by Simone Pond
Evelyn stopped until the chain jerked her forward and she had to speed up to keep from getting dragged. That’s why the prince didn’t want to go after the dragon. The beast was protecting the castle. This meant that it was also protecting Prince Kieran and his bloodline. Sickness washed over Evelyn. She had been a lady-in-waiting for a man who was in league with the very creatures she was born to slay.
“Why does fate sometimes feel so … so …”
Trellox raised his bushy eyebrows. “Like a ball of flames to the gut?”
She looked at him, befuddled.
He gave her a boyish grin. “Your face is a bit green.”
“Do you mind explaining what’s going on?” Doran cut in.
“Thanks to Trellox here, I believe I’ve figured out a mystery,” said Evelyn. “Since we’re almost at the castle, I’ll cut to the chase. I believe the dragons of Galicia have been protecting Verubri Castle and this kingdom for centuries. Maybe even their bloodlines are tied together somehow.”
Doran stared ahead as he pondered the suggestion. Trellox also remained quiet. He was too young to know much history, but he knew enough to know Verubri Castle and the kingdom had been an untouchable force for many years and that the dragons possibly were involved.
“Logically it makes sense,” said Doran. “But why hasn’t anyone else come up with this theory?”
Evelyn thought about all the reasons why she’d never discussed the subject with her mother, or why people in her hamlet never spoke of the dragons. “Probably because most people are terrified of being killed by Prince Kieran. Or their villages have been burned to the ground and they took any secrets with them to their fiery graves. Historical knowledge isn’t exactly a strong trait of northern or southern Galicia. Which is also why it’s vitally important to retrieve my father’s journal. I’m sure there’s valuable information in those pages.”
They stopped talking as they got closer to the castle; not because they didn’t want to be heard, but because they were shocked to see what awaited their arrival. Two rows of knights and watchmen stood positioned before the bridges, holding outstretched bows with arrows in their quivers ready to dip into flame-filled buckets.
The head knight came to the back of the line. “As you can see, the prince has taken precautions to secure your arrival. We now wait for him to come down with further instructions.”
Evelyn scoffed. “All this for a lady-in-waiting?”
“You’re no ordinary lady-in-waiting, are you, Evelyn of Gorias?” asked the knight.
She glanced at Doran, shaking her head. “Damn Ciara. After I saved her life, this is how she repays me.”
Doran closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I won’t say it.”
“Oh, feel free. You told me so …”
The knight bowed his head and instructed his men to dismount and surround the three of them. Poor Trellox hadn’t seen the end of his punishment. The knights made a circle around the chained and bound group of Evelyn, Doran, and Trellox, keeping their swords drawn and ready to strike.
Doran gazed over at Evelyn and smiled. “You’ll be okay. You can call on the spear whenever you want.”
“But what about you?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t forget, I’m a clever thief.”
“And what about me?” Trellox blurted.
Doran looked at the boy. “You, lad, I’m not so sure about. You’ll be lucky if you make it through the night.”
Trellox let out a tiny whimper and stared at the ground. Evelyn bumped his rail-thin arm with hers and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”
“Now would be a great time to do that,” said Doran. “Before the prince arrives.”
Evelyn nodded and closed her eyes, concentrating on the crystal stone that was with Aine. She whispered its name over and over, opening up her hands as much as she could. When the spear didn’t show up, she spoke louder, not caring if the knights heard her. Her secret was already out, courtesy of Ciara.
The head knight called out to the men encircling the three and ordered them to move forward with the group. They shoved Evelyn and the chains clanked and clanged on the bridge as they shuffled across to the front entrance. Each step, Evelyn called for her spear, but nothing happened.
“What’s going on?” Doran’s eyes were wide with concern and it was the first time Evelyn had ever seen him panicked. This did not ease the growing anxiety in her stomach.
“Sometimes it doesn’t come when I call for it. Remember the ravine. It has a mind of its own …”
“Fantastic,” Doran muttered.
