Page 48 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Aurelia

I am dressed for war. My mother’s wedding gown is my armor. Bene’s letter, where it lies tucked against my heart, is my shield.

But still my pulse flutters—restless, anxious.

It is one thing to know what must be done.

And quite another to actually do it.

The clatter of goblin voices rings out in the near distance as we approach the room where I once dined with Malice—the great hall of Umbra Castle.

Their excitement ripples through the air and spills into the shadowed corridor.

With each step I take, their screeches rise to a fever pitch, as if they sense my approach.

I glance toward my father, who shuffles along before me, leading me onward, oblivious to what I intend to do. If only we had more time together. Time to speak. Time for him to understand.

But with my next breath, our time runs out.

My father fades away, as does Ghoul.

The castle, the corridor, the cries of the goblins—all vanish.

Masking my wonder, I step out of the true world and into another of Malice’s illusions, into a glittering ballroom I have never before seen.

It is a ballroom built in the heavens, with soaring stone archways granting access to the night sky.

A warm summer breeze ruffles past, bringing with it soft laughter, lilting music, and the roar of dragons in the distance.

I see them winging through the air just beyond the ballroom, their scales flashing in the moonlight.

More dragons in their human forms swirl all around me—beautiful men and women with jewel-toned eyes who dance together, ignoring me completely.

All save for one.

“How exquisite you look, my dear,” Malice greets me, his voice a dark purr as he sweeps into view. Black velvet encases his tall frame. A triumphant smile curves his lips.

I fight to hide my surprise as I see him truly for the first time, as my eyes finally pierce the delicate weave of Mind overlaying his form. Though he was surely once a handsome man, those days are long past.

His sunken eyes rest like pools of dried blood above hollow cheeks. His body is gaunt. His skin pale. Sharp claws crown his fingers. He looks hungry, desperate—a man long starved by his darkest desires, by his Shade.

And I am clearly the sustenance he now craves.

“In Briarhold, one usually saves the reception for after the wedding,” I observe, earning a dark chuckle from my would-be groom.

“And here I thought you would be an unwilling bride.” He reaches toward me with a single hand, trying to capture my fingers in his skeletal grasp. “But if you are so eager…”

My skin crawls. My breath hitches. I cannot bear the thought of him touching me. I am tired of men touching me without my permission.

Never again.

Without a word, I twirl away from him and forge deeper into the ballroom. He laughs again as if this is all a game, his gaze following me as I drift amongst the dancers.

“I see you have brought your personality tonight,” he calls out after me. “But you cannot elude me forever, na’drakira .”

As if to prove his point, he appears before me in the very next moment, blocking my way forward. I swallow my gasp of surprise and look away, feigning disinterest.

A woman utterly bored by his antics.

His gaze ticks downward, studying the floor by my feet. “Who removed your chains?” he asks, his tone casual enough, his expression equally bored. But I still plainly hear the unspoken threat lingering beneath. I taste the spark of his anger waiting to further ignite.

“I did,” I whisper, watching him sidelong. “I grew tired of them.”

A brief flicker of emotion plays across his sharp features. Annoyance? Amusement?

It is impossible to say.

“I suppose that means you’ve healed your leg, too,” he observes, his head canting to the side. I force myself to stand firm beneath his fresh scrutiny. “What a pity,” he exhales, as if in an attempt to be alluring.

The very idea twists my stomach. I want to flee from this man. I want to cast a cone of Air at him and send him shooting off into the night. But I cannot. Not yet.

First, I must play the part. The very part he has always secretly wanted me to play—

A woman after his twisted husk of a heart.

Twitching away from him, I sneer, “You bore me.” My Mind weave snaps into place in the next moment, hiding my thoughts and the frenetic beating of my heart.

Malice recoils immediately, his eyebrows raising. “I beg your pardon?”

“All these cheap attempts at seduction,” I hiss, infusing as much venom into my voice as I can. “All these ridiculous illusions of yours.” I turn my back on him and scoff, as if the enormous ballroom yawning all around us is worthy of naught but my disdain. “They bore me.”

