Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

“Arolas!” Basilla snapped.

“No, that’s all right,” Dareena said coolly, picking up her utensil. She forked up a bite of salad and looked straight into Arolas’s eyes. “I do have quite an appetite,” she said before putting the fork in her mouth.

The atmosphere in the room turned awkward, even as Arolas’s smirk turned downright smug. “Whatever arrangement you have with the dragon brothers is none of our concern,” the duchess said in a clear attempt to wrangle the conversation back within the borders of propriety. “So long as your country agrees to our demands.”

Dareena swallowed a retort. “I have no reason to believe that my mates won’t cooperate,” she said, “unless they hear of how terribly you’ve treated Alistair. Do you know he rots in the dungeons below even now, like a common prisoner?” Dareena leaned forward, pinning the duchess with a fierce look. “You promised we would be treated like guests. Does the word of an elf mean so little?”

The duchess stiffened. “I had not heard of this mistreatment,” she said defensively, turning to Arolas. “Is this true?”

“It is,” Arolas said, “and I see no reason not to leave him there. Spending a few days in the dungeon is the least any of the dragons deserve after all they’ve put our country through. I care not what you promised them.”

“Father!” Princess Basilla said, sounding scandalized. She turned to the king, who had an almost detached look on his face, as a spectator to a sport rather than a participant. “Are you really just going to sit by and do nothing while Arolas soils our good name?”

“Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t in the room, sister,” Arolas snapped. “I am not the one behaving dishonorably. The dragons have yet to come through on their end—if they had paid the ransom by now, your little dragon friends would be free. It seems the negotiations will be protracted, though of course I could be persuaded to speed them up.” His gaze lingered on Dareena’s bosom, making her stomach twist.

“It is very likely the dragons are stalling in a bid for time,” the count said, his deep voice smooth as the surface of a dark lake. He stroked his beard as he considered Dareena. “Rumor has it that the entire fortune of the dragon kingdom was stolen away by Dragomir, and that his sons are searching for it as we speak. But it is unlikely they will recover it—the former king may be mad, but he is still the stronger dragon. I doubt they will be able to pay even a fraction of the ransom.”

“I don’t know anything about that—”

Arolas pounded his fist on the table before she could finish her sentence, sloshing their wine glasses.

“How dare these pathetic beasts toy with us, as if we are not to be taken seriously!” His face turned red as he bared his teeth, and Dareena flinched as his angry gaze clashed with hers. “If your ‘mates’ insist on playing games,” he hissed, “then perhaps I need to give them an incentive to take us more seriously. Guards!” He snapped his fingers. “Bring the dragon prince here.”

“Arolas,” the king said, stirring from his stupor for what seemed like the first time. “Is this really the right time?”

“Yes, really?” Basilla interjected, her face pinched with anger. “Can we not enjoy a meal every once in a while without you making a spectacle of some sort?” She looked like she wanted to rake her nails across Arolas’s face, and Dareena couldn’t blame her. Similar thoughts were going through her head, even as part of her was excited to see Alistair’s face again. She hoped he hadn’t fared too badly in the oubliette.

The servants brought out the next course—poached salmon—as if nothing were amiss. Dareena couldn’t even bring herself to pick at the food—she watched the door anxiously, waiting for the guards to come back. To be fair, she wasn’t the only one not in the mood to eat. Basilla looked downright mutinous, and the duchess looked a bit uncomfortable, taking small bites of her food as she observed everyone at the table.

“So,” Count Kianor said, breaking the tension-filled silence, “Princess Basilla, have you considered Prince Mordan’s marriage proposal?”

Basilla, incredulous, opened her mouth, no doubt intending to deliver a scathing retort. But before she could, the door opened. Dareena and the princess gasped as Alistair was dragged in—his wrists and ankles were shackled, his clothes torn and dirty, and his matted hair hung over his face as he was hauled inside, barely able to stand upright.

“What have you done!” Dareena cried, shooting to her feet. She tried to rush over to Alistair, but Arolas waved a hand, and a gust of air pushed her back against the wall.

“I’d advise you to stay back,” Arolas said as he rose from his seat. Alistair finally lifted his head, and Dareena let out a breath of relief as she saw his eyes blazing—they were filled with hatred, but at least they had life in them. “You wouldn’t want to get blood all over your skirt.”

“Wha—” Dareena began as Arolas yanked a sword from one of the guard’s sheaths. The sword gleamed in the candlelight as he swung it high, and Dareena’s heart leapt into her throat.

“No!” she screamed in horror as he chopped off Alistair’s right arm at the elbow with a single swing. Dareena followed the arc of spraying blood with mingled shock and disbelief, and the duchess shrieked as some of it spattered her face. Alistair roared with pain as he dropped to his knees, his other arm still firmly in the second guard’s grip—the first guard was holding the severed arm, a stunned look on his face.

This can’t be real, she thought numbly as she stared at Alistair’s bloody stump. I’ll wake up in just a moment, and all of this will be gone.

“Box that up and send it off to his brothers, would you?” Arolas asked with a lazy wave of his hand. He smirked at Dareena as he spoke. “Make sure it is delivered promptly, and with my compliments. I wouldn’t want it to be a rotted mess when it arrives.”

Dareena doubled over and heaved the contents of her stomach all over the carpet. Bile stung at her throat as she wretched on her hands and knees, her body shaking with grief and rage. How could Arolas do such a horrid thing? And how could she have stood by and watched it happen, without lifting a finger to stop it?

As Dareena vomited, she was vaguely aware of the activity in the room around her. Princess Basilla rushed over to Alistair to heal the wound, the duchess was calling for aid, and the king, it seemed, had been roused from his stupor.

“What has gotten into your head, boy?” he demanded, sounding appalled. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m the only one who still has my mind,” Arolas retorted. “I’m doing what’s best for the kingdom, Father.”