Page 2 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)
Chapter Two
Deep brown eyes similar to Knox’s—yet so vastly different—meet mine, and I fight the urge to shudder. What do I do?
Bow?
Is bowing customary court etiquette for a prisoner? Because that’s essentially what I am.
Hardly daring to breathe, I drop my gaze in a gesture of respect and lower into a curtsy like my mother taught me to do before Aclarian royals. This man may not be my king, but I’d rather not commence my indeterminate stay in his fine kingdom by pissing him off with crap manners. I’ve seen where angering this king gets people.
When I rise, I find him scrutinizing me like a jeweler appraising an uncut gem. “Ah, the prodigal daughter returns.”
Prodigal daughter? What’s that supposed to mean? And does that require a response? Though a dozen questions hover on my tongue, I don’t dare ask them or even speak without permission.
The king continues to appraise me, and I can’t help but compare him to his brother.
He’s muscled, tall—though not quite as tall as Knox—and well-dressed in a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and polished black boots so shiny I catch a glimpse of my reflection in them. An ornate ruby-encrusted gold crown adorns his head, rich brown hair the color of dark chocolate curling underneath.
Like his brother, the king is an admittedly attractive man, but the permanent tightness around his mouth and eyes harshens his features, giving him a colder air than Knox. The chill trickling down my spine warms that if I argue with King Jasper like I did with his brother the first time we met, things won’t end well for me.
Though everything about this man—this entire situation—screams Danger with a capital D , I stand before him, rooted to the spot.
His mouth tips up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome to Tirene, Lark Axton. I am eager to…get acquainted with you.”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I swallow down my trepidation. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You’re probably curious about the men outside.” Not a question, but a statement.
Does he expect an answer? Will I piss him off if I speak?
My gaze slides to Knox as I try to glean some hint of how to respond, but his face, devoid of emotion, offers no guidance. If I thought I could get away with kicking him to force a show of emotion, I would, but I’m pretty certain the king would frown upon that.
Instead, I start to pick at a nail, then freeze when the nervous tic draws the king’s attention. “I…”
King Jasper chuckles. “No need to be afraid. You may speak freely.”
His reassurance that I don’t need to be afraid works about as well as someone telling me to calm down when I’m anxious. So bascially, not at all.
Arranging a polite smile on my face, I nod. “I am curious, Your Majesty.”
Utterly horrified is more like it, but I’m not rash enough to say that out loud.
“Rest assured that their punishment is atypical.” His gaze bores into me like he’s gauging my reaction. “It was brought to my attention they were attempting to turn the people against me, which is something I won’t tolerate. As much as I dislike taking such extreme actions, they had to serve as an example. The good of Tirene comes first and foremost.”
The room keeps silent, as if no one dares to breathe, much less speak. Again, I’m not sure the king requires an answer.
Before I can decide, he nods to a guard old enough to be my father with gray streaking his hair and beard. “Zale, escort Lady Lark to her chambers where she can rest.” King Jasper performs one last visual inspection, and I dig deep within to refrain from cringing under his scrutiny. “I think she’s had enough excitement…for today.”
Just like that, I’m dismissed, though I feel the king’s gaze on me as I follow Zale through the crowd.
While we traverse the sprawling halls of the palace, I become acutely aware of the enormity of the structure. Each step echoes on the marble floor, reinforcing the surreal nature of my circumstances.
“Your rooms have been prepared for your comfort.” Zale offers a slight bow, genuine kindness in his eyes. “His Majesty insists upon it.”
Comfort seems to be the least of my concerns right now, but I don’t dare voice my opinion.
We reach a set of ornate double doors, and Zale pushes them open. “Your dinner will be delivered later. Should you require anything in the meantime, let us know. We’ll be around.”
It’s not until I step inside the chamber that I realize another guard now stands at Zale’s side.
As the doors close, I drink in the exquisite suite, and the sheer scale of the suite dwarfs me.
The sitting room can comfortably host a banquet, with its massive table and low-backed sofas.
No doubt to cater to the wings of the usual occupants.
Everything is so absurdly large, yet I understand the necessity behind it.
Here in Tirene court, furniture must accommodate more than just stature. The wings are a part of these people as much as any limb. Though somehow, they can make them disappear.
I cross to the door on the far side of a bedroom so large it can easily serve as a dormitory for a dozen people. My hand hesitates on the knob, and I half-expect another grandiose space designed to make me feel even smaller.
Yet nothing could have prepared me for the sight that meets my eyes.
In the center of the bathing room sits a tub vast enough for two fully grown alicorns.
The porcelain gleams under the glow of crystal lamps, inviting yet another reminder of this place’s unearthly extravagance. For a moment, I allow myself the luxury of imagining a leisurely soak within its depths.
A sharp ache in my back distracts me from my perusal by stealing my breath. That’s odd. I remember it hurting in that same spot once or twice before I left Flighthaven too. Maybe I tweaked it during training and then again during the chaos of the trial. I could have twisted the wrong way without even realizing it.
Being carried across two kingdoms and an ocean like a sack of potatoes certainly didn’t help, either.
