Chapter 21
ELAINA
Xaren wades into the fray like a storm given form, his eyes lit with fury. Both of them—one human, one not. The slitted pupil of his Drake’s eye narrows in rage as he takes in the scene. The Nobles…my raised skirts…the blood running down my legs.
And the whip in Dorian’s hand.
He rips the thorny switch away with a snarl.
"How dare you hurt my wife?"
His voice is low and guttural—barely human. There’s a deep resonance beneath it like stones grinding together, and every hair on my body stands up. That’s not just him talking—that’s his Drake—I’m sure of it.
Dorian must know that too. He flinches and then tries to hide it, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest.
"She’s my wife too," he says sullenly. “You forget I was the one who married her first.”
Coward, I think. I can see it in his eyes—he’s scared to death of his older brother. But he’s trying not to show it in front of the Nobles. He takes a step back.
But he moves too slow.
Xaren’s hand shoots out, catching him by the throat. Dorian’s eyes go wide as he’s yanked off the ground like a rag doll.
"You little bastard," Xaren growls. "I should break your fucking neck!"
Dorian is choking, gasping, clawing at his brother’s wrist. His boots kick in the air, scrabbling for leverage that doesn’t exist.
Xaren shakes him once—hard. Like a dog shaking a rat. And then drops him.
Dorian crumples to the ground in a heap, coughing and gasping. He scrambles backward on his elbows like a crab, one hand clutched to his bruised throat.
"You brute!" he wheezes. "I’ll tell Mother!"
"Tell her," Xaren growls, his voice cold as ice. "I don’t give a fuck." He crouches, getting in Dorian’s face, his golden Drake’s eye blazing. "And while you’re at it, tell her I’ll kill you if you touch my wife again. You’ve been warned."
He jabs a finger in Dorian’s face—so close I half expect it to stab through the skin.
The Royal Garden is deathly still. Even the wind seems to stop blowing.
The Nobles, who just moments ago were jeering and sneering, now stare in frozen horror.
The two men holding me drop my arms like I’ve burned them. Good—I just want to get away.
Xaren straightens and rounds on them.
"Do you want to explain yourselves?" he snarls.
They back away, stammering excuses, but Xaren isn’t listening. He turns to me instead, his expression softening the moment he sees my face.
"Come on, little dove," he says, stepping forward.
I try to move, but pain lances up my thigh. My legs feel like raw meat. I stagger and nearly fall.
Xaren catches me without hesitation.
Before I can blink, I’m in his arms. He lifts me as though I weigh nothing at all—just scoops me up and presses me to his chest like I’m precious to him.
I feel safe there, pressed against him. For the first time since this nightmare started, I feel safe.
"It’s all right now, sweetheart—I’ve got you," he murmurs.
He carries me out of the Royal Gardens, past the silent Nobles and the blood-red roses.
The Queen’s prized blooms wave gently in the breeze. Their curling black-red petals shine in the sunlight like velvet dipped in ink. The switch Dorian used still lies broken on the path, its thumb-sized thorns glinting with ruby droplets of blood—my blood.
The sight turns my stomach, but I’m not afraid now because Xaren has me.
And he isn’t letting go.