Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
My heart is thudding like a drum in my ears—not from fear, not anymore—but from desperation. The dream… what was it? Parts of it keep coming back but when I reach for them, I can feel the dream slipping away from me like water through my fingers. A dragon—black and dying. Another, white and silver. Wings. Fire. Me.
But how do I grasp it now? How do I hold onto a mere dream when they’re about to tie me to a stake and stack kindling around my feet? A dream should be the last thing on my mind, but somehow I can’t let it go—it feels too important.
The guards march me forward, boots thudding against stone, and the whispering begins. Hushed voices all around, excited and scandalized. The Nobles love a good execution—they’re always well attended, even though they take place so early in the morning and most of the privileged class prefers to sleep in.
“Look—there she is!”
“The murderous bride—if only the King and Queen had known how evil she was, they never would have brought her here.”
“I heard she seduced both princes just to get to the King so she could kill him and take the throne for herself!”
And so it goes—rumors and myths and misinformation. Every bit is lies, but they eat it up like candy and sweets.
I clench my jaw and keep my eyes straight ahead. I won’t give in to tears now—not after refusing to cry all night. I won’t give in to fear, either. I won’t beg or plead—it won’t do any good and I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
We reach the front of the dais where Dorian and the Queen are seated. The pyre is waiting—already stacked high with dry wood and kindling. The pole is thick and blackened from previous burnings. I stare at it, feeling numb.
Dorian rises from his throne, swirling his golden cloak with theatrical grandeur.
“Elaina, former Princess of the Citadel,” he begins, his voice booming over the crowd, “Traitor to the Crown, poisoner of our beloved King, and perjurer against your rightful ruler… today you shall face the justice of the Realm.”
I open my mouth—to speak, to scream, to curse his name—but then I see him…
Xaren.
He’s here! My knees nearly buckle when I catch sight of him.
He’s slumped at the side of the dais, between two guards. His body looks heavier somehow—like he’s collapsing inward. The collar is still around his neck, the thick padlock dangling almost to his chest. His arms hang limp at his sides. His long black hair covers most of his face.
But I see his eyes when he lifts his head…and there’s nothing there.
No golden gleam…no flicker of fire.
No Drake.
Oh Goddess of Mercy… is he really gone?
A tremor works its way through my chest as I call his name.
“Xaren!”
His big body jerks and for just a moment, I think I see something in his eyes. Is it recognition? Maybe even a memory of our time together?
I don’t know but my chest aches with my love for him. Then he looks down again and the moment is lost.
Dorian follows my gaze and smiles.
“I thought it fitting my brother should see your fate,” he purrs. “Let him watch as his little whore burns.”
I want to shout at him—to spit at him—but there’s no point. Nothing changes if I lose my dignity. So I keep my mouth shut and my head high.
The guards drag me to the pyre. The wood creaks under my weight as I’m shoved up onto the platform. They tie me tightly to the post, the rope biting into my arms and waist. The dry branches scrape my legs. My red gown flutters in the breeze like blood on the wind.
One of the guards lights a torch. The torch touches the kindling and the fire begins to spread.
No. No-no-no—this can’t be happening! In my heart of hearts, I didn’t really believe they’d burn me!
I squeeze my eyes shut—I try to ignore the flames, the burning pain—and remember the dream instead. I hold onto it like a lifeline.
The voice. The fire. The dragon. It has to mean something.
And then—I feel it.
Something inside me is shifting…there’s a coil tightening deep in my belly. Heat…rage…power…I feel them building up inside me. The fire is spreading around me but…it doesn’t hurt—not anymore.
The flames lick hungrily up my ankles, kissing my calves like an overeager lover, but instead of pain, I feel… warmth. A strange, powerful rightness. Like I’ve been cold for so long and now, finally, finally, I am warm again.
The crowd gasps.
I open my eyes…and see them all staring at me. But their smug, blood-thirsty smiles are gone. Their faces are white and horrified and their eyes are wide with terror.
Dorian is shouting something, but I can’t hear it. The roar of the growing fire is too loud. Or maybe it’s coming from inside me now. My blood is boiling—not with fear, but with change.