Page 13 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Aurelia

Now

I am a leaf swept along by the wind as King Friedemar leads me through one dance. Then another. And then a third. A fourth.

I should feel honored, elated. Out of all the women in attendance, I am the only one he has yet deigned to dance with. But all I feel is guilt.

And confusion.

Why me? I am strange. My reputation is blemished.

And yet there stands the King of Briarhold, looking down at me as if I am something special, as if I am someone important .

And as the music fades, as I find myself breathlessly staring up into his eyes, for a moment his grip tightens around my hand.

Firm. Possessive. As if he doesn’t want to let me go.

But then the moment passes. His touch recedes.

Perhaps I imagined it.

A warm smile returns to the corner of the king’s mouth. “Do not stray too far, Miss Weaver,” he murmurs, brushing another kiss across the backs of my knuckles. “I would very much like to see more of you before the evening concludes.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, wild and confused.

Each skipped heartbeat feels like a betrayal. Each breath stolen by another man feels like a thread unraveling—a thread once tied to a boy with silver hair and dragonfire in his blood.

Bene.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” I promise, retreating with a curtsy—needing to put space between us. Needing to breathe. Needing to make sure I’m not shining too brightly, not drawing unwanted eyes.

But with each step I take, my guilt grows.

It isn’t fair , I try to reason with myself. Bene is a world away. We were only ever friends. For twelve years, I’ve waited. For twelve years, I’ve dreamed he might come back for me.

And he could have. At any time, he could have taken up his father’s crown. He could have opened the Door. He could have returned.

But he didn’t.

All he sent were letters. Money. Gifts. But never what I truly wanted— him .

So why shouldn’t I be allowed to enjoy myself tonight? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to dance with another man? Why shouldn’t I just… be able to let him go ?

It is time to let him go. I need to let Benevolence go.

But I can’t.

I wind my way through the ballroom in search of Lord Reginald and Mama. I need to see a familiar face in this sea of strangers. The king’s courtiers blur past in a swirl of fine silks and curious stares, but I duck my head and ignore them all. I ignore everything.

Until the music starts again, and my steps hitch to a pause.

Is the king dancing with another woman? I almost look that way to see which lady has caught his eye now before I remind myself that I don’t care. What does it matter? King Friedemar will never choose me for his bride.

And then there is that business with the strange voice. The one that warned me to run .

No, it is much better if I avoid drawing the king’s attention further. I should find a quiet corner of the ballroom where I might meet a quiet bachelor from a distant corner of Briarhold willing to marry a woman who sometimes glows when she’s upset—

As if summoned merely by my thoughts, a man suddenly steps in front of me, blocking my way forward. I stop just short of barreling into his broad chest.

“Oh!” I gasp, retreating by several steps. “Do forgive me, my lord.” But then I freeze. My heart stops for a single, dizzying moment.

Blue . His eyes are blue.

But they are not impossibly blue. Not sapphire blue. Not Bene blue.

Nor is his hair silver. It’s red.

Disappointment crashes over me, leaving me fighting to school my features, careful not to let it show.

The stranger chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“No apology is necessary, my lady. It would be an honor to be trampled by the woman who’s so thoroughly captured His Majesty’s eye.

” His tone is light—teasing, but not unkind.

“Though I don’t believe we’ve yet been introduced.

I can’t recall ever seeing you at court before. ”

I part my lips, ready to explain that I am no lady, hence my absence at court, when a voice slices cleanly through the air behind me. High. Lilting.

A voice straight from my childhood nightmares.

“Well, well… is that not Miss Aurelia Weaver herself? And Lord Ambrose Burk! How charming. I did not realize you two were acquainted.”

My hands ball into fists, twisting into the folds of my gown.

The stranger—Lord Ambrose—smiles and slants me a quick look. “Miss Weaver and I were just becoming acquainted, Lady Harcourt. But now that I find she is already an acquaintance of yours, I marvel at her good taste.”

Lady Harcourt’s laughter rings through the air, grating against my already frayed nerves. No . Not her. Anyone but her. Not tonight of all nights when I am not wearing Bene’s amulet.

But I know it is her even before I turn to face the woman responsible for my shattered reputation—Miss Selina Danbury, in the flesh.

But no, she is not a Danbury anymore.

She is Lady Selina Harcourt, a vision in burgundy silk. A viper with chestnut curls. When my gaze locks with hers, her smile brightens, and her gray eyes shine—full of glittering delight.

Like a predator who has just spied already wounded prey.

