Chapter 25
Kaylee
My hands were, once again, bound—this time behind my back—and my entire body felt like it was ready to lie down and give up.
Except my heart, which seemed on some kind of mission to beat so hard it would explode.
Neither of those options seemed particularly appealing to me…
but I supposed my opinion on that might change in the next few minutes.
The dragon that had flown me out here had said nothing to me, either before he’d scooped me up, or after we’d reached this place and he’d set me down again, and returned to his human form.
This place being an actual castle, complete with towers and turrets—oh, and about a dozen dragons milling around the place.
I’d thought one had been bad enough, but I’d have given just about anything to see Rook right now.
Because Landon had told me I was being traded to Uther—as in, King Uther, who granted I hadn’t even heard of until a few hours ago, but if he was even one tenth as menacing as his home, I was fucked.
My escort-slash-guard had landed inside the huge wall surrounding the place, and not that size was everything, but this wall was twice the size of Rook’s.
Scaling it was out, even if someone eventually had the decency to unbind my hands before they fell off.
I glanced to my left as we walked, my eyes widening as they landed on a pair of wolves, one completely white, and the other jet black, even its eyes.
I’d never seen wolves of that color before.
No, not wolves. Shifters. A shiver ran through me as the pair watched miserably from their chains.
Why didn’t they shift back to human? Why were they just lying there, accepting their fates?
I’d never seen shifters act that way before. Broken.
The guard pushed me firmly and I took the hint, forcing my legs into motion again and wrenching my eyes from the tethered pair.
Landon had called Uther a collector, and I was starting to understand the kinds of things he collected.
Living things. My stomach churned as I walked.
I didn’t want to be collected. And I didn’t understand why anyone would want to collect me.
I was just a null. Surely nulls weren’t that unusual?
And nothing to be prized, in any case. I’d heard it said more than once in the pack that nulls should be killed—a lot of them had been unhappy that Landon had allowed me to live.
It was hard to imagine Uther would feel differently.
We reached the towering front door, and my escort dipped his chin to the man standing guard, who promptly stepped aside, opening the door to allow us inside.
“He’s in the war room,” the guard said to my escort. “He’s expecting you.”
I shivered as I crossed the threshold, despite how warm it was inside, but my escort gave me no time to adjust, pushing me between my shoulder blades again when I hesitated.
“Alright, I get it,” I snapped, but my stand was undermined by the shiver that ran through me again.
Stupid body. It’s almost like not keeping any food down for thirty-six hours, not sleeping for twenty-four, and being dragged around on the end of a tether through the freezing cold was enough to weaken me.
Funny, that. The flight here hadn’t done much for me, either, aside from make me grateful that I hadn’t eaten.
“Move, or I’ll drag you,” my escort grunted.
“Oh, so you can speak. I was starting to wonder. I thought maybe you only spoke to asshole wolves.”
“I only speak to those worthy of my attention—which you’re not, unless His Highness determines otherwise. Now move.”
He reached for my wrist and I skittered forward, raising my bound hands in resignation. “Moving.”
He grunted again, and steered me through the opulent corridor.
Everything was over-done to the point of ostentation.
Every floor was covered with thick rugs, every wall hung with heavy tapestries.
And the heads of creatures I didn’t recognize were mounted on the walls at intervals. I kept my eyes forward.
It was not, thankfully, a long walk. Though there were multiple doors set into the walls on either side of us as we passed, there was no doubt in my mind where we were headed.
Because at the end of the corridor, a pair of double doors were set into the wall, and they were as imposing as the ones we’d entered through.
Whoever this King Uther was, he held a high opinion of himself.
But then, he was a dragon, and it seemed like the two went together—from my admittedly limited exposure to them.
Then again, the dragon escorting me was playing errand boy rather than sitting behind high walls and stupidly vast doors, so there was obviously at least some kind of hierarchy at play here.
I couldn’t help but wonder if ‘King’ was just the dragon equivalent of alpha.
