Chapter 25 Elaina
ELAINA
“My Drake wants to meet you,” Xaren says.
I blink at him in the soft morning light, unsure I heard correctly.
We’re still tangled in the warm cocoon of the bed, his massive body curved protectively around mine.
At some point during the night, the heavy velvet coverlet slipped down to our waists, and now I can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest against my back.
Like sleeping beside a furnace, I’d thought when I first curled against him.
But that warmth comforted me through the strange dreams that came and went all night long.
Dreams of flying.
Of rushing wind and stars that burned blue against a midnight sky.
Of a heart thudding in my chest that wasn’t entirely my own.
And once—just once—I dreamed I was soaring above a mirror-bright lake, and when I looked down into the rippling surface, a pair of silver and white wings flashed, and a sleek dragon’s head stared back at me.
My dragon?
No. That’s impossible. But what can it mean?
“Your…Drake?” I echo aloud, my voice rough from sleep. “You mean he wants to meet me?”
“He does.” Xaren’s eyes are half-lidded, still sleepy, but his voice is alert. “He’s been asking to meet you since yesterday.”
“But…isn’t he huge?” A little shiver slides down my spine despite his warmth. “What does he want with me?”
“He wants to know you.” He cups my cheek and tilts my face toward his. “Don’t worry, little dove—he would never hurt you. He feels for you the same way I do.”
I hesitate. I want to ask him what he means—What do you feel for me, Xaren?—but the words won’t come. My tongue is thick with unasked questions and fear.
“I just…” I bite my lip. “How would I even meet him? Can you, uh, let him out right here?”
I glance around the massive bed chamber with its high vaulted ceiling and cold stone walls, feeling absurd. But Xaren just chuckles.
“No, he’d never fit. I never Shift inside.”
“Then where?” I ask. “And, um…how big is he, exactly? I’ve never seen a Drake before.”
Xaren considers for a moment, cocking his head like he’s listening to something I can’t hear.
“He’s bigger than the biggest beast you’ve ever seen,” he says finally. “But…” His lips twitch into a half-smile. “He tells me to tell you he promises to be very careful around you.”
“Oh.” I swallow, hard. My palms feel sweaty. “But…what if he breathes fire?”
“He says he won’t,” Xaren assures me. “I would never ask you to meet him if there was any danger. He cares for you. He’ll be as gentle as a lamb—I promise.”
Gentle as a lamb. I try to picture a creature that large being gentle. A beast with wings that could block out the sun and talons the size of swords being gentle. It doesn’t sound possible.
I draw a breath and remind myself that I’m not some cowardly Court flower. I’ve survived a horrible marriage, been sold like property, and lived to tell the tale. I’ve seen Xaren’s face—both sides—and kissed his scars. I’ve taken him into my mouth and swallowed his seed with pleasure.
I can do this.
“Then of course I’d like to meet him,” I say, my smile only slightly forced. “Er, but when and where can we do it?”
“We’ll go right now—this morning,” Xaren says. Then he grimaces. “Before we have to deal with the consequences of yesterday.”
“You mean what happened in the gardens with Dorian?”
He nods shortly.
“There’s definitely going to be a follow-up. By now the whole Court will have heard of it.”
My stomach tightens.
“What do you think they’re going to do to us?”
He shrugs, his broad, bare shoulders rolling with the gesture.
“Probably I’ll get another whipping.”
“What? But why? What happened wasn’t your fault!” I sit up, outraged. “You saved me!”
“I know, but that’s not how my mother will see it. Dorian is her favorite and he’ll certainly bend the truth when he goes to complain to her.”
He says it with a calm detachment, but I can feel the tension thrumming through his muscles. His eyes blaze for a moment before he pushes his dark thoughts aside, seemingly with an effort.
My throat thickens with emotion.
How many times has he taken punishment for things that weren’t his fault? And now he’ll have to take another punishment for me. He’s already been whipped for me once—it’s not fair!
But fair or not, that appears to be life here in the Citadel—at least for the Dark Prince.
“We can’t stay here in my rooms forever,” Xaren says softly, interrupting my thoughts. “But we can delay the moment of reckoning.”
“Delay sounds good,” I say in a small voice. “I’m not ready to face the Queen again.”
“Then come. I know a secret passage that will take us out of here with no one the wiser. Get dressed, little dove. My Drake is eager to make your acquaintance.”
I nod and slide from the bed. My legs still a little wobbly from last night’s pleasure. My gown is crumpled on the floor where he pulled it off me. I retrieve it and dress quickly, then pull on my robe. No court finery today—just what I wore to seduce Xaren last night. I hope his Drake won’t mind.