Leaning against the cool wood of the bathing chamber door, I close my eyes and release a long, steadying breath. Though the pain eases, my mind remains a tempest of thoughts and emotions, each vying for dominance.
Fear, sadness, betrayal, anger, and even a healthy dose of curiosity all swirl together until I can scarcely tell them apart. I open my eyes and take a few tentative steps.
If these are my quarters, then I will learn every inch of them.
Starting from the ornate bed with its headboard carved in flowing patterns, I inspect each piece of furniture.
Luxurious carpets cushion my steps. Pale oak and ash wardrobes stand against the painted walls, their surfaces smooth and cool beneath my fingertips. Within the splendor, I hunt for something altogether different. Potential weapons. A heavy candelabrum, the jagged edge of a broken vase, even a shard from the mirror can serve my purpose.
I eye the long, silken drapes that frame the windows. Perhaps those could be repurposed as bindings or a makeshift rope. I need options, however slight, to bolster the illusion of control.
Then there are the walls themselves. They are thick, likely insulated against both weather and eavesdropping, but I remember my mother’s whispered warnings of royal subterfuge. Kings and nobles play games of power with pawns unaware of the eyes upon them.
I scour the rooms for any signs of peepholes or concealed doors. Running my hands along the seams of the stone, I press my ear against cool plaster to listen for the telltale hollowness that might betray a spy’s nest.
My search yields nothing.
As I get closer to the door, muffled voices carry through the wood. Someone lurks outside, asking for permission to enter. I straighten my tunic, which feels simple and provincial among such opulence, and wait for my visitor.
The door creaks open, and he stands there as if waiting for me to invited him in, holding a tray with a covered dish and a goblet of what appears to be wine.
He’s the embodiment of betrayal clad in royal Tirene finery.
Knox.
Not Sterling, but Prince Knox of House Barda.
I smooth a hand over my hair, wanting to kick myself for not putting a little more effort into my appearance.
Stop. There’s no need to impress him. He’s seen you naked. He doesn’t care about you anyway. It was all an act.
Done with my little pep talk, I meet his gaze. “Well? Spit it out. You obviously want to say something.”
Silence.
For the first time since we’ve landed, he actually seems taken aback by my words. His bottom lip twitches before he presses his lips together in a hard line.
I know I shouldn’t snap at Tirene’s prince, especially after witnessing his brother’s willingness to execute anyone who dares cross the royal family. But I’m hurt and angry and afraid, and I’ve had little time to process the losses, chaos, and revelations gifted to me by the ill-fated Flighthaven trial. My friend getting roasted by a rogue dragon. Ster…Knox kidnapping me. Losing the new life I’d only just built for myself. Being held prisoner in a foreign kingdom where stringing up those who oppose the king is commonplace.
It’s too damn much.
Knox says nothing. Just continues to stand there, gazing at me with an expression I can’t decipher. Pity, maybe?
My temper flares. “If you’re just going to stare and not say anything, maybe we could continue this pleasant encounter later. I’d really like to get some rest.”
“You have every reason to hate me.” He steps into the room, shuts the door behind him, and sets the tray on a low table beside one of the couches. “But you have to understand, I was under orders?—”
“Orders?” My anger peaks as I close the distance between us. “You think that justifies your deceit? After everything you did to gain my trust?”
I slept with him.
Dear gods, how stupid could I be? Was I that starved for affection? He’d gone from openly loathing me to becoming my friend—my lover—in a matter of weeks. And I fell for the whole charade.
Hard.
He reaches out as if to touch me, then drops his hand. “After what you shared about your…upbringing, I thought?—”
“What?” I clench my fists at my sides. “That I’d be grateful? That this is some kind of liberation?”
“Isn’t it?” Desperation mingles with sadness in his voice. “This is your homeland, Lark. Your true home. That woman who raised you and kept you locked up?—”
“Stop! Do you really expect me to believe anything you say? You used me. You betrayed me. And you didn’t even like me when I came to Flighthaven, so don’t pretend that by following your precious orders, you’ve done me a favor.”
His throat works on a swallow. “You’re right. I did use you. My mission was to win your trust, learn what I could about your abilities, and bring you here.”
Though I already suspected as much, his admission still stings. “Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished.”
If Knox catches the hitch in my voice, he doesn’t show it. “It’s not that simple. From that first day when you smacked into me, you…intrigued me. Despite everything, I found myself wanting to spend time with you. To talk with you. To make you laugh. To push your buttons.” He heaves a sigh. “I knew I was getting in over my head, but I couldn’t help myself. The more we trained together, the more you shared about yourself, the more real it became.”
“Real?” Is he serious? “Don’t try to pretend anything between us was real. That you actually cared about me. I was an idiot for having any faith in you, but don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again.”
With each word, I take a step closer, watching those deceptive lips tighten in pain. That damned, smooth-talking, kissable mouth that led to my downfall. I’m not falling for his act this time. Because I know that’s what this is.
Anger burns in my gut, heating my veins and crowding out the sadness and fear.
I reach for the sword at my hip, only to remember it’s not there. The guards seized my weapons upon my arrival in Tirene.
