Dragon by Midnight, page 16
“Yes!” Cinderella clung to the tub and dragged herself upright. “One moment, please.”
She hid herself behind a towel and opened the door.
The maid looked at her blankly. “Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence.”
She clutched the towel tighter against herself. “When?”
“Now.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, milady.”
Refusal would, of course, be impossible.
Queen Eira waited in a tower adorned with tapestries. Her emerald-green gown billowed around her chair by the window. Her silvery hair had been braided and pinned to her head like a crown, though she wasn’t wearing one.
Cinderella dipped into a deep curtsey. “Your Majesty.”
Curiously, she hadn’t seen the queen at the ball. Her Majesty had a reputation for secrecy.
“You must be Cinderella.” Queen Eira inclined her head. “Or shall I say, Ginevra Darlington?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Sit.”
Glancing around, Cinderella found another chair. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. The queen stared at her with her pale gray eyes.
Silence poured into the space between them.
“I knew your mother,” said the queen. “Vivendel.”
Cinderella fidgeted in the chair, her tailbone uncomfortable. “Before she went to Umberwood.” She was afraid to say too much.
“Why are you here?” Queen Eira asked.
Cinderella swallowed hard, her mouth parched. She hadn’t drunk anything since waking up this morning. “For a second chance at happily ever after.”
“Spare me your stories,” said the queen, her tone that of frosty boredom. “Why return to Knightsend after such a disastrous debut at the ball?”
Cinderella twisted her fingers together. “If only I had spoken to you that night.”
“What do you want from me? No one ever comes to a queen wanting nothing.”
“Breakfast and a cup of tea?” A nervous laugh escaped her.
The queen pursed her lips. “I want the truth.”
“Then we want the same thing.” She straightened her spine. “My mother told me that she had been gifted Umberwood Manor in exchange for a great service. I didn’t understand what she had sacrificed until I found her diary.”
The curse will be mine.
Queen Eira’s face betrayed nothing. “You already know.”
“She took the curse meant for you and your firstborn child. Meant for the crown prince.”
“Indeed she did.”
Cinderella bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the pain, and asked simply, “Why?”
“Vivendel understood the necessity of sacrifice.” Queen Eira arched one eyebrow. “The Crown gifted her a small fortune and Umberwood Manor in return.”
Cinderella met her gaze. “Who cursed you? Why?”
Her Majesty let out a long sigh and gazed out of the window. Sunlight glinted on the waterfall as it plunged over the cliff. She did not look away as she spoke.
“An enemy of Viridia.”
Cinderella waited until the silence grew unbearable. “Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“To me, it matters very much. I was born with a curse that didn’t belong to me.”
Queen Eira turned from the window. “Your mother’s fault.”
“Pardon me?”
“She chose to marry and have a child.”
Cinderella bit back her unkind words. “What did you do to deserve the curse?”
“I refused a powerful man who wanted me.”
It was all too easy to believe her. Cinderella reached halfway for the queen before stopping herself. She would have touched the back of Her Majesty’s hand, but she suspected that such a gesture would be both unwanted and forbidden.
“The curse could not be broken.” Queen Eira’s eyes sharpened to steel. “I summoned every witch and wizard in the land, but they could save me only by transferring the curse to another woman. Your mother agreed.”
As if her mother could have disobeyed the Queen of Viridia.
Her Majesty tilted her head, her face an icy mask. “Why haven’t you returned to Umberwood?”
“Umberwood was never enough.”
“What is the cost of your discretion?”
“My… discretion?”
“Your mother’s diary should have been burned to ashes.”
Sweat slicked Cinderella’s hands. She hadn’t come here to blackmail the queen, and yet the queen was willing to bribe her into silence about the past.
“I don’t know,” Cinderella said, which was the truth.
“How did that sorcerer boy break the curse?”
Fragments of the truth. “He brewed a potion.”
The queen stared at her without blinking. “Go.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” As if she had given her anything other than a dismissal.
“Return to me when you can name your price.”
~
Cinderella cringed when she walked past the ballroom, where masons and carpenters were rebuilding the window and balcony she had destroyed as a dragon. Endlessly, the waterfall roared over the cliff and dulled her thoughts.
She didn’t belong here.
The curse lurked beneath her skin, ready to burst into scales and fangs and claws. If only Sikandar were here to help her uncover the truth. He would probably go to the castle library and read massive books on sorcery, ones she couldn’t even begin to understand.
Dizzy, she leaned against the cold stone wall of the castle.
She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything today, and it had taken a toll upon her strength. She wanted nothing more than to sink onto a cushioned sofa and have tea.
She retreated to the Rose Room. Breakfast was not, in fact, waiting for her already. Famished, she rang the bell for a servant. Her maid from last night arrived.
“Yes, milady?”
“Could you have breakfast brought up?”
“Begging your pardon, but it’s late for breakfast.” The maid clasped her hands in front of her apron. “The cooks have already started on lunch for the castle.”
“It doesn’t have to be fancy. Bread and cheese?”
