Page 67 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Also, I had my courses. Two weeks ago,” I blurt.
There’s a silence but it feels sharp…angry.
“What did you say?” the Queen demands at last, her voice suddenly low and dangerous.
“I said…” I draw myself up, shoulders trembling. “I’m not pregnant. I had my monthly blood. You told me it might take more than once. So how am I supposed to give you an heir if you won’t even let me see my husband?”
She narrows her eyes at me, assessing…calculating.
“Two weeks ago,” she murmurs. “Then you must be ripe again.” She straightens. “Well. I suppose we can’t waste a breeding window.”
Dorian recoils. “You can’t seriously be considering?—”
“I’m not discussing this with you,” she snaps. “If you won’t breed an heir into her, someone must.”
She snaps her fingers and one of her ladies-in-waiting—a pale, fidgety woman with eyes like a frightened doe—runs forward.
“Run for the Court Physician and tell him to bring me the fertility brew,” she orders. “And make it strong. The girl needs to be primed and ready before she’s sent down to the dungeons.”
My stomach turns to lead.
“What…what’s the fertility brew?” I ask, my voice shaking.
The Queen smiles, and it’s not kind.
“Just a little something to make sure your time together is productive. You should be honored, really—I’m giving you another chance. But make no mistake—if you fail me again, I’ll have your husband gelded and kept in chains. Perhaps then he’ll be more obedient.”
My blood runs cold. How can I be sure I’ll get pregnant? Even with this fertility brew, whatever it is.
“But—” I begin.
The Queen turns and sweeps from the room, ignoring me. Dorian trails behind her like an angry shadow, throwing one last loathing look over his shoulder at me.
“Stay with her,” he orders one of the guards. “Be certain she doesn’t steal anything. In fact, put her someplace safe.”
The guard steps forward, taking my arm in one rough hand.
“Come on,” he growls, yanking me away from the Queen’s main bedchamber.
There’s nothing I can do now but go with him. I stumble to keep up with his long stride. I’m trembling, fists clenched at my sides, praying I can survive whatever is coming next.
What else can I do?
35
ELAINA
The room the guard locks me in is lavish.
Sumptuous, really—like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The moment I step over the threshold, I know exactly what this is.
A cage.
Oh, the furnishings are beautiful enough. There’s a massive canopy bed draped in gauzy white silk, its headboard carved with the royal crest of House Drakorin—twining dragons wrought in dark wood. A golden chaise rests beneath an arched window, though when I pull aside the filmy curtain, I see the glass has been bolted shut. Not that I could escape from this high anyway—it must be six stories above the Royal Gardens.
Every surface glitters with opulence. Gilded sconces shaped like curling vines drip with crystal teardrops. The rugs are plush and the scent of roses and amber lingers faintly to the air, as though someone burned incense not too long ago. But there are no doors except the one they locked behind me, and no servant call rope. No exit and no escape.
A pretty prison is still a prison, whispers a little voice in my head.
