Dragons Realm (10 page)

Chapter Eight

D
ante Dragona stiffened
his spine and bit down on his tongue, leav­ing a deep in­dent­a­tion in the flesh. He was try­ing
hard
not to re­act to the sight of Mina Louvet, the Sk­la­vos Ahavi he in­ten­ded to claim at the Au­tumn Mat­ing, be­ing dragged into the royal hall by an angry Malo Clan guard.

Part of his re­ac­tion was ter­rit­orial, a dragon’s in­stinct­ive dis­like of any other male touch­ing his fe­male, but an­other part of his re­ac­tion was sheer ir­rit­a­tion—he had just about had it
up to here
with the slave’s dis­obedi­ence.

What the hell had she been think­ing?

Didn’t she know that the king would never suf­fer her in­solence?

Not for a mi­cro­scopic second.

He bristled in­side, feel­ing his in­ner dragon awaken in the form of rising heat. It was itch­ing to com­mand his outer, liv­ing flesh to wrench the girl from the sen­try’s paws and thrash her him­self.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Damian cackled, saun­ter­ing away from the dais to­ward the cen­ter of the floor, where the guard now stood with Mina. He strolled up to the Ahavi with blatant ar­rog­ance and gripped her harshly by the jaw. “Your suite of rooms is on the
second
floor of the castle,” he spat. He peered over his shoulder to make eye con­tact with Drake and snickered. “And I be­lieve the rest of the castle is off lim­its after dark.” He locked eyes with his father, who was now lean­ing for­ward on the throne, watch­ing the en­tire scene with in­creas­ing in­terest. “And the royal hall,
my father’s throne room
, is al­ways off lim­its to the likes of you.” He re­moved his hand with an in­solent flick of the wrist, caus­ing her head to snap back­ward from the dis­missive ges­ture.

Mina gulped, and Dante re­strained a growl. He prayed that the im­puls­ive girl would
just this once
hold her im­petu­ous tongue, at least with Damian. He crossed the floor in five long strides to join them. “What is the mean­ing of this, Mina?” He held her gaze in an iron stare, com­mand­ing her ab­so­lute at­ten­tion.

She gulped again, and her knees rattled to­gether as if they might just buckle be­neath her. “I…I couldn’t sleep. The fire went out in my hearth, and it was so in­cred­ibly cold in my cham­bers, I thought I might catch my death.” She fid­geted nervously with her hands, ap­par­ently hear­ing the double con­nota­tion in her words. “I couldn’t get it re­star­ted, so I de­cided to search for an­other blanket—and to see if I could find some fresh kind­ling.” She aver­ted her eyes, clearly re­cog­niz­ing the fra­gil­ity of her story.

Damian glowered at her. “You’re ly­ing,” he snarled. “There are plenty of blankets in the up­per ward­robes, and if an Ahavi re­quires more of
any­thing
, she need only yank on a chain at the end of a hall and call for a ser­vant.” He nar­rowed his gaze in dis­ap­proval. “Ap­par­ently, the only chain you are yank­ing to­night is ours.”

Dante nod­ded. It was the truth, and there was noth­ing he could say at this junc­ture to mit­ig­ate the situ­ation or sub­stan­ti­ate the lie. It was pi­ti­ful, and Mina knew it.

Mina blinked, try­ing to think fast on her feet. Ap­par­ently she agreed with her captors—her story was pure, unadul­ter­ated rub­bish. “Yes, yes, I know. That’s true, but as I said: I couldn’t sleep. In­som­nia, I think.” She bit her lip, like she knew she was drown­ing, and then she took an­other breath and pushed on. “So I thought a stroll might do me good, per­haps even warm me up.” The last word was spoken with an in­flec­tion, more like a ques­tion than a state­ment, and Dante shut his eyes and dropped his head, slowly shak­ing it from side to side.

“Enough,” he said, re­sur­rect­ing his gaze in or­der to glare at her. He was try­ing to say
shut up
in so many words—the silly girl had no idea just how close to death she was stand­ing. Tak­ing a deep breath, he raised his chin and asked, “So you sought out a stor­age closet on the main floor, just bey­ond the
throne room
?” The ques­tion was go­ing to be asked, so he may as well be the one to ask it. Maybe then, he could dir­ect her an­swers.

Mina shook her head with vigor. “No.
No
. Not on pur­pose, any­how. I just got lost, turned around. I wandered many halls be­fore I stumbled across the back stair­case, and then, when I turned to the left, I guess I just—”

Dante nar­rowed his eyes at her in a harsh, un­am­bigu­ous glare:
Stop talk­ing…now!

She im­me­di­ately bit her lip again and waited, even as Damian began to laugh.

“Father?” Damian turned to re­gard the king, no doubt in an at­tempt to in­cite the mon­arch’s an­ger, and Mina took im­me­di­ate ad­vant­age of the mo­ment.