The maid’s eyebrows rose, as if no royalty in the castle would ever allow such common food to cross their lips. “Bread and cheese. Yes, milady. Will that be all?”
“And tea, please.”
“Of course.”
The maid curtseyed out of the room.
A little shaky, Cinderella lowered herself into a chair. She gnawed on her thumbnail until it was ragged and sore. Earlier, she had been utterly outclassed by Queen Eira, who had thrown her no more than crumbs of the truth.
The maid knocked before entering with a tray. “Where shall I put this, milady?”
“Here.” Cinderella patted a table. “And please, there’s no need to call me milady.” It hadn’t been so long since she had worked as a servant in Umberwood.
The maid blinked a few times. “What else should I call you?”
“My name?”
“Pardon me, but that would be too presumptuous.”
Cinderella sighed. “Never mind.”
“Yes, milady.”
“Wait.” Cinderella tore open a roll of soft white bread. “Before you go, is there a library?”
“Yes, of course. Would you like me to fetch you a book?”
“That won’t be necessary. Could you give me directions?”
~
Evening darkened the sky to the purple of a bruise. Inside the castle library, candlelight glimmered on the gilded spines of books. There must have been thousands that crowded the shelves, from marble floors to vaulted ceilings. The whole library smelled of beeswax, old paper, and secrets.
Cinderella pinched the bridge of her nose. The beginnings of a headache throbbed in her skull. She had flipped through dozens of books.
And for what?
She was no closer to the truth about the curse.
“One more book,” she whispered.
A Modern History of the Viridian Monarchy. A monstrous tome, bound in black leather. She dragged it out and lugged it over to a table. The pages were slippery with gilt.
“Queen Eira,” she whispered, cracking it open.
Words swam together into meaningless ink.
Why would the royal family write down their shameful secret? Who else knew of the curse?
“Cinderella!” Benedict’s voice rang out under the high ceiling. He strolled across the polished marble with a crooked smile. “Why have you been hiding here?”
She thumped the book shut as if she had been caught reading something indecent. “I’m not hiding.”
“And yet you’re acting so secretive.”
“I’m not!”
The longer he looked at her, the wider his smile grew.
Heat crept over her cheeks. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Because you’re blushing.”
“I wasn’t blushing until you started staring at me.”
He laughed. For heaven’s sake, was he flirting with her? After she had turned into a dragon in his ballroom, and he had chased her with his sword drawn?
Questions burned in her ribs like embers.
She wanted to ask him about the curse, and the man who cursed his mother, but she wasn’t sure how. Or if he knew more about his family’s dark secrets.
“Why are you here?” Benedict asked.
Exactly the same question his mother had asked.
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m looking for a book.”
“Not the library.” He waved away her comment. “Knightsend.”
“Oh. I…”
“Father tells me you want another chance.”
“Yes?” she said, wishing she could stop blushing.
He smirked. “I’m not surprised.”
She peered through her eyelashes, pretending innocence. “You’re not worried about the curse?”
“Why should I be?”
Had he been sheltered from the truth?
“The curse is broken,” he said. “And you’re here with me. What more could a prince ask for?”
Benedict kept smirking at her, one of his eyebrows raised. He acted like he had been told he was smart and charming all his life, and never had to prove it.
“But Benedict—”
“Shh.”
As he stepped closer, she backed against a bookshelf. His eyes were as blue as hottest flame.
“I know what you want,” he murmured.
Trapped by the bookshelf, she froze. He was the crown prince, and she was in his castle.
“You do?” she asked.
“Let me show you.”
Benedict kissed her with supreme confidence. He stifled her murmur of protest with his mouth. He fitted her against his body, one of his hands behind her neck, the other at her waist. Her shoulders tensed, her fists at her sides.
He leaned away. “How was your first kiss?”
As if she hadn’t already kissed Sikandar.
“Surprising,” she lied.
“Let me educate you.”
He kissed her again, harder, his tongue skimming her lips. What should she do? He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t kissing him back. Of course, he expected her to be a blushing virgin, with no experience or desires of her own. If she touched him, he might think her too forward.
This was nothing like kissing Sikandar.
She didn’t want to kiss Benedict. She didn’t even like him.
Trying to be gentle, she pushed him away.
“Aren’t I who you want?” He looked at her with genuine confusion and disappointment.
“I don’t know,” she repeated, when the answer was no.
“Relax.” Benedict kissed her on the forehead, sweetly, but his hands twisted in her skirts. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”
But she didn’t trust him. He didn’t even know the truth.
“Benedict,” she said. “What did your mother and father tell you about the dragon curse?”
“Not much.” His jaw hardened. “Curses don’t happen to good people.”
Her jaw dropped. “How can you say that?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You think I deserved to be transformed into a dragon?”
“No. It’s something my father told me. You asked!”
She forced out a laugh. “Doesn’t your father know?”
A crease deepened between Benedict’s eyebrows. “Know what? Why are you being like this?”
