Page 51 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Benevolence

A bell tolls in the near distance, crying out a melodious warning.

I shift midair, my inner dragon roaring in delight as my body twists and grows, as my fingers turn to claws and my teeth to fangs.

I scent my uncle on the wind—the very man I intend to rip apart limb by limb for daring to touch my queen. To torment her. To threaten her—

The Aether presses in around me, as if to remind me of the pledges I made to myself and to my God while trapped in my nightmare prison. Pledges of mercy and love.

But he tried to kill Aurelia , I protest as my gaze homes in on my uncle, who hovers several lengths away.

Waiting for me .

His maw parts, fangs glistening in a warning snarl. While he waits for me to make my move, threads of Air glitter around him, pulling taut.

I don’t bother waiting to see what he plans to weave.

My wings surge. My body barrels through the night. Shooting across the sky like a speeding crossbow bolt, I fly straight toward my uncle.

And crash against him.

Our forms slam together, crushing the breath from my lungs. Our legs tangle. Our claws scrape against each other’s scales.

Locked in battle, we spiral out of control, wings flapping desperately as we each try to gain the upper hand.

A surprised roar rips from my uncle’s throat as my neck snakes out, my fangs finding purchase in the joint of one of his wings. But the moment my mouth clamps down around his flesh, I have to swallow back a pained cry.

I had nearly forgotten the injuries I sustained in the nightmare realm when I attacked the thorns. Easy enough to forget when wrapped in the arms of Na’therya .

Easy to remember in the heat of battle.

My gums, the roof of my mouth, and even the spaces between my claws are all filled with wounds from the brambles. Tiny, obnoxious wounds that throb in time with my heart.

I push through the pain. I ignore it as best I can. I could heal myself, but I dare not waste the energy when I need all I have left for battle weaves.

Snarling, I snap at whatever fleshy bits of my uncle I can reach.

Shoulder. Throat. Wing. Foreleg.

My methods are brutish. Barbaric.

And they expend entirely too much energy.

I am weak from my time spent asleep. Thirst burns in my throat. Hunger twists my stomach. Too late, I notice the delicate threads of Mind and Spirit radiating outward from my uncle, weaving around his form. More of his tricks. He is distracting me by heightening my already numerous discomforts.

Threads of Air soon follow.

Before I even have a chance to brace myself, a rush of wind rips me from my uncle’s body, leaving me snapping at empty air. The tang of his filthy blood fills my mouth. But I can no longer see him. I can no longer smell him.

He is invisible to my senses.

“You fight like your father,” Malice sneers, his voice ghosting along the outer reaches of my consciousness. “All brawn and no brain.”

I swing my head from side to side, desperately searching the darkness for any hint of where he has gone.

“Coward!” I roar to the heavens. “Come and fight—”

The rest of my words catch in my throat as something slams into me from above. Something heavy. Strong.

The bell tolls again.

Claws dig deep into my back as I am driven like a falling stone toward the earth, tumbling too fast to stop. Beneath me, goblins scatter, screeching as they try to flee. Above me, Malice’s claws rend flesh. They draw blood.

I scream in pain and fresh fury as I land hard against the ground, schooled so easily by my uncle. As if I am little more than a hatchling.

Worry burns across my bond with my queen. I taste her fear for me, though she tries to mask it.

I cannot fail her now.

The Corona flares hot on my brow, lending me the strength I need to gather Air beneath my wings and launch us back into the sky. I roll midair and shake my uncle off of me like a dog shaking off water.

But still I cannot see him.

I cannot smell him.

I fly all the faster, leading him away from the castle, from Aurelia, from the goblins who stand to be harmed by our warring. The lands of the Flora Vale unfurl beneath me, a ripple of lush green dotted with rolling hills and deep forests.

It is toward the former I veer. Plenty of room to maneuver there.

“I see you’ve given up your desire for the throne,” I call out, trying to judge if he is still near me. If he can still hear me. “If you kill me now, the Corona will never accept you.”

“This is true,” his voice snarls on the fringes of my thoughts. “But sometimes, sacrifices must be made.”

I cast out filament-thin threads of Spirit, hunting for any hint of his life force. His heart. There . Air and Water answer my call, lashing outward in a blast of frost. I aim for his eyes, seeking to wound. To blind.

His distressed cry is like music to my ears.

His weave of invisibility falls away in the next moment, exposing his position where he lingers above me and to my left.