The front doors opened into the grand entryway, the one where Evelyn had fainted only days ago. The knights shoved the three inside and stood behind them with their swords pressed at the bases of their skulls. Still no spear of Gorias.
Prince Kieran made a dramatic entrance wearing a crisp white suit with gold brocade. His brown hair had been impeccably set and he even wore a bit of makeup around his eyes, accentuating the golden flecks. Evelyn still found him to be a stunning man, but the moment he spoke everything on the outside withered away.
“You can send the men to the dungeons,” he announced.
Two of the knights unchained Doran and Trellox from Evelyn and yanked them away. Doran gave one last glance to Evelyn and she wanted to shout he’d be okay, but the prince stepped in front of her, blocking her view. He grabbed her cheeks and squeezed hard.
“A shame you had to disobey me and run off as you did. But your punishment won’t be too awful.” He leaned forward and kissed her, hard and intense, forcing his tongue into her mouth and sucking on hers until she gagged. She bit down as hard as she could on his lip and he shoved her away, blood seeping from his mouth.
“Oops,” she said.
“You bitch!” He slapped her face, knocking her sideways and off balance.
Evelyn dropped to the floor and Prince Kieran proceeded to kick her in the ribs. She curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself, but the chains restrained her from getting ample coverage. He didn’t stop until she was coughing up blood and nearly passed out.
“My lord, we need her alive … at least until we have the spear of Gorias,” said the head knight.
The prince squatted down and peered into Evelyn’s bloodied and bruised face. “Where is the spear of Gorias, Lady Evelyn?”
She spat a mouthful of blood at him. This precipitated another punch to her gut. Then he yanked her up and shouted for her to reveal the spear’s location.
“It’s gone,” she muttered.
“Have her stripped her down, Declan!” he yelled at the head knight. And when Declan remained frozen the prince yelled louder, “Now!”
Declan sent the majority of his men off, keeping only two men behind to assist. The two knights began to remove the chains from Evelyn, then carefully removed her bloodied clothes.
“Eyes averted!” shouted the prince.
They kept their gazes toward the ceiling as they fumbled with her boots and pantaloons. When she was fully undressed, they stood with their backs to her.
Prince Kieran took one of their swords and poked Evelyn’s stomach. “Rise, Lady Evelyn!”
Evelyn struggled to get to her feet and once there, swayed back and forth. The head knight turned in the opposite direction as Prince Kieran walked in a slow and calculated circle around her.
“It’s in your best interest to hand it over,” said the prince.
She groaned, unable to speak.
“This will all be over if you just give me the spear of Gorias, my lady. It’s quite simple. Then you can go home to Ocelum to be with your mother. Unless … you wish to stay here?” He stood close and patted her bottom, then gave her a slap.
Evelyn stumbled forward and collapsed to the floor.
“Damn you, you insufferable creature!” he shouted. “You will stay here. In the dungeons. Perhaps sharing crumbs with rats for weeks on end will inspire you to hand over the spear …”
15
The journey took an entire day’s ride through the treacherous trails to reach the White Sea. Ciara thought she’d go mad trapped inside the stuffy carriage. Prince Kieran was deeply absorbed in Evelyn’s journal. He scoured the pages over and over, then carefully wrapped the book in a gold cloth as though it was the most precious jewel.
At first, she thought the ride would be the perfect opportunity to impress the prince with her brilliant wit—if not for anything other than to secure her hand in marriage—but her plan was thwarted by his sudden and irritating interest in the goat girl’s journal … and then, of all things, Kateline.
“So,” said the prince to Kateline, “tell me more of your country of Levant. I visited as a young boy, but my memories are faded. I recall endless vineyards.”
Kateline wrapped her gray cloak tighter around her body and pressed closer against Ciara as a reminder that they were on the same team, but Ciara didn’t trust the girl any more than she trusted the weather.