“Here.” He unsheathes a sword at his side and holds it up for inspection, a grin tugging his lips. “Thought you might want this.”
Short and exquisite, the sword is nothing like the standard-issue weapons I received at Flighthaven. The wicked steel blade gleams in the light, but it’s the intricate designs embedded in the metal that draw my attention.
“You’re giving me a sword?” I chew on my lip. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. The guards took my weapons. I figured I wasn’t allowed to have any.”
“You’re probably not.” He regards me for a long moment before offering me the sword. “Although you no doubt think I’m all kinds of an asshole, I don’t want you to be defenseless.” When I raise an eyebrow, he laughs. “I know you have your magic, but…”
“So that’s it? You’re giving me a sword out of the goodness of your heart so I won’t be defenseless?”
He cocks his head, as if considering my words. “That about sums it up. Not just any sword, though. This belonged to my grandmother.”
Swallowing the knot forming in my throat, I stretch out my hand for the weapon. Now’s not the time to get emotional.
His half grin grows into a full-on smile, revealing his straight white teeth. “Only if you say please.”
“I’m not going to beg you.”
“Hmm.” His dark brown eyes glint with mischief. “You didn’t seem to mind begging me when?—”
“Okay.” Arrogant bastard. “Please.” The word coats my mouth like ash.
He holds the weapon out of my reach. “Say it like you mean it.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stalk toward him. “I don’t have time for your games.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Duchess.” He arches his brows. “We’ve got all night.”
Though my face heats at the innuendo, I refuse to consider the other ways we could occupy the next several hours. “Just give me the damn sword.”
From the ferocity with which he rolls his eyes, I’m surprised they’re still in his head. “Since you asked so nicely …”
“Whatever.” When he lowers the sword, I grasp the hilt before snatching the weapon and rearing back.
“What? No thank you?” He presses a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“I’m about to wound you,” I hiss.
I lunge, intent on carving the smug satisfaction from his face with my new blade. My slash connects before he can block the strike.
He stares at the blood darkening his right sleeve.
Turning my wrist, I aim for his left leg. He dances out of the way, the room’s size giving him plenty of space to maneuver.
“Slash down, Lark,” he instructs between parries, as if we’re back training at Flighthaven. “Let gravity help do the work.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re no longer my instructor. I don’t have to listen to you.” Pushing his sword to the side, I kick him in the hip. “But you responded so well to my other lessons. I did a damn good job teaching you to ride.” His smirk suggests he isn’t talking about alicorns. “And you seemed to enjoy it.”
Red creeps in at the edges of my vision as I dart forward, crowding close to his body to prevent him from swinging at me. His longer sword combined with his arm length means he can generate enough force to knock me on my ass.
Unless I stay close and strike fast.
“That’s right. When your opponent has a longer reach, stay close and keep?—”
“Stop pretending you care! You lost that right when you chose deception over honesty.” I aim for arm, kidney, leg, but even with his stiff hip, he manages to block each blow.
“I didn’t choose.” The back of his boot snags on the thick carpet set between the couches. “I followed orders.”
“Orders!” I pick up a pillow from the couch and fling it at his face, then lunge and jab. He spins to the side, ignoring both fluffy projectile and blade. “Is that all it takes for you?”
“What?” Confusion tinges his question.
“An order from your big brother.” I swipe, forcing him to parry as he backs into the coffee table. “That was all it took to turn Prince Knox of Tirene into a painted lady.”
“Are you calling me a common whore?”
“No. You’re like the escorts who flock to the nobles, pretending to sell their bodies for coin. Except their main source of income is selling the secrets they learn after. You’re an uncommon whore, Prince Knox. One who doesn’t even have the morals to walk the streets or ply your trade openly.”
His face, a mask of feigned, injured innocence, boils my blood.
How dare he appear so indignant when he’s the one who double-crossed me?
My fury bubbles over, and I spring forward with my blade aimed at his cheek. I want to slash the fake hurt from his eyes. A hurt that’s probably as false as the life he led when we were together.
But Knox’s reflexes are as sharp as the wings he hid so well.
In a swift motion, he has my wrist in his grasp, and my weapon thudding to the floor. His eyes lock onto mine, a storm of emotions swirling within their dark depths before his lips crash against mine in a desperate kiss.
That wicked mouth.
He hauls me against him, and my traitorous body responds without my consent. Every rational thought about why this is a bad idea flees my head.
Spearing his fingers through my wild tangle of hair, he pulls my head back until my mouth is at just the right angle. His tongue slides out, first tasting me, then devouring me.
Oh gods.
He tastes like whiskey and debauchery. My two new favorite things.
I cling to him like he’s my lifeline, as if I’m drowning and only he can save me.
I shift forward, moving closer to him. Wanting more. Needing more. The metallic clunk of my boot hitting my sword breaks his hold on me.
What in the realms was I thinking?
That’s the problem. I wasn’t.
I try to pull away, to push him off of me, but his arms encircle me like iron bands.
His lips trail up my neck and then brush the shell of my ear, leaving a path of fire in their wake. “What we just shared…that was real.”
Knox releases me and spins on his heel, exiting the chamber before my brain can form a coherent thought.