She reached out with a crooked fin­ger and quickly hooked it in­side Dante’s sleeve to get his at­ten­tion, and then she just as rap­idly pulled it back, stared right at him, and leaned slightly for­ward, rais­ing her eye­brows in de­term­in­a­tion. She was speak­ing volumes with her ex­pres­sion and angling her head
just so
as if to say…
some­thing
: des­per­a­tion, fear, and ur­gency.

Dante took a step back.

What was she try­ing to tell him?

When Damian star­ted to speak again, Dante held up his hand to si­lence him, still star­ing in­tently at Mina. “Tell me, Ahavi,” he said, “this in­som­nia, the con­di­tions in your room; were they really that
ur­gent
?”

Mina squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Yes. I felt that they were.”

At this, Damian lost his pa­tience.

He spun around and sauntered to­ward the throne, wisely stop­ping be­fore tak­ing the first stair. He bowed his head. “Father,” he re­peated coolly, “it may have felt ur­gent to this wo­man, but I think we all know bet­ter. She’s ly­ing. And what’s more, a small in­dis­cre­tion today will only lead to treach­ery and be­trayal to­mor­row. Rules are rules for a reason.”

Talk about go­ing straight for the jug­u­lar.

The king was no stranger to the treach­er­ous, ma­nip­u­lat­ive ways of a Sk­la­vos Ahavi who was al­lowed too much lee­way with the rules, who had been given too much room to roam.

Dante said noth­ing.

The king would either seek more in­form­a­tion or render a pre­ma­ture judg­ment.

Just like that.

And there was no bar­gain­ing with De­mitri Dragona once he had chosen a course of ac­tion.

The king stood up, and the en­tire hall fell si­lent.

Drake leaned back against one of the six enorm­ous pil­lars that lined the cen­ter of the hall and crossed his arms in front of him, even as Damian took a cau­tious step back, await­ing their father’s word.

“Which one are you?” the king bit out, point­ing at Mina, his hard ex­pres­sion oth­er­wise un­read­able.

Mina turned to­ward the king and curt­sied. Ap­par­ently, she at least had that much sense. “Your Majesty, I am Mina Louvet, a Sk­la­vos Ahavi from the south­ern dis­trict of Arns.” She bowed even lower. “And I meant no dis­respect.” She froze in that pos­ture, her eyes plastered to the floor.

The king turned to­ward Drake, per­haps be­cause he was of­ten the most reas­on­able of the three princes. “She was chosen among the Ahavi, why?”

Drake cleared his throat. “They say she can speak many lan­guages, that she has an in­tu­it­ive un­der­stand­ing of for­eign cul­tures. In that way, she yields us some ad­vant­age. She can act as a trans­lator with our neigh­bors and an un­likely spy with our en­emies.”

The king har­rumphed. “Hmm.”

“And she’s sup­posed to be un­usu­ally bright,” Drake ad­ded. His voice neither rose nor fell, ab­sent of con­vic­tion, either way.

The king chuckled mer­rily. “Ap­par­ently, not too bright.” He took a step for­ward, but he did not des­cend the stair­way. “Our rules are not op­tional, Miss Louvet.”

Mina didn’t reply. She didn’t dare.

“Do you even un­der­stand the rules?” the king asked.

Dante hoped she un­der­stood the ques­tion: His father was test­ing her in­tel­li­gence, her memory. If she said no, he would scorch her where she stood.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Mina replied, con­tinu­ing to hold her body and her head in a sub­ser­vi­ent pos­ture.

“Yet, you broke them?”

Mina choked back a sob. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If I let you live, will you break them again?”

Mina stumbled to the side, clearly caught off guard by the blunt­ness of his words or the sever­ity of her of­fense. Per­haps, now, she fi­nally un­der­stood just how fra­gile a pre­cip­ice she was stand­ing upon—
if I let you live…

She caught her bal­ance and groveled even lower. “No, Your Majesty.” Her face was the color of a pale har­vest moon, yel­low­ish white and ab­sent of lu­cid­ity.

The king eyed Damian. “Son?”

He shrugged one shoulder in a ges­ture of dis­dain. “I say dis­pense with her. She’s only a wo­man. We can re­place her, and I have no pa­tience for in­sub­or­din­a­tion.”

The king turned once again to Drake. “Prince?”

“Your will is my own,” Drake said, smart lad that he was.

It wasn’t that Prince Drake was cold and un­feel­ing, quite the con­trary: The dragon had more com­pas­sion in his heart than most, but he had also lived for 146 years. And like the rest of them, he knew his father well. Any show of mercy would be seen as weak­ness, and more im­port­antly, it wouldn’t fur­ther Mina’s cause. De­mitri would ul­ti­mately do whatever he felt like do­ing, and more of­ten than not, his choices were based solely on his passing moods.

“Dante?” the king asked, of­fer­ing a seek­ing gaze.