Ciara smirked at the two of them and said, “I suggest we discuss our strategy with Eshlan’s queen. To my understanding, she’s a force to be reckoned with. A leader of rebellions. A hero among her people.”
Prince Kieran continued soaking in Kateline. He licked his lips and smiled, then without looking at Ciara he continued addressing Kateline. “Levant was once the largest supplier of wines before King Oren stormed in and slaughtered the country. Did your family own any vineyards?”
Kateline glanced over to Ciara, then to the prince. “Oh, it’s not that interesting, my lord.”
He leaned across and placed his hand on her knee. “But it is. I want to hear all about your childhood and your brother, Clovis. It’s important to know these details before I make a deal of such importance. You want to see him freed, don’t you?”
The way his eyes flickered in the stream of moonlight coming in through the window gave Ciara a chill. Perhaps he wasn’t as unstable as she and Kateline thought him to be. Mercurial, yes, but the man seemed to stand on firm ground. He knew exactly how to play the game. Kateline’s usual self-assuredness waned by the second, leaving behind a deflated version of the girl. No longer did she coo seductively or bat her dark eyelashes when she spoke. She coiled up into her cloak as if trying to vanish. Ciara had grown weary of the prince and his manipulative toying.
“Of course she wants to see him freed!” said Ciara sternly. “Why else would we be here with you on this dreadful journey?”
A flash of fire erupted in Prince Kieran’s eyes. He leapt from his seat and gripped Ciara’s neck, squeezing so tightly she thought her head would snap off. She kicked and writhed under his weight, but to no avail. He was too strong to fight off. Kateline screamed and pleaded for him to stop. This seemed to only encourage the prince to grip harder.
“You need to learn your place, you vixen. You think I don’t know your scheme?”
Ciara coughed and gagged. “I have no schemes, my lord. Other than to give you all of me and serve you …”
He laughed and spittle sprayed against Ciara’s cheeks. “Serve me or yourself? Don’t think me foolish. I know your game.”
“Please, my lord. Don’t kill her!” cried Kateline.
Ciara’s vision began to blur in and out.
“What purpose does she serve? I have everything I need!” he grunted, his eyes bulging as he choked Ciara.
As the edges of the carriage faded to black, Ciara heard Kateline yell, “If you kill her, you won’t be able to negotiate with Queen Boudicca!”
He glanced over his shoulder, his clasp loosening a bit. “I have you now, don’t I?”
Right before Ciara passed out into a sea of inky black, she heard Kateline say, “If you kill Ciara, I will not help you. And nor will my brother.”
Ciara awoke the next morning, her head resting in Kateline’s warm lap. She sat up slowly, rubbing her sore neck. Her throat felt torn and ripped apart on the insides, like she’d swallowed an entire thorn bush.
The carriages had entered a port where the prince’s boat was docked. Prince Kieran stood outside shouting orders to his chief of staff—a portly fellow—and the head knight. The knight was a Herculean man with far better manners than the prince. She remembered how he had turned around to avoid witnessing Evelyn being stripped down the night they’d brought her and the thief back to the castle. Ciara had been spying from the second-floor balcony as Prince Kieran brutally beat Evelyn before sending her to the dungeons. At the time she thought he had reacted like this because she’d run off and shamed him. But after being nearly choked to death for merely opening her mouth—a second time—she knew the prince took pleasure in physically abusing those weaker than him because he was a monster.
“How are you, my dear friend?” Kateline’s soothing voice had returned as she peered at Ciara’s neck.
“Thank you for what you did.” Ciara flushed and lowered her gaze to Kateline’s nervously fidgeting hands. She reached out and cupped them in hers and brought them to her lips, kissing them with unabashed tenderness. “You saved my life.”
Kateline pulled her hands away and embraced Ciara, their chests heaving against each other. “I’m so sorry for what he did. He’s a horrible man.”
Ciara rested her face in the crook of Kateline’s long neck. “He is no man. He’s a beast.”
