Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
A PUNISHED PET
I lie curled with my legs nestled tight against my chest. I breathe in the cold stone flooring, but never for a second do I close my eyes for sleep to take me. The actions I took to get here twirl through my mind like cards drifting in the midnight wind.
I once thought Ravar was the enemy. Now I know he was a savior. Avoiding sex and marriage to the king of Hell was a cake walk compared to the mess I’m in now. And Nyra, she was safe. At home in a life I never realized she didn’t fit into.
Did she even want to mate with a man? Did she ever want to be a homemaker? Or was she meant for more?
Maybe we’re more alike than I realized. I just don’t know why it took all of this to see it.
The solid door slides open and then shuts with a dusty sound of dirt scattering about.
I don’t move and inch in the heavy darkness.
I don’t turn to look up at my friend-turned-jailor.
His boots are soft and timid as he steps closer to me and then slowly lowers down at my side.
His head leans into my hair and his warm breath wafts over my skin.
The slow press of his palm against my stomach as he lies down on the ground and drags me close against his chest melts my confused heart.
I can tell by the softness of his touch who it is.
Avian’s a saint in a sinner’s paradise.
"Did you find her?" I finally rasp out.
A pause sinks into the room before he speaks. “No. It’s an hour before dawn. I searched all night, but she isn’t in the castle. Nor the gardens, the forests, or even your pack.”
I blink at that. She’s gone . . .
Would Creatchin punish her because of me? Can Vanitee protect her from what I’ve done?
The inhale that hits my lungs is weak and wavering, and I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears turn cold against my cheeks.
What the fuck did they do to my sister?!
No one ties my hands when they walk me out of my little closet of a cell.
The air here is musky and heavy with an ashen scent.
When they open the door fully and I make my way out, Roman slides in at my side while Avian follows at the back.
Zilo of course, leads us down the dark hall lined with doors.
Then Roman slips his hand into mine. The feel of it isn’t comforting like I wish it was. It’s distracting, though. And that’s nice, I suppose.
Because Avian and I . . . we’re something.
More than friends. Lovers. Definitely lovers.
And Roman is Avian’s best friend. Yet, neither of them is possessive of me.
Roman just doesn’t have a single clue where that leaves things with him and I.
I need a shoulder to lean on in this moment, and that’s all that seems to matter in his mind.
I don’t understand it, but I’m so fucking thankful.
I’m thankful for all three of them. I wish I could tell them that, but my body feels too numb. My jaw is so clenched it hurts. I can’t imagine what chaos I’m about to walk into.
But I keep walking anyway.
The soft press of our boots along the stone floor is the counting of seconds in my mind.
One, two, three, four . . .
The stairs I find us climbing pass by in the darkness are as equally numbered. Counted and filed away to never be thought of again. My steps are all my thoughts are aware.
Those quiet steps and Roman’s warmth seeping into my chilled skin.
I peer up at him. The line of his nose is the only feature I can make out among the shadows. I try to imagine his calming green eyes. I try so damn hard to think of anything that might bring me solace.
A shaft of light spans through the dense blackness. It slices over us like the sun threatening to burn us alive.
And then Roman looks at me.
The brightest green eyes focus solely on me. A sunburst of color. He’s so beautiful. His attention smooths across every single emotion I’m not even aware of that might be upon my face.
His hold on my hand tightens, and he takes a single step closer to me, as if he might wrap me up in his strength and never let me go.
That—that is the solace I was looking for.
Then another big hand is wrapping around my other wrist, and with a slow and reluctant pull, he brings me into that harsh, white light.
Through slitted eyes I peer around at the dusty arena circling over me.
Harsh sunlight blinds me from the faces peering down at me.
The memory of Prince Ravar and the men he killed in this vary space flits through my mind but right now, it isn’t their time to die. It’s mine.
Roman’s eyes widen when he sees the passiveness in my features. Fear washes into those beautiful, haunting eyes of his.
And then he lets me go.
“Cersia of The Upper Realm, daughter of Tomlin, are you aware of the crimes held against you?” A voice booms over me from somewhere I can’t fully see.
The crimes?
The quick death of a batty little fairy blurs through my mind.
Yes.
“Yes. I am.” I say it without emotion or attachment to the murder I so quickly committed.
It’s a heartless admission, but it isn’t something I can try to understand. A beast that’s hidden away within myself my entire life made a thrashing appearance last night.
It someone died because of it.
And now, there will be hell to pay indeed.
Zilo leads me to the center of the arena.
Ash puffs up around each heavy step. With my peers leering at me on all sides.
A few hell fae nearest me beneath the arch ways hold their mouths tight with grinding jaws, while others can’t contain the hisses that slither across their lips as they reveal the pointed teeth within.
I look up at a set of box seats just a few yards above the ground. Slitted eyes look down upon me.
There sits our queen.
Her long legs are crossed delicately beneath a sheer black gown. Her inky eyes eat me up from where I stand so far beneath her.
