Page 7 of The Artist and the Dragon

Not far away, Ceridwen clung to Drystan, who cast about wildly, calling for his guards. Adair had drawn the sword he wore at all times as Drystan’s captain of the guard. He, too, snapped orders, keeping Lydia, Father, and the rest of the family behind him.

Safe.

Bronwyn breathed deeply. Thank the Goddess, they were safe.

Smoke filled her lungs, sending her into a coughing fit. Malik pulled her to her feet and away from the gray cloud drifting around them. But the smoke didn’t come from the burning oil of the fallen chandelier—it seeped from the wreckage in dark billows. It was no ordinary smoke, not like that of a fire. It had form as it rose. Substance.

“Magic,” Malik said, a dark edge to his voice. He threw out his arm, ushering her behind him.

Her skin turned clammy. Magic. A power few possessed, and if they wielded it here, it could not be a spell of the light. No practitioner of light would dare disrupt Drystan’s wedding, not after all he’d done to defeat King Rhion, a wielder of dark magic.

The smoke folded in on itself, tightening and taking the shape of a winged lizard that coiled below the high, arced ceiling. Some guests froze in terror, staring up at the magic flowing before them. Others screamed and continued their hasty exit. Guards rushed in only to skid to a stop, gaping at the sight.

A dragon. Symbol of the old king’s followers. King Rhion Ithael had fed Drystan’s addiction to dark magic and used him as a tool to kill any would who oppose them. Under the magic’s thrall, Drystan had been forced to attack even his own parents, and Rhion had convinced him he was solely responsible for their deaths.

The evil king was dead. His reign had ended. But some of his followers still lived in the shadows, challenging Drystan’s rule and seeking the twisted freedoms they’d once held to steal the blood of the living and use it to increase their power.

“False king.” The smoke dragon’s voice hissed like steam, setting Bronwyn’s teeth on edge. “Abdicate the throne you stole by force or face our wrath.” The dragon shifted, almost as if it turned to take in the rest of the room, and spoke once more. “He’s a monster. One who’ll devour our country whole.”

“Drystan!” Ceridwen tugged at his arm.

Drystan’s teeth were bared, the canines slightly longer than normal. His eyes flashed a dangerous shade of red. He’d used dark magic for so long under his uncle’s influence that, even now, his craving troubled him. Light and dark magic should never mix, Drystan had said. When they did, the wielder could lose control and be overcome. It had been months since he’d fully transformed into the monster that lingered beneath his skin, but anger and aggression brought it to the surface. Only Ceridwen was able to calm him and keep the beast contained.

“You’ve been warned.” With its final eerie note, the dragon dissipated.

If Drystan didn’t rule, who would? Without a monarch, the country would fall into chaos. Drystan’s only heir, Malik, peered down at her, his brow wrinkled and lips pressed thin.

“You—” Bronwyn started.

No.He couldn’t be a dragon, could he? He’d helped them take down his father and his followers. He’d placed the crown on Drystan’s head himself. Bronwyn bit her lip, holding in the accusation she yearned to fling his way.

“Bronwyn.” He touched her upper arm. Gentle. Searching.

“You protected me,” she stammered, covering her almost-accusation.

“Of course, I—”

“Prince Alastair.” Guards swarmed them, addressing Malik by his official name. “Lady Bronwyn.”

Malik dropped his hand as if she’d burned him. As he stepped away, the trace of worry on his features vanished into unusual stiffness. “I’m glad you’re all right. It would be unfortunate for the king and queen if you were injured.”

But not for you?She didn’t mask the hurt that had her standing a little straighter. “Inconvenient, more like,” she replied, letting the bite of his indifference filter into her words.

His lips twitched once before he turned away.

“Bronwyn!” Adair filled the space in front of her, looking her up and down, brushing dust from her arms. “You’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she promised.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Her brother turned her toward the rest of the family and the guards surrounding them. Ceridwen clung to Drystan and he to her. The eerie light had gone from his eyes. Bronwyn breathed a small sigh of relief. At least his monster was back under control … for the moment.

Bronwyn glanced back over her shoulder, searching for the man who, in the middle of chaos, had likely saved her life. She could not find him.

Chapter 4

Malik

Drystanpacedtheroom.He had run his hands through his hair so many times that it stood on end. His formal wedding coat was long forgotten, the starched shirt beneath partially unbuttoned and rolled up past his elbows. “Over a dozen people injured. At my wedding feast!” he growled for at least the fourth time.

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