Heat rose inside her like magma. She clenched her trembling fists, wondering how fast she would be locked in the dungeon if she punched a prince. God, but wouldn’t it be so satisfying to knock that stupid look off his royal face?
“You had no clue,” she said. “All your life, you enjoyed luxury and privilege, never knowing you escaped any consequences. Never knowing it was meant to be you.”
“Me?”
“You should have been the one to turn into a dragon at the stroke of midnight. Not me.”
Benedict shook his head. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Ask the queen.” She bared her teeth. “The curse was meant for her firstborn child. The heir to the throne. You. But she pawned off the curse on my mother.”
He stared at her with wide, blank eyes. “No.”
“It’s the truth!”
“I don’t believe you.”
A guttural growl rumbled from her throat. He backed away. Blood rushed under her skin, followed by a stinging like nettles.
The curse.
“Oh god,” she whispered. “No.”
Benedict backed away. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go.”
“Now?”
“I’m sorry—it’s—feminine troubles,” she stammered.
“Pardon?”
She clutched his shoulders and steered him out of her way. Claws scythed from her fingers. When she bolted for the door, a cramp stabbed through her guts.
“Cinderella!”
Pain brought her to her knees. “Stay away!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her back arched, wings bursting from her shoulder blades, shredding her gown. She clawed at the marble floor as if she could drag herself back into her true body. Her skeleton wouldn’t obey, her bones rebelling against her will.
But it was too late.
Her skin splintered into blue scales. A tail snaked from her spine. The soft shape of her body vanished, replaced by hard angles. The curse left her shaking on the marble.
A dragon once more.
Benedict’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “You lied to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you, I—”
“You disgust me.”
As if he hadn’t kissed her moments before.
Rather than wait for him to summon the guards, she whirled for the nearest window.
This time, when she shattered the glass, she knew how to fly.
Eighteen
Sikandar
Sikandar couldn’t return home until all had been forgotten.
Then, perhaps, he could be forgiven.
He cradled the Jewel of Oblivion in his hands and rubbed his thumb over the gemstone’s twilight facets. Slumbering magic nipped at his skin like cold fire.
The longer he held it, the more jasmine scented the air.
Night-blooming flowers that starred the darkness outside his bedroom window back home.
Sikandar dropped to the floor of his cabin, where he sat cross-legged with the jewel in his lap. Sweat from his palms fogged the gem’s facets. He hoped he had enough magic for this. And he wouldn’t fall unconscious.
If he didn’t wake up, then none of this would matter anyway.
Closing his eyes, he fought the urge to drop the jewel and crawl into his bunk.
“Forget,” he whispered.
Power flared to life in his bones. And the jewel answered him. The world melted away around him as he returned to one night, the night he had killed a king.
~
Beneath a violet sky, the sun fading fast, a caravanserai shimmered like a mirage in the desert. Sikandar’s white mare pricked her ears before breaking into a trot. Her hooves slipped as they cut across the flank of a dune. He patted her neck, glad she could have water and alfalfa soon.
“Sikandar!”
He twisted in the saddle. Taj waved at him from the top of a dune. His brother’s spirited black gelding pawed at the sand, impatient to reach the caravanserai.
Sikandar cupped his hands to his mouth. “Yes?”
“Slow down!” Taj called. “Jawahir is falling behind.”
The white mare pinned her ears, annoyed by all this shouting. Sikandar sighed. After the marriage, Ali had gifted Jawahir with an abominably slow magic carpet.
Grumbling camels plodded over the dunes, ridden by the royal guard. Behind them, Jawahir’s magic carpet floated at the pace of a brisk walk. Jawahir reclined on pillows, serene, and shaded her eyes from the low slant of the sun. The wind ruffled her robes. Sikandar’s little nephew, Kamran, popped out from under a pillow and waved vigorously.
Sikandar grinned. Kamran was two and thought the desert was amazing. They got to drink out of canteens, eat handfuls of dried dates, and watch ornery camels spit at the royal guard. Kamran wouldn’t stop talking about staying at the caravanserai in the middle of nowhere, or seeing his father, King Ali, after a week apart.
Sikandar’s grin vanished.
Kamran was the only good thing to come from Jawahir’s marriage to King Ali, though Kamran loved his father with the innocence of a child. His mother had hidden her bruises from him. He wouldn’t understand why King Ali needed to die.
Tonight.
“Ready?” Taj asked.
He knew nothing of Sikandar’s plan to kill the king. The fewer who knew, the better.
“Ready,” Sikandar said.
Taj kicked his gelding’s ribs. Sikandar urged his mare into a gallop and thundered past. They skidded to a halt outside the arched entrance of the caravanserai.
The courtyard of the desert inn had been built around an oasis, the water shadowed by the fronds of date palms. On the first floor, in the alcoves overlooking the courtyard, merchants unburdened their camels for the night. Music drifted from the tavern on the second floor. Sikandar cocked his head. Flutes and an oud. A lively tune at odds with the knot in his stomach.
