by Delia Castel
He raised his eyebrows. “May I help you?”
Marigold hesitated, not quite understanding his question. She had already told him at the front gate that she was looking for work. His brows rose even higher, and his eyes took on an expectant gleam. Marigold coughed. “I’m looking for work.”
“The master and his family are away for Festival Week.”
“What about the head butler?”
His gaze lingered over her breasts. Marigold rounded her shoulders. While they weren’t small, they were in no way large enough to attract attention. The footman licked his lips. “He is also away.”
“Oh.” She stepped back. Something about the man’s attitude made her uncomfortable. Not only was he the self-important type but being so close to him made her flesh crawl. She was glad to have the iron gate separating them. “All right. I’ll go and try somewhere else.”
He fumbled with the keys. “You are welcome to stay here until they return.”
“Oh… No thanks. My fiancé is expecting me home.” She turned and sped back to the main road, ignoring his entreaties for her to stop. Marigold would bet her charm bracelet that the footman was alone in the house and had nefarious intentions.
To her relief, he didn’t follow, but she picked up her pace and headed towards the next home. At the side gate, she met a butler who informed her that many of the wealthier families left the capital for Festival Week. He gave her a list of households that typically stayed around and wished her good luck.
Marigold aimed for the houses that the butler gave her, knocking on side doors, requesting work. Although many of the households she visited had vacancies, they were for skilled jobs, such as seamstresses, sous-chefs, or assistant governess. Her heart sank. While she could read and write, it wasn’t at the level needed to teach the children of noblemen. As the day progressed, she wondered if anybody had vacancies for a scullery maid or kitchen hand.
At the end of the suburb stood a house larger than the others. Its lights were on, which was an encouraging sign. She picked up her pace and headed for the side entrance. Surely a home like this, which seemed to require an army of servants for its upkeep, would have a vacancy for an unskilled worker. Unlike the other houses, this one had stone walls, so it was hard to get a good view of the garden. From the sweet, citrusy magnolias gleaming on the overhanging branches like stars, she imagined the grounds would be magnificent.
Crimson light from the sun setting behind steel-gray clouds reflected off the gate’s huge, brass bell. Sending out a silent wish to no one in particular, she pulled its chain. If there wasn’t work at this home, she might have to go back to the first house and take the footman up on his offer. In Boreas, sleeping on the street was considered vagrancy, a crime that could earn an adult a week in the stocks. She couldn’t imagine Austellus being any different.
Several minutes later, no one answered the door. She tried again but still, no one answered. “Hello?” She stood on her tiptoes, leaning her hands against the gate. With a screech of metal, it swung open. She stumbled inside. “Oh!”
The kind butler had told her that this family should be in for Festival Week, so she stepped through the gravel courtyard, towards the side entrance of the house.
“This place is amazing!” Marigold marveled at the huge, limestone building. With its massive, glass windows and ornate moldings crowning the building, it was finer than even Lord Arctos’ mansion. A pit of dread opened up in her stomach. Whoever was in charge might scold her for not waiting at the gate and send her away, but she had given them ample time to answer. She could say that she had found the gate was open and thought it would be helpful to warn them of the oversight of security. Marigold nodded to herself. That was a reasonable explanation. Plausible, too.
“Hello?” She reached the side door, which had been left open a crack. “I’m looking for work… The gate was open, so I let myself in.”
Footsteps echoed from inside, and she straightened. Hopefully, they wouldn’t take offense that she’d walked in without an invitation. When the sounds of movement receded, she furrowed her brow. Hadn’t anyone heard her? She cleared her throat, and said in a much louder voice, “Excuse me, your gate was open, and your door is ajar.”
Whoever was inside paused, because she now couldn’t hear anything. Marigold chewed her lip. Perhaps one of the maids was venturing somewhere she wasn’t allowed and didn’t want to get caught.
She pushed the door open and peeked inside. “Hello?”
The sound of footsteps quickened, accompanied by the thud of a door slamming. Marigold scratched her head, unsure what to do next. The servants were probably making last-minute preparations for Festival Week. That would explain why no one took notice of her calls. If she stepped inside, she could lend a hand, and land herself a place in the household. She rubbed the back of her neck and considered her alternative option. That skinny footman looked like he wanted more than she was willing to give for a place to stay. After her experience with Poda, the disgusting Probation Officer, she was loath to put herself in a vulnerable position.
With the decisive nod, she stepped over the threshold. “I’m coming inside!”