Dante felt the mo­ment like a heavy weight bear­ing down on his shoulders. Not un­like Damian, he took every in­cid­ent of in­sub­or­din­a­tion, every po­ten­tial threat to the Realm, quite ser­i­ously, and a sub­ject who could not fol­low the most ba­sic rules was a loose can­non, an un­pre­dict­able ele­ment, some­thing to be re­moved simply on prin­ciple. How­ever, un­like Damian, he was not a sad­istic ego­ma­niac, and he would de­rive no per­sonal pleas­ure in see­ing a young fe­male ex­ecuted for such a petty of­fense.

Bey­ond even that,
this was Mina
.

He had fed from her, felt the in­aug­ural stir­rings of car­nal de­sire for her body, be­gun to ad­opt a fa­milial re­spons­ib­il­ity for her well-be­ing, based on their po­ten­tial fu­ture roles. He still be­lieved she would give him strong sons and prove to be an ally one day, and he did not be­lieve she was a threat to the Realm.

She could be tamed…

Or, at least, she could be cor­ralled within reason.

He sighed, know­ing that De­mitri was merely a heart­beat away from in­cin­er­at­ing the girl as she bowed, even as she con­tin­ued to gen­u­flect be­fore him.

She would never see it com­ing.

And even a lengthy pause in Dante’s an­swer could set the volat­ile king off, il­li­cit the sad­istic re­ac­tion.

“She should not be al­lowed to dis­play such im­per­tin­ence be­fore the throne,” Dante said firmly. “I think she should be soundly pun­ished, suc­cinctly taught a les­son, and if,
after that
, she com­mits an­other in­frac­tion, then her death will be on her own head.” He held his breath, wait­ing, try­ing to ap­pear more non­chal­ant than he felt.

“I see,” the king replied. For all in­tents and pur­poses, he was prob­ably try­ing to
gauge
his mood:
Do I feel like killing? Do I feel like watch­ing? Would I rather go to bed?
His eyes flashed with res­ol­u­tion, and Dante knew the de­cision had been made. “Give her fif­teen lashes with a spiked whip. If she lives, she will get an­other chance. If she dies, we will re­place her. Per­haps, in this way, the gods will de­cide her fate.” He sat back down on his throne and ges­tured to­ward the elab­or­ate, ar­chaic cab­inet on the east­ern side of the room: The lav­ishly carved chest was twelve feet high and nearly eight feet wide. It sat flush against the in­terior wall like a statue of a feudal knight, and it con­tained vari­ous or­na­mental boxes and hid­den com­part­ments in­side, all hous­ing the king’s sad­istic treas­ures, his fa­vor­ite in­stru­ments of tor­ture and amuse­ment. “Do it now,” he said to no one in par­tic­u­lar, sound­ing al­most as bored as he did res­ol­ute.

Damian’s face lit up with zeal­ous an­ti­cip­a­tion.

He strolled across the room to the massive cab­inet, flipped open the or­na­mental doors, and chose a par­tic­u­larly grue­some but ef­fect­ive lash: It was a mul­tilayered, braided leather strap, about ten feet in length, the thong pro­trud­ing from a smooth wooden handle with the dragon’s crest carved into the stock. About every three to four inches along the leather, there were barbed spikes made of iron, each one em­bed­ded in the belly like a spiny thorn. He cracked the lash in the air, just for amuse­ment, chuck­ling as it echoed through­out the grand royal hall, and then he grabbed a hand­ful of leather ties to bind her wrists and ankles and headed straight to­ward Mina.

The Ahavi jol­ted.

She gasped, whimpered, and star­ted to run.

Dante caught her around the waist and held her in place. “Do not,” he whispered in her ear, know­ing the king would slay her as she fled be­fore she ever reached the door.

Her eyes were as wide as sau­cers, and there was a deep primal fear ra­di­at­ing out of her pu­pils. She was ut­terly ter­ri­fied and aghast. “Dante,” she whimpered piteously. “Oh gods, please.” Her beau­ti­ful, deep green eyes were shad­owed with tears and haunted with des­per­a­tion.
“Please.”
She gaped at him like she had never seen his face be­fore, like he was more than a stranger, more than an en­emy, like he was a myth­o­lo­gical mon­ster, some­thing to be dreaded and feared. Her knees gave way to their trem­bling, and she crumpled to the floor, doub­ling over in an­guish and grasp­ing at his shirt, his trousers, his boots, as she fell. “Please,” she cried even louder. “My prince?” She sobbed. “Dante, I’m beg­ging you.” She pleaded with her eyes, and in that sol­emn mo­ment, Dante saw only a help­less little girl who would have rather died than face the tor­ture await­ing her. “You can’t let him do this, my prince.” Her lips lit­er­ally quivered. “I know I’ve dis­pleased you, but…but
this
?” She ges­tured to the side, in­dic­at­ing Damian and the lash with her hand, un­able to turn her head in such a ter­ri­fy­ing dir­ec­tion. Her eyes grew even wider, and her thick lashes sloped be­neath the weight of her tears. “Please.
Please.
” The last word was a pi­ti­able ques­tion. “Dante?”