The two giggled softly until the carriage door opened, and Prince Kieran poked his head inside. A burst of icy sea air sliced through the warmth of the cabin. Kateline quickly pulled away and tensed up.
Ciara reached for her hand and held it tightly. “Show no fear,” she whispered.
The prince banged his sword against the floor and glared at Ciara. “What did you just tell her?”
“I said it must be time to go.” Ciara sat up straight and looked directly into his menacing eyes.
He leaned against the butt of his sword handle and stared back. “The only reason you’re still alive is because I need you for these negotiations. You should thank your girlfriend for saving you. Her loyalty to you is far greater than to her prince. I thought about leaving you behind in Eshlan, but after some consideration, I’ve decided to make you my wife. Just think …” He paused and grinned in the most mocking of manners. “Verubri will have a queen with a heart as cold as mine.”
His laugh contained a chill colder than the air outside. He turned to leave, and Ciara realized she’d been holding her breath. Ironic, she thought—achieving the dream of becoming the prince’s betrothed, but what could be more nightmarish? But discovering his true nature wasn’t going to stop her from continuing with her plan to reign by his side. Now she had vital information on how to proceed. She would always—no matter what—need to have the upper hand. That would be the only way to survive the deplorable brute. And the first thing she needed to do was retrieve Evelyn’s journal of legends. Though she didn’t know why, he cherished the book as though it was made of solid gold. She’d get it back and use the precious journal as leverage to twist him around her little finger.
16
On the way to the dungeons, the watchman responsible for locking up Evelyn must’ve found a sliver of kindness in his heart because he stopped by the kitchen to find some clothes for her. She waited, cowering in the hallway for him to return, when Sinead happened to be entering the corridor. She caught a glimpse of Evelyn, broken and bloodied, and gasped, then ran off.
“Waaaii …” Evelyn tried calling for help, but her voice came out in a chalky whisper. Pain shot through her body once again and she slumped back down. She made a few attempts at calling for the spear of Gorias, but her efforts were futile.
The watchman returned from the kitchen a few moments later holding a large potato sack and a ratty headscarf typically worn by the cooks. With his sword, he cut a few holes in the sack—for her head and arms—then handed it to Evelyn. She made a painful attempt to pull the scratchy potato sack over her raw and bruised body, wincing in agony. The watchman awkwardly maneuvered her broken arm through one of the holes
, averting his eyes as he did so. The sack barely went to the top of her thighs, but she was so grateful to be covered up—even if only a little—she whispered a rough thank you.
“I’m deeply sorry it’s come to this,” he said, helping tie the headscarf around her unruly mane of copper hair.
“As am I … Your name?”
“Braxton of Delfry. Southern Galicia.”
Evelyn tried to smile, but her jaw felt like it was broken. She grasped Braxton’s arm, and they continued the slow slog toward the dungeons at the far south end of the castle.
“I won’t … forget your kindness,” she said.
Braxton nodded, peering over his shoulder, then bent down and hoisted Evelyn into his bulky arms. He carried her the rest of the way to the dungeons. It was a good thing, too, since it took another ten minutes to reach the entrance to the lower levels of the behemoth castle.
The stone staircase spiraled deep down below ground. At the bottom, cold and dank air saturated the place, along with the stench of rotting corpses and other human matters. Rows of iron gates and chains with giant locks lined the darkened tunnels. Braxton walked about fifty feet, then set Evelyn on the dirt ground to unlock one of the prison cells. Before picking her up, he lit the torches that flanked her new quarters.
“For light and warmth,” he said, somewhat ashamed.
She shuffled into the cave and collapsed onto a pile of hay. Everything from her scalp to her toenails throbbed mercilessly. Her left arm was broken in at least two places, she had some cracked ribs, and it was possible her back was broken—her legs had grown numb.
“I’m sorry to leave you here like this, but the prince …”
She held up her good hand. “I have one small request.”
“What say you?”
