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

After they finished their goodbyes, Dareena and Alistair went down to the entrance hall, servants in tow to carry their trunks. The duchess waited for them with a sly smile on her face, flanked by a bevy of elven guards. Two of them took the trunks, while another four closed ranks around Alistair and Dareena.

“This is hardly necessary,” Alistair said stiffly, eyeing the wall of shiny armor surrounding them. “We are not planning an escape.”

“I never thought otherwise,” the duchess said smoothly. “The guards aren’t here to restrain you. They’re here to protect you.”

Protect us? Alistair frowned.

A familiar buzz grew louder—the sound of a large crowd. Alistair tried to peer over Lady Valenhall’s graceful shoulder, but the front doors were closed, and from where he stood, he could see nothing through the windows.

“The townsfolk have heard about your unfortunate situation,” the duchess explained. “They have come to see for themselves if the royal crown has fallen so low they are forced to give up their Dragon’s Gift.”

Alistair clenched his jaw.

“You are a horrid woman,” Dareena snapped, her green eyes sparkling with anger. Alistair admired her willingness to stand up to the duchess even as part of him wanted to step between them and shield his mate. “Is it not enough that you are getting everything you want? You must humiliate us as well?”

“It isn’t about what I want,” the duchess said, “but what my king wants. And after what Dragomir has done, he wishes to make an example of you.”

She waved an elegant, long-fingered hand, and the doors opened. Alistair wound his fingers through Dareena’s and held her hand tightly as the guards nudged them into the open. Sure enough, half the town had turned up to see them—every square inch of the courtyard was packed with people, and they all seemed to turn as one to gawk at Alistair and Dareena. Thankfully, there were plenty of guards as well, and they forced the crowd back far enough to make a path to the waiting carriage and horse-drawn cart. The masses clamored as they descended the steps, shouting questions and hurling insults.

“How can you abandon us now?”

“Have the elves really won the war?”

“Who sits on Dragonfell’s throne now?”

“Take your brothers with you!” one woman shouted, sounding particularly vehement. She tried to force her way toward Alistair, but a guard held her back. “We’ve had enough of dragons and their meddling in this country!”

Alistair said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. He could see from the corner of his eye that Dareena looked stricken, but to her credit she held her tongue, instead focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Almost there,” Alistair said to her under his breath, and she gave him the barest of nods.

The driver opened the door of the green and gold carriage and helped the duchess inside. Alistair gently pushed Dareena forward so she could enter behind her, but the footman shut the door, blocking her way.

“I’m sorry, but this carriage is for the Lady Valenhall,” he said in the snootiest tone imaginable.

“Excuse me?” Alistair asked, highly affronted. “Where do you expect us to sit, then? Atop the carriage?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the driver said. “Why do you think we brought the cart?”

Alistair scowled. He’d assumed the cart was for the luggage. He glanced at Dareena, who was looking back at the crowd. The shouts were turning into jeers. Blast it. He couldn’t waste time out here arguing with the driver—that would only make them look even worse.

“Very well,” he said. “The cart it is.”

He took Dareena’s arm and guided her to the old cart, which looked like it belonged on a farm. There were two wooden benches: a high one for the driver, who was already seated and waiting, and a lower one facing the back of the cart for passengers. He helped Dareena into the cart, then hoisted himself up.

“Your hands,” one of the guards said once they were seated. Dareena’s eyes widened at the sight of the rope in his hands, but she dutifully held out her wrists, and the guard bound them, and then Alistair’s. Alistair knew that the bonds were more ceremonial than anything else—they were fairly loose, and he could escape them with ease. But the crowd watched, and to them they looked like two trussed up prisoners being carted off to Elvenhame rather than “guests.”

Once everyone was settled, the elven guards mounted their horses, and they set off. Their caravan rolled slowly through the courtyard and down the drive, giving the crowds ample time to watch them pass and shout more questions and insults.

“Good riddance!” one man cried. He was wearing a black cloak with the hood up, and he hurled a tomato directly at Alistair’s head. It smashed into the wall a few centimeters from Alistair’s elbow, spattering his cloak with red juice. Alistair gritted his teeth as he plucked the ruined vegetable from the bottom of the cart, tempted to hurl it back at the offender. “At least now we won’t have to pay those absurd taxes anymore!”

“It’s okay, Alistair,” Dareena said, laying a hand on his arm. Her voice soothed him, and he lowered his arm before he did something he would regret. “Don’t pay them any mind. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Maybe, but they will still be here,” Alistair said bitterly. “Do they really hate our kingdom so? I know Father has been heavy-handed of late, but I did not realize there was quite so much discontent.”

Dareena sighed. “You wouldn’t, cooped up in the castle as you have been,” she said. “There are those who resent dragons and dragon born for treating humans like second-class citizens. The Hallowdale family, from my hometown, certainly was that way. They were dragon born, and considered themselves better than anyone else, including the other upper-class families.”

Alistair frowned. “Well, that certainly doesn’t help our case. And with Father raising taxes…”

Dareena nodded. “There are many who aren’t happy with that. Even so, most are content to let the dragons rule, as they want the continued protection of the dragon god over their lands. Someone must be stirring them up.”

“The Black Cloak Brotherhood,” Alistair said. “That man must be a member.” There had been rumors of a growing cult of anti-dragon citizens, but Alistair had never come across one until today. He looked around. Quite a few black-cloaked citizens were in the crowd, shaking their fists at Alistair and Dareena and chanting, “Good riddance!”