Page 12 of Song of the Dragon Rider
4
CAT
Later that evening, Damien and I took a carriage to the Southern District where Damien planned to secretly meet with his brother the crown prince at The Gilded Serpent. I was too hyped up on anger and adrenaline to meet Thorne, but Damien was the boss and this was his party. I was just along for the ride.
The Gilded Serpent loomed impressively over the bustling streets, its golden facade a grand spectacle of architectural beauty and daunting mystique. Intricate carvings of serpents wrapped around towering pillars and ornate doorframes, their scales shimmering under the soft glow of lanterns that hung from the eaves. The flickering candles within cast warm, inviting beams of light onto the cobblestone street outside, inviting passersby into its secretive embrace. At the entrance, two enormous brass snake statues stood guard, their eyes glinting ominously, reflecting the ambient light with a supernatural gleam.
The cloying scents of exotic spices, aged wine, and heavy perfumes enveloped us when we entered the brothel, mingling in the air to create an intoxicating aroma that promised bothpleasure and peril. The interior was richly decorated with luxurious tapestries that adorned the walls, each depicting scenes of carnal indulgence and revelry. Plush cushions scattered across low tables filled the main hall, where patrons lounged and partook in the opulent offerings of the brothel’s attendants.
Damien reached for my hand and I flinched, snatching it back in disgust. He rolled his eyes. “Let’s not do this here, Cat,” he murmured as he forcefully took my hand in his. “You don’t want to get separated from me in here. You know what they do to pretty girls like you.”
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know who’s worse: you or them.”
“Them,” he answered me. “Definitely them.”
Hand in hand, we navigated the lavish ground floor, our cloaked figures blending with the shadows as we ascended the staircase to the second floor. The hallway was dimly lit, the walls lined with softly glowing sconces that tossed elongated shadows behind us. Only when we reached Damien’s private room and slipped inside did we allow our hoods to fall back.
The room was a secluded sanctuary, softly lit by a cluster of candles that diffused gentle, flickering light across rich velvet drapes and finely crafted furniture. A large, plush lounger dominated the space, surrounded by intricate rugs that softened the cold stone floor. Up here it was quieter, the sounds of the brothel below muffled by the thick walls.
I attempted to pull my hand from his grasp. “You can release me now,” I grumbled, my voice a mix of irritation and fatigue.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” Damien replied in a seductive whisper. He held onto my hand with a firm, yet gentle grip.
“Damien…” I growled in warning, my patience wearing thin. “You know, you really give a girl mixed signals. You’re all flirtatious, and yet you’re promising to send me home once yougain your freedom. It makes me question your sincerity. Hence why I tried to stab you with a fork.”
He squeezed my hand once more before finally letting go, his expression unreadable in the dim candlelight.
For the next few minutes, we sat in an awkward silence, the tension palpable. I shifted uncomfortably on the plush cushions, the soft fabric contrasting sharply with the harsh reality of our situation. Just as the silence became unbearable, the door burst open and a cloaked figure strode inside.
The man paused when he saw me sitting beside Damien and then removed his hood, revealing himself as Crown Prince Thorne, whom I had met during the awkward luncheon at their father’s palace.
“I see we have company,” Thorne remarked dryly, his tone cool as he flicked his eyes between us.
“Thorne, this is Lady Arya Ryder. Arya, this is Crown Prince Thorne,” Damien introduced, his voice steady.
I stood and bowed deeply, maintaining the decorum expected of my assumed identity. “Your Highness,” I greeted respectfully before sitting back down.
“Lady Arya? As in Lord Zacharia’s youngest?” Thorne inquired, his gaze shifting between Damien and me, a frown creasing his brow. “I thought... well, I thoughtyou,” he pointed to Damien, “were in talks with her sister Lady Gianna, andyou,” his finger now directed at me, “were involved with our brother Prince Julian.”
The mention of Julian was another tangle in the already complicated web in which I found myself. I, as in Cat, wasn’t involved with Julian, but Arya was. And since I was pretending to be her, I guess that technically meant I was involved with him. It was all a mess.
“Something like that,” I muttered, avoiding Thorne’s penetrating gaze.
“I’m no longer in talks with Lady Gianna,” Damien interjected with a hint of pride. His announcement made me snap my attention back to him. “I’ve asked Lady Arya for her hand in marriage.”
I choked on my spit, my composure nearly crumbling at his declaration. I mean, I literally just tried to kill him! I wouldn’t be so quick to jump on the marriage train. If I hadn’t been seated, I might very well have collapsed from the shock. My reaction was anything but ladylike, a stark deviation from the poise expected of Arya.
“Is that so?” Thorne smirked, clearly amused. “Well, congratulations, little brother, though I wonder how you plan to get this past our father.” He sat across from us and made himself comfortable, his posture relaxed yet observant. “Be that as it may, what is she doing here?”
Damien leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing across his lips as he glanced in my direction, clearly enjoying the unfolding scenario. “Easy answer?” he began, his voice smooth yet edged with a hint of irony. “She was the one supplying the vampires with the paintings. You might not know this, but Lady Arya is quite the artist,” he added. His smirk widened as he nudged the conversation into territory he knew was precarious for me.
I shot him a glare, irritated by his casual bending of the truth. I couldn’t even sketch a decent stick figure, let alone replicate Arya's artistic prowess.
Thorne stroked his chin thoughtfully, his gaze piercing as he assessed me. The room, richly adorned with heavy drapes that muted the sounds of the bustling brothel below, felt oppressively close under his scrutiny. “I've heard a lot about you, Lady Arya. Not much of it good, I must admit. Why should I trust you?”
I shrugged, the silk of my gown rustling softly with the movement. “You can't,” I replied frankly, meeting his gazehead-on. “I suggest you don’t put your trust in anyone, Your Highness.”
“Smart girl,” Thorne responded, a grin breaking over his features. “What has Julian told you about court?”
