Page 41 of A Dance of Water

"No," she breathed out.

The dragon’s green eyes snapped to her wide blue ones, and her heart stuttered in her chest, the dragon’s large head cocked, onyx scales glinting under the blue cast of the room, turning to an almost opal-hued brilliance cut with an underlying tinge of darkness.

The dragon moved closer.

The females by her side stayed still, but the air grew thick with hot, curious hunger.

She squirmed where she stood, breaths ratcheting out of her chest and matching the flurry of snowflakes throughout the room.

Settle, Luella,whispered into her mind.

And the dragon’s sharp, long talons reached up, his snout coming down as he stared into her eyes. A puff of hot breath across her cheeks, smoke wafting from his nostrils, and the hush that had befallen the revelers was broken with the Prima’s cry: "The King has chosen!"

Cheers and raucous calls filled the room, and the females by her side slowly backed away, dispersing into the crowd with crestfallen features and ugly looks thrown Luella’s way.

"I-I don’t… I don’t want this," Luella beseeched, backing up until her heels hit the first step leading to the raised dais of the throne. The dragon’s snout followed her, a curious, possessive action that made her nearly tumble backward.

But the Prima spoke again. "Silence!"

Once more, the crowd grew silent.

Tharen turned, finally meeting her widened, alarmed eyes. He strode toward her without care of the large onyx dragon looming in their midst. He gripped her wrist tightly, and she bit back a wince. The dragon let loose a low, groaning rumble, green eyes sparking.Tharen’s jaw clenched, even as he eyed the beast with a knowing glint.

The Prima raised her arm high up. "The Chosen!" he yelled. "Luella Eritrais. The captive Princess of Solis."

And the crowd roared.

The dragon’s head bowed, never looking away from where Luella was standing adrift in a den of vile intent, forced into a silken fallacy and paraded about as a… as asacrifice.

She hoped Bastian was listening to her. Could hear her woes. Could feel the dread in the very marrow of her bones.

The dragon changed.

It was a swift transformation—she could have blinked and missed it. Scales receded, skin replaced onyx, wings grew smaller, then disappeared altogether, and suddenly, the King knelt on the ground, naked and prideful as he stared up at her.

She averted her eyes from his nudity, and chuckles rang out throughout the room at her abashed state. She was a sacrificial lamb. Laughing stock.

The King stood, uncaring of his nudity. From somewhere she did not see, the Advisor arrived, a thick fur cloak in his hands. He draped it over the King’s shoulders, concealing his nude body, making him appear some wild thing with raw masculinity and ferality.

Bastian handed off another fur cloak to the King, who took it with a savage smirk. The King walked toward her, and she could do nothing, say nothing, arrested by him. He took her wrist, much like Tharen had, and came to stand by her side, the extra fur cloak thrown over his arm.

The King and the captive Princess looked out over the crowd of frost-tinged revelers, debauched and covetous with voracious appetites.

His fingers stretched hers as he gripped her hand. He was warm, and the call sang a requiem of ice and fire. Water and smoke. Snow and embers.

Vapor and… ash.

Her throat grew dry.

"Luella Eritrais is the Chosen for this Winter Solstice. Herpleasure will be a sacrifice to help the lands prosper for the cold months ahead," the King boomed.

Color drained from her face.

Pleasure… Sacrifice…

"Now," the King started, turning to her and taking up both of her hands as he stared down at her. Seeing those green eyes… It reminded her of the magnificent beast that had just been in his place.

A breath against her nape, the flutter of her white hair from the presence at her back. Something cold pressed to her throat.

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