I do not hesitate. I call on threads of Spirit, Air, Water, and Earth, binding my uncle in so many glittering cords that there is almost no hint of black scales left beneath them. He thrashes against them, fighting me with every ounce of his strength.

My weave weakens. It falters.

And my resolve falters with it.

“Do you truly think you can defeat me, boy?” Malice taunts, calling weaves of his own to life.

Air whistles between us in a wall of wind, pushing me backward.

My wings beat hard against the gusts, struggling to draw close once more.

“The Corona is wasted on you!” He chuffs a draconic laugh.

“Even with it, you are weak . Pathetic.”

Bitterness courses through me.

I always thought the Corona would make me all-powerful. Capable of anything. But my uncle is right. It would seem the crown of my forefathers merely enhances what strength is already there.

And for me? There wasn’t much to begin with.

“Bene…” Aurelia’s voice unfurls within my mind, calm and sure—so at odds with the storm of emotions raging in my heart. As if she simply wishes to remind me she is here. Waiting for me to come back to her.

And that she believes in me.

My queen has no further words for me. No encouraging speeches.

All she has is her love.

It burns across the bond, filling me with warmth, chasing away the last vestiges of my self-pity. So I am not a prodigy with the elements, even with the Corona lending me its power. So I am not the greatest weaver who has ever lived.

But Aurelia loves me, now and always. With that alone, I am blessed beyond measure.

It is her love that saved me from my nightmare prison. It is her love that called me home.

It is her love that lends me strength now.

I pull taut the threads of my weave, binding my uncle further. He will not escape me. He will not win.

With another roar cracking from my throat, I rush through his wall of wind and bodily crash into him again, wielding all that I have against him—both my brawn and what little brain he thinks I possess.

Together, we fall from the sky like a meteorite. Landing hard amongst the hills. Sinking deep in the sod. I have him pinned. Trapped. And for once in my life, I sense an emotion oozing off Malice that I thought him wholly incapable of feeling:

Fear .

“Don’t,” he begs me like the coward he is as I wield Air to flip him over, exposing his throat, and Earth to bind him. Vines whip upward from the ground, lashing him tight. Strands of Spirit follow, strengthening my other weaves.

“Please, Nephew,” he implores again, the words strangled as I slam my forepaws against his chest and crush the air from his lungs.

I bare my fangs, rumbling with my snarl of triumph. All I need do now is rip out his throat and be done with it. Never again will he darken Drakara. Never again will he threaten my people. Nor my queen.

We can be safe. Happy.

Free from the threat of his shadow.

I sense movement on the wind. Aurelia, my aunties, and members of the fae court approach upon currents of Air, no doubt coming to witness Malice’s execution.

But just as I lower my head to crush his throat in my jaws, just as my maw parts and my fangs catch around Malice’s neck, the Aether is there again. Wending around me like a warm breeze.

Reminding me of my pledge.

? Mercy. ?

I growl again, annoyance spiking in my heart. Beneath me, my uncle quivers.

But he has killed so many , I argue.

Again, the Aether replies. Again, it has only one word for me:

? Mercy. ?

Anger sparks to life deep inside, a roaring conflagration with a mind of its own. But it can end! Here and now, I scream to my God.

My children can grow up in a world without the threat of Malice haunting their dreams. I will not have to live in fear that he might one day strike them from the sky.

I will not have to constantly look over our shoulders and question if he will come back for Na’therya .

If he will try to claim her for his own again.

Please, I beg, my jaws longing to twitch closed around Malice’s jugular. Please, let me kill him. Let us be done with it all.

Warmth brushes against my scales. The Aether thickens around me.

Stronger now, it booms two words directly into my soul:

? Have faith. ?

I flinch backward and bow my head, removing my fangs from their threatening position. My jaws snap shut around mere air. I do, I promise. I do have faith.

But still, my emotions rage—a tempestuous swirl of doubt and shame.

Do I have faith? Do I truly trust in my God’s plan?

I am aware of the goblins now crowding close, their glittering eyes watching me within the moonlight dappling the hills of the Vale. Of my queen and aunties lingering further back, waiting with bated breath to see what I will do next. It feels like a betrayal to them to not kill Malice now.

But to shed his blood would be an even greater betrayal—a betrayal of my God’s trust.

His plan is better than mine.

I will have faith. I choose to do so.