At her side stands the man Mama once happily promised my future to: Lord Thomas Harcourt himself. But he does not look at me. He does not speak.

He simply stares past me, as if I do not even exist.

At that moment, I wish I didn’t.

Selina’s smile sharpens. She has no doubt sensed my fear. “But you do remember Miss Weaver, don’t you, darling?” she prompts her husband, her voice entirely too warm, too cheerful.

My pulse quickens. My breath hitches. I cannot do this.

Dipping into a curtsy, I softly excuse myself. “Please forgive me, my lords, my lady, but I am needed elsewhere. My mother was looking for me.”

Before I can retreat, Lord Ambrose shifts his stance, once again blocking my path. “But I have yet to beg you for the honor of a dance, Miss Weaver,” he murmurs, a gentle smile curving his lips once more. “It would be such a pleasure to become better acquainted.”

Were we alone, I would be glad to accept his invitation. But we are not alone.

Selina is here. She is watching me. Waiting to strike.

“Forgive me,” I repeat, taking another step backward. “Perhaps another time, my lord—”

“But Miss Weaver,” Selina protests, widening her eyes into a look of faux innocence. “We have so much catching up to do. Perhaps we might have you and your child over for a visit sometime soon. Oh, do tell me. I can’t for the life of me remember—do you have a boy or a girl?”

Lord Ambrose’s expression softens into a look of sympathy. “I didn’t realize you were a widow, Miss Weaver,” he whispers. “You have my sincerest condolences.”

I shake my head. “No.” No, I can’t do this again. I look to Selina. I beg her, “Please, don’t.”

But like the snake she’s always been, she doesn’t listen.

She simply chooses that moment to strike. “Oh, Miss Weaver has never married, Lord Ambrose.” She says it loud enough for half the ballroom to hear. Even Lord Thomas’s lip curls with disgust, though still he will not even glance my way.

The effect on Lord Ambrose is immediate. He recoils from me, as if I have transformed into a leper before his very eyes. “Do excuse me, Lord Harcourt. Lady Harcourt,” he stiffly utters before disappearing into the crowd.

Leaving me alone. With them .

Selina turns her lips out into a pout. “Oh dear. Do forgive me, Miss Weaver. I hope I did not ruin things between you and Lord Burk.”

I don’t speak. I don’t try to defend myself. I don’t bother explaining once again that I have no child. That I’ve never had a lover. That what Selina saw that day—me soaked through with rain, clinging to my dearest friend while he mourned the death of his father—was nothing but a misunderstanding.

But it wouldn’t matter.

It never does.

With all the grace I can muster, I sink into a curtsy. “Lord Harcourt. Lady Harcourt.” I hate the way my lips tremble around the words. I refuse to let them see me break.

I refuse to let them see me cry.

Forcing a smile to my lips, I lie and say, “It is always a pleasure to see you, Lady Harcourt. How I so miss our weekly afternoon teas.”

And then I turn. I flee.

I do not run. I will not run. But I push through the crowd as quickly as I dare while dozens of eyes stab into my back.

I have no destination. No plan. All I know is that I have to get out of here before all these people see me for what I am—a freak.

I feel the glow coming on. It is starting in my fingers, my toes.

This was a mistake. All of it.

But I knew that before I ever came.

I play my brief interlude with Selina on repeat in my mind as I burst from the ballroom and race into a quiet corridor lit only by a handful of lanterns. Night has long since fallen. Shadows pool along the columns.

This is the perfect place to disappear.

The hum of music and conversation fades as I slip behind a column and bury my masked face in my hands. I replay the conversation again, dissecting every little thing I did wrong.

I should have walked away the moment Selina approached. I should have ignored her and continued on to find Lord Reggie and Mama.

I should have told her to leave me alone.

Tears suddenly prick at my eyes—tears of anger. Hate. Desperation.

I press my hands tighter against my face, trying to hold back those tears with nothing but skin and willpower.

But it’s no use. I’m splintering. And this time, I can’t stop it.

From somewhere far off, I hear footsteps echoing off the stone floor. Brisk. Growing louder by the moment.

Someone’s followed me.

Mama, perhaps. Or Lord Reggie. No one else would possibly care.

A sudden thought seizes my heart, stopping it in its tracks: my glow . It has me firmly in its grip. I’m shining nearly as brightly as the closest lantern.

Lord Reggie doesn’t know. He can’t see me like this.

My hands fall to my pocket and frantically fumble there, grasping for the amulet within. But my fingers curl around parchment instead of dragon scale—Bene’s old letter.