Xaren watches me the whole time with open appreciation in his eyes. When I slip my slippers on and look up, he offers his hand.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He leads me to the tall armoire at the edge of the room. When he opens it, I expect to see clothes or armor—but instead there’s a narrow, shadowy tunnel carved into the stone wall beyond.
“A hidden passage?” I breathe.
He gives me a half-smile.
“The palace is full of them. My grandfather had them built during the last rebellion.”
We slip into the shadows together, and the armoire closes behind us with a quiet click.
What am I doing? I think as we make our way up the narrow stone stairs, lit only by a few flickering witch lights along the way.
I’m going to meet a dragon. A massive, fire-breathing beast with wings and scales and a tail that could smash a house.
And not just any dragon—Xaren’s Drake. The one who lives inside him.
The one who shares his thoughts. The one who has that strangely shaped cock that’s still tingling in my memory when I squeeze my thighs together.
My mind whirls with questions as we climb the narrow steps.
Why does he want to meet me?
What if he doesn’t like me after all?
What if I disappoint him… or scare him… or he scares me and I run?
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
No, I won’t run.
I didn’t run from Xaren and I won’t run from his Drake.
I just hope my courage doesn’t desert me when I meet him face to face.
The steps are narrow, carved straight into the rock itself—steep and spiraling so tightly that I can barely see more than two steps ahead or behind us.
I have to stay close behind Xaren just to keep from losing my footing.
There’s no railing, only rough stone walls brushing my fingertips and a constant trickle of cool air that smells of damp earth and ancient stone.
It feels like we’re climbing into the bones of the mountain the Citadel is built on itself.
Where does this lead? The stairs feel endless, as though they were meant to go on forever, winding like the coils of a great stone serpent. And still, Xaren climbs steadily, barefoot and utterly surefooted, his broad shoulders just ahead of me.
Finally, we reach a flat landing. A yawning shadow greets us—an arched tunnel mouth, tall enough for even Xaren to pass through without ducking. Darkness stretches out beyond it like an open maw.
I hesitate.
"There's no light," I murmur, glancing up at him.
"There are torches just outside," he says. "Wait here."
He steps forward and rummages in a basket to one side of the tunnel. When he returns, he holds an ancient wooden torch in his palm. Without hesitation, he tilts his head and exhales a slow, deliberate breath across the dried kindling at the top.
A flame bursts into life with a whoosh.
I gasp, my eyes going wide.
"I didn't know you could do that!"
He shrugs, the firelight flickering over the lean planes of his face and catching in the golden gleam of his Drake’s eye.
"I'm just borrowing some of my Drake's flame. Don't worry—I would never use it on you or anyone else." He frowns then, his expression darkening. "Though I admit I was tempted in the gardens yesterday."
I shiver at the image that flashes in my mind—Xaren breathing fire at Dorian and the cruel Nobles who stood there watching, silent and complicit.
They would have deserved it. But Goddess, how close did we come to real destruction?
He hands me the torch and reaches for my hand, his fingers wrapping warmly around mine.
"Come," he says softly, and leads me into the tunnel.
The shadows close around us like thick velvet curtains. The walls are damp and craggy, lined with thick veins of silver ore that glitter faintly in the torchlight. Every step echoes faintly behind us, as though the mountain itself is listening.
This tunnel wasn’t dug by human hands, I realize. It’s too perfect, too deliberate…
“How was this made?” I ask, my voice hushed.
Xaren doesn't answer right away. For a long moment, only the soft sound of our footsteps fills the air. Then he glances back over his shoulder.
"You'll see," is all he says.
We walk for what feels like forever—until the torch burns low and the air grows colder. Then, at last, we round a final bend… and I stop in my tracks.
The tunnel ends in a towering iron door.
It's massive—easily twice the height of Xaren and just as wide. The surface is matte black, etched with curving sigils and old runes that shimmer faintly in the torchlight. A great ringed handle juts from the center, but it looks ornamental rather than practical. The door doesn’t seem like something one simply opens—it seems like something that must be forced to move. But how?
Xaren doesn’t reach for the handle at all. Instead, he lifts his hand and places it flat against the iron.
“Listen carefully,” he murmurs. Then, under his breath, he speaks a cantrip—a spell in the old tongue, lyrical and strange.
“Blood of fire, bound to flame,
Born of sky, yet never tame.
Drake-blood heir, I claim my right,
Let ancient doors admit the light.”
Beneath his palm, the iron glows blue—brilliant, almost white-hot at the center. The glowing outline of his hand pulses once… and then the entire door shudders.
With a long, low groan, the massive slab of iron swings open, revealing a gust of cold air and pale light.
I step forward slowly, raising the torch… and find myself standing on the edge of the world.