To my surprise, another figure stands tall at her side.
She too looks down at me like I might be smote beneath her big brown eyes.
“Nyra,” I whisper with the last breath I can keep in my lungs.
Her cheeks are red, and her features are puffy. Even from here, I can see how damp her gaze is. Vanitee stands at her side and her gaze, like my sister’s, is filled with unshed tears. It’s the softest I’ve ever seen the Queen’s daughter look.
They’re both heartbroken.
Because of me.
Oh no.
“The account of last night’s painful loss presents a very strange occurrence,” Creatchin says rather casually.
Her smooth voice echoes around the fighting arena so subtly that it strikes something within me . . .
She sounds just as unattached as I do.
I look up at the regal woman once more.
She’s as poised as ever. Unlike me, she doesn’t seem empty or confused. Long black hair pours down her slender back with precise beauty. A crown of branches and ornate gold halo her hair. Her features are as flawless as ever. A smile carves her lips faintly at the corners.
She’s . . . completely unaffected by the loss of her mother.
Nyra, on the other hand—emotions shake around her shoulders every few seconds like something is pressing to get out. She’s moments away from crumbling to the ground.
She’s afraid.
“Everyone confirms a dragon was in fact the culprit of the crime. They don’t know how this creature came in, but some .
. . some are very certain how it left.” The queen’s dark eyes are on me.
“Some say it shifted after my dear advisor’s tragic death.
They say you shifted from dragon to girl right before their eyes. ”
Advisor? She’s still calling her mother her advisor? Even now?
I process that information but don’t reply. My words are going to seal my fate, and I’d rather use them sparingly in this moment.
“The High Hell adamantly state that you were unconscious when they found you in the garden maze.” Her voice carries on, and I want badly to fling my attention back to the three men who most certainly know what happened that night.
But I don’t.
My shoulders straighten, and I keep my attention trained on her majesty.
“Vanitee herself claims it was you,” Creatchin tilts her head at me, and that faint smile widens to a full display of pleasure.
Vanitee sniffles lightly but keeps her chin held high. Her mother smirks lightly.
I don’t understand her manic amusement.
“I—” Once more I try to use my words carefully, but it doesn’t matter because I’m cut off immediately by a rush of accusations.
“Cersia killed her,” Nyra blurts, her lower lip quivering, but she clamps her jaw shut against the apparent rising of her sadness and continues on.
“She’s a rare beast that all the realms have heard of but seldom have seen.
She’s a dragon. She needs to be tamed. She’s too reckless.
” Her eyes blaze like fire amongst the darkness. “Just like our father.”
The breath in my lungs leaves me in a cutting surprise of bitterness.
I should be bitter. I should be outraged by the turn of my sister’s loyalty.
But I lost her loyalty a long time ago. Creatchin wanted that. She wanted me alone and lost. And I didn’t even realize it until now.
Ravar said she’d kill me.
She never wanted to kill me. She wanted me to lose everything I love, and that might be worse than death. What’s life without love?
It may as well be death.
But she didn’t realize I had love, lust, and adoration hidden away within her very own High Hell. Whatever she’s prepared me to suffer, she already failed.
“Cersia of The Upper Realm, I am displeased with your use of your shifter.” Creatchin sweeps her gaze across my deliberately vacant features. “I should kill you on the spot for the death of such a kind and honorable soul as my advisor.”
And yet . . . she hasn’t.
She left me alone in a cell all night to really drive home my isolation.
But I wasn’t alone.
Will she drag out my loneliness for all eternity? Will she lock me up in the tallest tower?
I’m not a damsel. I’m a fucking dragon. I’m the reason fair maidens in towers even exist.
So whatever it is this conniving woman has planned, I’m here to shut it the fuck down.
“I think the kingdom of Hell will use you, Cersia. You’ll serve a life sentence as property of the greatest kingdom in all the realms.”
I blink at her. Those words pass over and over through my mind as I try to understand, but the whispers around me scuttle about like cockroaches.
Dragon.
Traitor.
Queen’s pet.
Slayer.
And that’s the one.
She wants me to slay her enemies. She doesn’t even know about the few known dragons in the Upper Realm.
She wants to have the greatest realm, and she wants to take any realm who dares challenge her.
And maybe—just maybe—that was her plan the moment she asked her High Hell to find the most beautiful woman in all the lands.
She didn’t want someone pretty. She wanted someone deadly.
My features remain impassive as I stare up at my humble—manic—queen. Everyone’s gazes are so heavily on me, I can feel them crawling across my skin. Still, I remain emotionless. Hell is a game to be played.
I knew that from the start.
“It would be my honor to serve you, my queen,” I say evenly with the lowest, most dutiful bow. Her big eyes and even bigger smile are the last things I see before closing my eyes to it all.
This is how it started for Roman. He bowed to his brother and then suffered for centuries after.
I refuse to let that happen.
I’ll bow to her as she wants. But I’ll never serve her blood thirst.