YOU ASSHOLE! His dragon roared, actually forming human words in his brain, something it rarely ever did. Fight or scale help me, I’ll fucking burn you from the inside myself!
He felt the warmth around his throat within a millisecond as his dragon built fire up within the confines of his human skin. Without being able to release it, his death would be painful and gruesome, but he didn’t care, a sudden glimpse into his dragon’s mind giving him a hint as to what it was up to.
His skin turned red-hot and the shadow hissed, altering its grip. Sawyer was waiting though. With a roar, he twisted and broke free. Slamming a hand into the metal of the lock, he crushed it and the enchantment on the spell broke with a loud pop. Without a moment’s pause, he turned and opened his mouth to spew fire over the inside of the cell, burning both shadows out of existence in the blink of an eye.
Shit. He’d done it.
Sagging against the bars, he took a moment to catch his breath, hardly able to believe he’d managed it. The sound of the door to the dungeon opening brought his head up with a snap. Staggering to his feet, he turned to face it, super-heating his throat ready for round two.
Calan’s familiar figure appeared in the doorway, a look of shock on his face when he spotted Sawyer standing in the blackened cell, the metal bars burned and the door crushed. Sawyer didn’t give him time to ask, striding toward him.
“Get the twelve. We have a wedding to stop.”
Chapter 10
“Into this honored estate these two persons present come now to be joined.”
Cadeyra kept her eyes on the throne as the priest spoke, a slither of cold sweat rolling down her spine under the white silk of her dress. Every cell within her urged her to dump the flowers, hike up the dress and run. The vows would be next and then it would be too late. She could abdicate, find Sawyer and they could live out their lives in the wildness of the mountains. Just the two of them.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, though, she knew she wouldn’t. She was a white, born to rule. Not even love and her own happiness would cause her to deny her duty.
“If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
The doors crashed open behind them and a loud voice shouted.
“I object!”
Cadie gasped along with the rest of the congregation, turning in a whirl of white skirts to see Sawyer. Her heart leaped at the sight of him storming up the aisle, his face murderous. Calan was just a step behind him, his expression equally as grim.
The priest cleared his throat. “Errrm… on what grounds?”
“He’s an asshole,” Sawyer snarled, halfway up the aisle. But even from here she could feel the shift magic wrapped around him, stronger than she’d ever felt it before. Her dragon gave a small cry of happiness, wanting to be out and closer to him.
“That’s not a legal reason,” the priest argued.
“Okay. Then how about the fact he used magi—”
“GUARDS, KILL HIM!” Henrick screamed, gesturing at the palace guards from Cadie’s side before grabbing the smaller man standing right beside him. “Shut him up, NOW!”
Her eyes widened as the slender man began to chant, attention on Sawyer, and between one heartbeat and the next, Sawyer’s snarl cut off. He frowned, touching his throat, and tried to speak but nothing came out.
“Magic…” she hissed, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Henrick.
“You and you,” the prince grabbed two guards standing nearby, shoving them toward the big black. “Arrest him. Arrest him now for treason!”
“Belay that order,” Cadie snapped, her voice ringing out as she handed her bouquet off to Saskia, her maid of honor. “These are my guards,” she told him, her expression hard. “And I give the orders around here.”
Henrick turned on his heel to face her, a smarmy, ingratiating smile on his face. “But darling, you’re about to vow to honor and obey me… I’m merely a few minutes earl—”
“BULLSHIT!”
The outburst from the congregation made them all turn in surprise. Lord Geranfall pushed his way to the front, anger and determination in his pale eyes behind the owl-like glasses.
“Excuse my outburst, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice sharpening when he looked at Henrick and then back to her. “But no. The monarch never promises to obey a consort. Ever. It was removed from the marriage ceremony.”
The priest looked down at his scroll and frowned. “It’s been handwritten in here that the queen wishes that it be included.”
“Oh, really? I certainly did not request that it be included.”
Anger turning to fury in the center of her chest, Cadeyra turned to look at Henrick’s sorcerer. “Remove the spell, or die,” she ordered, reaching for her own magic. Her dragon leaped to do her bidding, coating her skin in golden scales as her hands crackled with white fire. The purest form of dragonfire.
The sorcerer swallowed, obviously reading his death in her eyes, and nodded. She felt the snap as he lifted the spell. But before Sawyer could speak, Henrick launched himself at Sawyer, his dragon exploding out of his body mid-air to attack the big general.
Cadie screamed, seeing the death of the man she loved as Henrick opened his mouth to spit fire. There was no way Sawyer could avoid the fire bolt, guests screaming and running for their lives to avoid the backwash.
Sawyer didn’t move, his lips curled back into a snarl as Henrick charged him down. At the last moment, he surged forward.
He didn’t shift, not quite. Instead, he grew taller and wider into something somewhere between dragon and man. Talons punched from the ends of his fingers and scales flowed over his skin. With a snarl of rage, his hand whipped out to grab the dragon prince by his throat. The court gasped as he stopped the shifted Henrick in mid-charge, holding him in the air for a moment. Then he twisted and slammed him into the floor hard enough to crack the granite.
The fight lasted seconds.
Henrick groaned, his dragon retreating within his human skin, leaving the man lying on the broken granite in pain.
Sawyer flicked him a dismissive glance and then stepped over him. Cadeyra watched him approach, hope welling in the center of her chest.
“You were going to say something, General?” she prompted.
“I was indeed, Your Majesty,” he bowed low. “I regret to inform you that Prince Henrick is a traitor. More… he used black magic not just to attack the court at the ball—”
The congregation gasped behind him but Cadie shot them a look to quieten them down, nodding to Sawyer to carry on.
“…But he also used the same black magic to raise your father from the dead long enough to sign the alliance treaty awarding him your hand in marriage.”
“What?” Whatever she’d thought Sawyer had been about to say, that hadn’t been it. Pain lanced through her. “You are aware that such a charge, of necromancy, carries the most severe punishment? Do you have proof?”
Please, have proof, she whispered to herself. It was the only way she could get them all out of this without a war that could destroy them all.
“I do.” Sawyer nodded and relief rolled through her, making her knees weak. He stepped forward and then sank to one knee in front of her. “Please, Your Majesty, view my dragon’s memories. You will find all the proof you need there.”
