Page 65 of Bride of the Black Dragon
I grope along the rough stone, using my hands to feel the way, trying not to breathe in the thick layer of dust. The air is damp and close. Cobwebs drag across my face and I flinch but keep going. I can’t stop now.
Eventually, after what feels like forever, the tunnel widens slightly, and a sliver of light shines through a set of cracks ahead. I press my eye to them and gasp. I’ve made it—I’m behind the tapestry in the Queen’s private chambers!
The room beyond is opulence incarnate—thick ruby drapes, black velvet chairs, gold-framed mirrors, and a wide canopy bed covered in a blood-red satin coverlet embroidered in real gold threat that shines in the dim light.
The room looks empty but I don’t jump out right away. I wait for a long moment, listening…holding my breath. But there’s no sound and no movement. She must be gone—no doubt she’s judging the victory parade.
I slip out from behind the tapestry and begin my search.
The room is obsessively clean with every object in its place. I start with the wardrobe—velvets, satins, more black and crimson gowns than I can count.
I search them all but there’s nothing hidden in the pockets. I check the drawer of the carved vanity. I find lip paint, kohl pencils, and crystal bottles of perfume. I lift each one carefully, searching beneath them.
Then I notice the hearth.
Above it, hanging like a trophy, is an ornate gilded sconce with a single velvet pouch dangling from one horned hook. Gold velvet.
Just like the one she used to tuck the key away.
I dart forward and reach up, my fingers trembling. The pouch is heavier than I thought. I tug the drawstring and peer inside to see…
There! A thick, black iron key, cold to the touch.
I clutch it to my chest, swallowing hard. This is it—this is the key to freeing Xaren’s Drake. I can feel it in my bones.
But then I hear a voice—a horribly familiar voice—right behind me.
And I know that I’m trapped with no where to go.
34
ELAINA
The Queen’s voice is like a blade—cold, precise and laced with venom.
“—or you’ll never amount to anything, Dorian—not with a Drake barely the size of a small cottage. Be honest, my son—your Drake doesn’t even breathe flame. That’s why we need your older brother. So no, I will not give the order to kill him.”
I freeze, pressing myself into the shadows behind the velvet tapestry as her words slither through the air.
I’d been about to turn and sneak back the way I came—my fingers still tingling from the weight of the iron key I just dropped into the pouch and rehung on the ornate sconce above the hearth. But the sound of her voice stops me cold.
They’re here—closer than I thought. My heart thunders. I barely dare to breathe.
The chamber beyond is a study in cruel beauty. Black velvet drapes hang heavy as mourning veils, trimmed in blood-red satin. Mirrors framed in gold line the walls—warped reflections stare back at me like cruel eyes. The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting flickering light across the polished obsidian floor tiles. Everything in this room feels like it was designed to intimidate, to consume.
Just like the woman who owns it.
“I don’t want him around when I ascend the throne , Mother,” Prince Dorian snaps, his petulant voice rising. “I want him gone. You must give the order to kill him!”
“Don’t be an idiot.” The Queen’s tone is sharp. “Without Xaren’s Drake, our borders will fall. Do you think your mewling little lizard will protect us when the western baronies rise again? When the kingdoms to our South return for vengeance?”
“I could do it,” Dorian insists. “If you’d just?—”
“No,” she cuts him off. “You couldn’t. Your Drake isn’t strong enough. Your brother is the Kingdom’s shield—whether he likes it or not.”
They’re walking deeper into the room now, and I hear the soft rustle of her skirts against the stone floor—layers upon layers of fine brocade and stiff netting. My stomach drops as I realize they’re heading straight toward the hearth.
No, no, no?—
