Chapter 36 Elaina
ELAINA
The dungeon hallway stretches before me like the throat of a beast—long and dark and utterly silent.
The air changes the moment the guards drag me past the reinforced iron door that separates the Citadel proper from its hidden underbelly.
The scent hits my nose first—sour dampness and mold, overlaid by something sharper…
the unmistakable tang of blood and rusting chains.
The kind of smell that seeps into your clothes… into your bones.
I gag slightly but force myself not to flinch.
You’re doing this for him—for Xaren, I lecture myself. He and his Drake need you. Just keep going, Elaina. You’ll get used to the smell.
The walls are slick stone, carved from some dark volcanic rock that drinks the meager torchlight until every corner feels shadowed.
I can hear the wet drip-drip of water somewhere ahead, echoing off the walls.
It’s cold down here—colder than I expected.
I feel the chill like an icy breath on the back of my neck.
My ridiculous gown—thin silk with its deep neckline and high slit—offers no protection against the temperature. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to preserve what little heat I have.
Why did she have to dress me like this? Why make me look like a prize whore, just to send me into the dark?
But I know why—it’s about control. It’s always about control with Queen Virelda.
The guards don’t speak, except for one gruff warning when I stumble.
“Keep up, Princess. We’re almost there.”
We round a final bend, the hallway narrowing until it feels more like a tunnel.
The walls are stained black in patches and the air grows still and stale.
At the very end of the corridor is a single heavy door, reinforced with iron bands.
There’s a tiny window high up in the door, but I’m not tall enough to reach it—even in the ridiculous heels, I’m a few inches shy.
The lead guard produces a large key ring and unlocks the door with a loud, grating clunk. The hinges groan as he yanks it open.
“You’re to go in and fuck him,” he growls, eyes flicking over my nearly bare body. “We’ll be back in an hour, so get to it.”
He shoves me hard and I stumble inside. The door slams behind me with a thunderous clang that echoes in my ears, making them throb. I’m alone. Alone…except for him.
Except for Xaren.
The darkness is overwhelming at first—thick and almost oily, as though the cell itself resents the intrusion of light.
But slowly, my eyes adjust. There’s a single window high on the far wall—no bigger than a hand, really.
It sheds a faint, grayish light into the gloom, and I can just barely make out the vague shape of a cot shoved against the stone wall.
The window is open, but only enough to let in a teasing sliver of fresh air—just enough to remind you what freedom smells like.
And then I see him.
He’s curled in the corner of the room, knees pulled to his chest, his massive frame hunched in on itself like a wounded animal. At first, I don’t believe it’s him—it can’t be. This is not the powerful, towering warrior I know. This is a ghost…a shell.
“Xaren,” I whisper, rushing toward him.
I drop to my knees at his side and reach for him. The moment my hand touches his bare shoulder, I jerk back.
He’s cold—so cold.
Not just cool to the touch—cold, damp, and clammy, like he’s just climbed out of a river in midwinter.
“Oh gods…Xaren, what—what happened to you?”
His skin is wet—he must have washed recently.
That much I can guess from the faint scent of lye soap lingering beneath the dungeon rot.
But he hasn’t dried—his black hair hangs limp, plastered to his temples and neck.
His skin, usually a warm bronze kissed with gold, is pale and ashen. He’s shaking.
He’s always been so hot—so alive—from the fire of his Drake inside him. What could make him like this?
He lifts his head slowly…too slowly.
And when his eyes meet mine, I gasp.
His eye—his human eye—is dull and listless. But the other…his Drake’s eye…
It’s gone.
Or no, worse. Not gone—it’s empty.
Where there was once a brilliant molten gold glow, now there’s only a flat gray orb. Sightless…lifeless.
“No…” I breathe, my heart plummeting. “No, please…”
“Elaina?” His voice is a hoarse rasp, barely audible. “Little dove…is it really you?”
Tears sting my eyes.
“It’s me,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his broad chest. “It’s really me.”
“I dreamed of you so often…it’s hard to tell what’s real anymore.” He tries to smile, but the muscles in his face barely move. “They told me you were coming. They even…bathed me. To get the dungeon grime off, I guess.”
I nod, burying my face in his chest.
“That’s why you’re wet. But why haven’t you dried yourself? Why are you so cold?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“My Drake’s fire is almost gone. I can feel him…drifting. Dimming. Like a candle burning out.”
Then, he presses his face to my hair.
“But now…now that you’re near me, I can feel him stirring. Just a little.”
I pull back just enough to look into his face—and I see it. A faint shimmer. A flicker of gold returning to his eye. Barely there, but…real. Alive.
Maybe touching him really is helping. But it’s not enough—I have to do more.
“Come on.” I take his freezing hand in mine and tug gently. “Come with me.”
He lets me pull him to his feet. He’s wearing the same ragged trousers he donned the night he Shifted for me and nothing else. Well, besides the hateful collar. It’s still bound tight around his throat—the cruel black iron padlocked in place.
If I had the key, I’d tear it off with my bare hands.
I wish again that I hadn’t put it back. But Prince Dorian would have found it when he searched me and I might not have gotten to see Xaren at all.
“Come on,” I whisper, guiding him to the cot. “Let me help you.”
“What are you doing, little dove?” His voice is dazed. It’s like he’s drugged…or dying.
I push the awful thought aside and reach for the laces at the front of my gown, yanking them open with trembling fingers.
The bodice loosens and the silk falls away, pooling at my feet.
I’m left in nothing but my stockings. The Queen didn’t allow me to wear underthings—of course she didn’t.
I’m here to fuck, after all—just as she said. Why should I be allowed any modesty?
I kneel to strip Xaren’s trousers away and push him gently back onto the thin mattress of the cot.
“What…what are you doing to me?” he asks again.
“I’m warming you up,” I say fiercely. “Now help me—put your arms around me and get close!”
He does, slowly, as I crawl on top of him, my bare body pressing down against his.
He’s so big beneath me, but it’s like lying on marble—cold and unyielding.
His body temperature is much lower than anything a living human should have but I snuggle closer, even though pressing against him makes me shiver.
My efforts seem to be having some effect. His arms wrap around me fully and he hugs me close.
“Gods,” he whispers into my hair. “Your soft little body…it’s so warm.”
I bury my face in his neck, inhaling deeply.
At first there’s nothing. No scent.
But then…a hint.
The faintest breath of spice…of leather and smoke.
He’s coming back. I can feel it. I can smell it.
I press closer, rubbing against him. His skin is warming beneath mine—flesh is replacing stone.
“Hold me tighter,” I murmur, lifting my head to look into his eyes.
And there it is—that glow. That impossible, beautiful molten gold. His Drake’s eye is alive again. Dim but present.
I’m bringing him back!
He hugs me tighter and I can feel the firmness in his arms. His strength is returning.
“Oh, little dove,” he whispers, his deep voice breaking. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too,” I whisper back, brushing my lips over his jaw.
And that’s when I notice it—there’s heat building inside me.
Not just the warmth of hope or love. No, this is different.
This is fire.
What I feel is a pulsing, spreading heat that coils in my belly and slips between my thighs. My breath quickens and my skin is flushed. Every inch of me begins to tingle and throb with a kind of unbearable pressure.
What’s happening to me?
I don’t know it yet…but the tea is beginning to work.
And before my time with Xaren is up, it might just kill me.