For the span of a breath, the illusion wavers. I catch a glimpse of Umbra Castle beyond, of large goblin eyes watching me from the shadows.

I blink, and the draconic ballroom returns. The air behind me shifts. Malice’s presence looms closer.

“I am the most powerful weaver in all of Drakara, girl,” he rasps, a warning edge seeping into every syllable. “Nothing I weave is ever ridiculous .”

“The most powerful weaver in all of Drakara?” I echo, my Mind weave masking the tremble in my voice. Here I stand, playing with fire. Taunting the beast. “And yet you live here.” I flick a glance over my shoulder, daring to meet Malice’s rust-red gaze. “With goblins .”

His lips peel back in a bestial snarl. “A means to an end. You know this.”

I slip away, my heart hammering in time with my brisk footsteps as I move to the very center of the room, passing through the dancers who now stand frozen. Forgotten. Marionettes with cut strings.

But still their false laughter remains. It echoes hollowly all around, making the hairs on my arms prickle. Beyond the stone archways, storm clouds billow across the night sky. A streak of lightning flashes. Malice’s voice slithers toward me from the encroaching shadows on my right:

“I see you still deny me your touch.”

My shoulders tense. My anger flares. “Because you are unworthy of it,” I shout as I spin to face the monster who cursed me when I was a mere child. Who cursed the man I love. Who set off a war that killed my mother and led my father to despair.

I no longer need to play a part.

My disdain roils off me in waves.

My hatred of all he has done is surely as plain to see as the glow thrumming beneath my skin.

But where I am forged from light, he clings to darkness. Shadows writhe around him like a living cloak, making him seem even larger—taller—than he truly is. He tries to frighten me like a bogeyman trying to frighten a child.

But I refuse to be frightened by this pitiful creature any longer.

“Worthy?” he repeats, his tongue handling that single word as if it is a curse. His eyes skim across me, taking me in. Judging. Weighing. Clearly finding me lacking. “I believe you have made the grave mistake of thinking that I need you, girl.”

All the things I truly wish to say, I lock away deep inside me. Voicing them aloud will do no one any good. I must remember why I am here. Why I must do the things I do.

I stamp my reasons on my heart. I brand them into my soul.

I do this for my God. For Drakara. For Bene. For my family—both living and dead.

For me.

“No, I know you don’t need me,” I contradict, lifting my chin.

Malice arches his eyebrow in reply.

Steadying my heart, I paint a false smile across my lips. I force my tone to gentle.

Softer now, I coo, “But you want me.”

All the air rushes from the room with those four words alone. Thunder booms, vibrating the very stone beneath my feet. The sound shivers through my bones.

A muscle in Malice’s jaw ticks as he looks down at me with such intensity that my blood turns to frost. My mind whirls. Did I take the game a step too far? Did I say the wrong thing? Did I misjudge my opponent?

With the next flash of lightning, my captor now stands close. As close as my shield will allow.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, his voice deeper now, as if dragged from somewhere primal.

I answer him immediately, no longer playing coy: “A kingdom.”

His gaunt visage twists in confusion. “I already plan to give you a kingdom.” He flings out his arm, gesturing to the now shadowed ballroom littered with its lifeless puppets. “I plan to give you the world!”

“No,” I vehemently deny, shaking my head. “You plan to give yourself the world. You merely want me to witness you do it.” Drawing myself up to my full height, I demand with all the authority of a Therya’fey: “I want this kingdom. My kingdom. I want the Flora Vale, as it once was before.”

A sharp laugh slices from Malice’s throat, mocking and cold. “Is that truly all you desire?” He dismisses the idea with a vague wave of his hand. “I will soon have all of Drakara. What need have I for this place? Take it. It is yours.”

I hardly dare to breathe. This is it. “The way it once was before?”

Malice huffs out an amused breath. “Goblin-free is what you mean, I take it? They are yours to do with as you like, my dear. I no longer have any need of them. Drive them out. Smother them. Drown them. Whatever takes your fancy.”