The ceilings of the home were four times the height of Lord Arctos’ house. She wondered if this was the dwelling of a giant, as the ceiling stretched up to nearly twenty feet. She shook her head at the ridiculous thought. Giants mostly kept to Occidens in the west of the country. She would see them from time to time in the market in Maris, where she used to live, but most buildings couldn’t accommodate them. Maybe the master of the house entertained giants.
Her feet glided on a white, marble floor, which was polished so shiny she could see her reflection. Obviously, the master of this house had high standards. None of that scared her, though, and she headed towards the source of the sound. “Is anybody there?”
Again, nobody answered. There was noise in the back room, and she picked up her pace. She pushed open the door, and before she could take a proper look, her feet slipped. Marigold's heart jumped, her eyes squeezed shut, and she splayed out her arms for balance. It didn’t work, because she skidded forward and fell, landing on her hands and knees. A warm, thick liquid coated her palms. “What is—”
The smell of copper hit her nostrils, and her face drained. It could only be blood! Marigold scrambled back, pushing herself up on her knees and opened her eyes to sight of her blood-covered hands. Crimson liquid soaked into the front of her dress. Her heart exploded into action, forcing a gasp from her lips. Marigold shot her feet, trembling so hard, she feared her knees would buckle. “Oh, no!”
On unstable legs, Marigold stepped out of the room, not daring to look at what was inside. This much blood could only mean that somebody had been killed. Fear clenched her heart in its iron grip. She had to leave this place, now!
A high-pitched whine rent the silence. Marigold froze. Her throat dried like parched earth, and she swallowed. The owner of the blood was still alive! If someone needed her help, it would be cruel to run away. Although her life had been bleak, full of bad luck and disappointments, the few kindnesses she’d been bestowed made her want to assist others in desperate need.
Despite the feeling of the walls closing in on her, she set her jaw, pressed her lips together and pushed back her shoulders. Tamping down her escalating fear, she sucked in a deep breath, stepped into the room and looked around. “Is any —”
A crimson, scaled creature of about eighteen feet in length lay curled on the ground in the corner of a massive parlor. Horned ridges formed a V shape on his brow, which disappeared into his long snout. Furniture lay strewn around him, as though he had fought off an attacker. He made another tiny whimper. Marigold’s heart lurched. From the bony-framed, thick-membrane wings wrapping around his body, he could only be a dragon.
She wrung her hands and walked around an upturned sofa. “What happened?”
The creature’s eyelids fluttered open, exposing an eye so dark, it appeared black. Its iris narrowed into a
vertical slit, revealing jade pupils, flecked with carnelian red. His head twitched to the side, and Marigold stepped forward. From her new vantage point, she found a smaller, green dragon lying behind the crimson one. The green dragon was no longer moving, and its wing bones appeared broken, its membranes ripped to ribbons. Bile rose to the back of Marigold’s throat, and she swallowed. How long had they been in this condition?
She turned towards the head of the larger dragon. “Can you talk?” When she didn’t get an answer, she asked, “Can you change back?”
The dragon closed his eyes and gave a minute shake of the head. Thin smoke escaped his nostrils. Marigold’s throat tightened. How in Igneous could she save it? She placed her hand on the side of the Dragon’s massive face. His skin felt like warm leather. “I-I will get some help. Some of the houses… Some of them have people staying there.”
Another whine escaped his throat.
Marigold didn’t know what she was saying, but words that she hoped were reassuring tumbled out of her mouth. “W-wait here… S-someone will know what to do.”
With a soft sigh, the dragon closed his eyes. Marigold spun to race out of the room, but she slipped again, stumbling into the widening pool of blood. She broke her fall with her hands and pulled herself upright. Sparing one last glance over her shoulder at the dying dragon, she shuddered. Smoke no longer trailed from his nostrils, and Marigold gulped, hoping that it was merely unconscious.
She sprinted through the hallways in the direction she had entered the mansion, only to find the side door jammed. Her heart jumped into her throat. What if the people who had slaughtered the dragons were still here?
A thud echoed somewhere in the back of the house. She froze. There was definitely somebody in the house with her! Anyone who killed two dragons would have no problem getting rid of a defenseless human girl.
Marigold glanced around. Ahead, along the walls of the hallway stood the doors to what looked like a storage cupboard. Beyond them were double doors, which she guessed led to the front courtyard. She peered over her shoulder towards the scene of the murder. Footprints lay on the ground behind her, and she cringed. Hiding was no longer an option. All the killer needed to do was to follow the bloody footprints and find her crouched in a cupboard, unarmed. However, if she made it to the doors and out into the courtyard, she could at least scream for attention.
With one deep, fortifying breath, she sprinted towards the double doors. Fear powered her steps, and she ran so fast that she ended up stumbling forward and hitting her palms on the doors’ mahogany surface. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the bolts. Her fingers, slick with blood, slid over the handles, and she cursed and wiped her hands on the side of her dress.