I’d have asked Rook, except for the fact he hadn’t told me a single thing about his world. Shocker.
We reached the doors and my guard knocked once, and then opened one, gripping my arm and yanking me to a halt as I made to step inside.
“Wait,” he growled, low and rough in my ear.
I stayed still, ignoring the painful way his fingers bit into my upper arm, and distracted myself by looking into the room whose threshold we stood on.
It was every bit as large and overstated as the hallways and doors had suggested, with ceilings high enough you could get a dragon in here—which, I guess, was the idea—and vast windows letting light pour in, illuminating the stone flooring and the wood paneled walls, hung with yet more tapestries, these ones depicting dragons in flight, breathing fire on…
crap. Wolves. Of course wolves. My day just kept getting better and better.
I wrenched my eyes from them to the oversized table that sat in the center of the room, made of yet more wood, and I had to admit the sheer amount of wood in this place was unexpected, given the whole fire-breathing thing dragons had going on.
Seemed like an odd choice, but then, I was just a null.
Who was I to judge? Maps covered the table’s surface, each bearing a few dozen markers in red, blue, and yellow, and it was these that held the attention of the room’s single occupant.
Even from across the room, the weight of his presence was suffocating, pressing down on me like the air itself was heavier here.
He stood at the head of the table, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, his every movement slow and deliberate, his downward gaze letting the light catch his hair, which seemed to have a faint metallic gleam to it.
His dark cloak, embroidered with gold thread in the shape of dragons in flight, fell nearly to the floor, only emphasizing the sheer, ridiculous height of him.
He wasn’t just tall—he was big, his presence filling the room so completely that I had no idea how he hadn’t been the first and only thing that had demanded my attention.
Then again, I’d been distracted by the tapestries. Stupid tapestries.
He raised one hand without looking up—guess his heightened dragon senses had been enough to tell him who was standing at his door—and beckoned us curtly inside. My guard steered me in, pausing to close the door behind us.
And still Uther—because this could only be Uther—didn’t look up, taking his time to study whatever the hell it was that had his interest on the table.
Which was absolutely fine by me, because I was abruptly absolutely, one hundred percent certain that I didn’t want his attention on me.
But his gesture told me everything I needed to know.
He was aware we were here, and I was pretty sure his attention wasn’t truly on the maps.
No. I’d seen Rook do it enough times to recognize a power play when I saw one.
He was making a point. I was beneath him in every way, and his attention was entirely his to give—or withhold—at his whim.
This time, I had the sense to keep my observations to myself.
Some inner voice was warning me that this man, this beast, was dangerous beyond measure, and I agreed.
After a long, painfully drawn-out minute, he turned his head just slightly, enough that the light caught his face.
His features were sharp and angled, as though they’d been carved from stone, and his eyes—fuck—his eyes were bright, molten gold, like they’d been plucked straight from the flames of his dragon form.
They burned as they landed on me, flicking over my form with the barest interest. My skin crawled under his predatory attention.
His lips curled faintly, not really a smile, more like a reminder that he could crush me if he wanted to. When he spoke, it wasn’t to me, and his voice was smooth and deep, a sound that pressed down on me like a physical threat.
“Ah, you’ve brought the new trinket for my collection. She is as the wolves claimed, then?”
“I cannot say, Your Highness,” my escort said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head as he addressed the king. “Only your judgement is to be trusted.”
“Well, girl?” the king asked, advancing on me, his predatory gaze pinning me in place, despite every instinct in my body wanting to back away.
So I did what I always did when I was faced with mortal danger: the absolute dumbest thing possible.
I lifted my chin and met his eye, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the guard.
“I’m not a trinket. And I’m not yours.”
Absolute silence met my declaration for a long heartbeat. And then the king threw his head back and laughed.
“How delightful,” he said, but his voice didn’t sound delighted. No. He sounded like he was about to tear me apart, and like he was looking forward to it. “You think you have some kind of say in the matter. Do you know who I am, girl?”
“I have a name,” I ground out.