A flicker of silver within the shadowed edges of the ballroom catches my attention.

I purse my lips to hide my growing smile.

“Out of curiosity,” I sweetly ask, “can the goblins hear us speak when we are within these illusions?”

Now it is Malice’s turn to scoff. “No. Of course not.” But then his gaze sharpens. His eyes narrow. Softer still, he questions, “Why?”

I shrug, feigning innocence. “It just suddenly occurred to me, ‘What would the goblins think if they knew their king held them in such low regard?’”

A strange noise disturbs the air, sounding just beneath the false laughter and the lilting music that still plays. Both cut out in the next moment, leaving only the other sound—a great clacking.

Like the gnashing of many sharp goblin teeth.

“What have you done?” Malice snarls, fury boiling in his blood-red eyes.

“Nothing,” I answer truthfully, no longer fighting to hide my smile. “But I cannot speak for her .”

The illusion winks out in the next moment, leaving us standing in the very midst of an angry horde within Umbra Castle’s great hall.

Bulging eyes glare at us from all sides.

Sharp fangs click in agitation. I seek out my father within the crowd, where he stands next to Ghoul, looking uncertain, before I turn to face Velda, where she hovers—free—in the rafters of the room, hiding from hungry maws.

The thread of Mind allowing her to see and hear everything I see and hear still binds us together, burning bright to my eyes.

“That is the trouble with you, Malice,” she calls out, trailing silver sparkles as she warily descends. “You always think you are the most clever person in any room. But it was a terribly simple weave, really, echoing everything heard by the Therya’fey within your illusion—”

“Silence!” Malice booms, cutting off my Kavreth’vor mid-sentence. Teeth bared, he whirls on the rest of the room.

Half the goblins screech and flinch back. The others stand firm, their hunched bodies vibrating with warning growls.

A disbelieving laugh escapes the dragon before me. “Do you think that I care what you think?” he asks, drawing in threads of Fire that smolder threateningly—like hot embers within his grasp. “Do you think I could not kill you all within mere moments if I wanted to?”

Steeling my resolve, emboldening my voice with a delicate weave of Air, I step forward and proclaim, “You will not threaten my people again.”

Silence descends over the great hall. A silence so profound that I am keenly aware of the flutter of my own pulse. The quickened cadence of my own breath.

Slowly, Malice swivels to face me, naught but amusement written over his features. He arches a dark eyebrow, inviting me to continue.

But I need no invitation.

“By your own words, you have ceded the Flora Vale to me,” I remind him, earning a chorus of frightened gasps from the goblins who look on. Leathery wings flutter nervously. The soft clacking of fangs resumes. “And I thank you for allowing my bloodless coup.”

Before he can speak again, I turn toward the goblins and say to them all, “I am Aurelia val’Anasi, daughter of Liora and Rowan val’Anasi. And I am your queen.”

My father’s face crumples with a medley of emotions I cannot even begin to name.

But I forge onward, wading out into the midst of them—these poor creatures. My fallen people. They part before me like grass before the wind, eyes wide, fear palpable.

I seek to soothe that fear with a murmur of, “But unlike your previous tyrant, I ask for nothing of you in return. Nothing beyond this—that you will accept my humble gift.”

“What?” Malice’s voice rasps from somewhere behind me, that single word riddled with disbelief.

I ignore him and continue, raising my arms over my head. “I choose to give my gift back to the land of my mother and father, back to the land of my forefathers.” My glow flares brighter, and my people hiss, shielding their eyes from my brilliance.

Louder still, I cry out, “I give my gift to the Flora Va—”

All the air rushes from my lungs as a great weight crashes into my back, shattering the shield protecting me from all touch and all harm. Before I can process what is happening, I am airborne, flying across the room.

Too fast to stop.

Too fast to keep myself from slamming into the far wall of dark, cold stone.

Too fast to stop myself from crashing straight through it.