At last, the bolt slid back. She pushed open the door and staggered down the steps, gasping in lungfuls of fresh, magnolia-scented air. Tears clouded her vision. Anguish twisted her features, leaving her a half-blinded, sobbing wreck floundering towards the gate. She’d never seen anyone die before, let alone been drenched in their blood. That poor dragon couldn’t succumb to his injuries. Not when he had probably witnessed the death of his companion. Even if it meant risking recapture, she had to do the right thing.
Marigold slammed into something warm and solid. Large, strong hands gripped her arms, accompanied by the scent of stale alcohol. She glanced up to find herself in the clutches of a man with rust-colored hair and cruel eyes that burned like the blue-green flames under a copper pot. He pulled his lips back and snarled, “Who in the name of Vulcan are you?”
Her heart jumped. This had to be the killer! Rage burned through her veins, and she kicked at his shins. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
“What—”
Marigold kneed him hard in the crotch. With a guttural roar, he doubled over, loosening his grip. Then she drew her head back and slammed it into his face. The man let go and clutched his bleeding nose. Marigold shoved him hard on the floor and kicked his stomach, eliciting a groan. She didn’t know his reasons for killing the dragons, but he would not add her to his list of victims!
Now free, she sprinted towards the gate, which he had left open. Each pounding footstep crunched on the gravel, muted by her hammering pulse. As she reached the open gates, relief surged through her body, lightening her feet.
She took one step into the sanctuary of the public street, and large, strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. She screeched, “Get off me!”
“What are you doing, you bitch?” he snarled.
Marigold wriggled in his grip, trying to slip away, but his arms wrapped around her middle like iron pincers. She scratched at his exposed skin, but it had no effect.
Cursing under his breath, the man carried her back towards the house. The only thing left to do was conserve her energy, so Marigold hung as limp as a ragdoll. Eventually, he would grow overconfident and when he did, she would strike and make sure he didn’t get up. He crossed the threshold, breathing hard. Marigold shuddered. She thought murderers and assassins would be composed about their business, but this man seemed drunk and unstable.
“You are crushing me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“What did you do?”
His hot, alcohol-scented breath made her flinch. “Nothing!”
“Then why are you covered in blood?”
“You would know the answer to that more than me!”
He growled and followed her bloody footprints back towards the scene of his crime. Marigold’s panic escalated, and her breaths became rapid and shallow. The lack of air made her head spin, and sobs choked her throat. She didn’t bludgeon her parole officer and escape to Austellus just to end up the victim of a drunken, murdering thug. She had to do something. She couldn’t let herself come to such a wretched and meaningless ending.
The man stepped into the room and froze. An anguished bellow rang through her ears. His arms loosened, and she fell out of his grip. Marigold landed on the floor, spun, and raced towards the exit. From his shocked reaction, he didn’t seem to be the killer. But he did seem angry enough to crush her with his bare hands. She decided then that she would leave the neighborhood. Earlier, she had passed a meadow, which had contained a pond. She could get cleaned up there and make her way to the port. Stowing away on a ship would be dangerous, but anything would be preferable to seeing those dead dragons again.
Seconds away from the front door, his hand closed around her arm, wrenching her back. The man grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the cupboards. Pain exploded in the back of her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
His inhuman growl reverberated through her body, shaking her to the marrow. He snarled, “You killed my parents, and I will kill you!”
“I didn’t—”
Her words were cut off by the fist squeezing her neck. Blood rose to the surface of her skin, making her head feel like a bladder about to explode. Struggling for air, she thrashed about, but he was too strong. Her eyes bulged. Her lungs burned. Marigold rasped. If she didn’t do something now, she was sure to die!
END OF PREQUEL
READ BOOK ONE
Also by Delia Castel
Free novelette: The Big Bad Wolf
http://www.cordeliacastel.com/wolf
Goldilocks and the Three Dragons
Prequel
Bated (July 2018)
Mated (August 2018)
Sated (September 2018)
www.cordeliacastel.com/delia
Writing as Cordelia Castel
The Seven Kingdoms Series (COMPLETED)
The Stepmother (free novelette)
http://www.cordeliacastel.com/stepmother
The Magestaff
The Academy
The Witch-Hunt
The Betrothal
The Usurper
The Banishment
The Kingdom
The Frozen Heart
The Bluebird
The Princesses
Delia Castel, Hated: Goldilocks and The Three Dragons Trilogy Prequel (A Reverse Harem Dragon Shifter Fairytale)
