Page 39 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

I stare at my reflection in a fountain in the gardens.

My gold gown shimmers in the water, the material catching the sun’s rays and radiating their glow back to the world.

Mother had the dress specifically made for the promising ceremony.

The silk was imported from Ptarma, and it feels feather-light against my skin.

The long sleeves hide my bandaged shoulder.

As lovely as it is, I can’t help but think I look like a piece of gold from the winner’s purse.

Ginna has intricately braided my hair, and it’s coiled on top of my head with strands of pearls and more gold. Lionel has never liked it down, so Mother told me this was how it was to be worn.

Despite the finery, there are dark circles under my eyes, and my skin looks pale.

I sip from a goblet of cider I’m nursing and move away from the fountain, pretending to study the flowers. There are people everywhere, and they all seem to want to offer me their congratulations—or condolences, depending on how well they know me.

I’ve seen Lionel only briefly. Since his win, he seems to have little need for me. I’m all right with that.

“Pippa,” Leonora says, her voice soft behind me.

I turn and cringe at the pity in her soft brown eyes. She’s dressed in light lavender, a gown that a seamstress has expertly gathered at the middle to hide her growing belly. I won’t be here when the baby’s born. I’ll be the last to know if I have a niece or a nephew.

“I’ve been called to fetch you,” she says. “The ceremony is about to begin.”

This morning there was plenty of time to decide how I was going to endure the promising ceremony, and I settled on quiet dignity.

I follow her through the gardens to the large chapel where she and Percival were wed.

I feel sick to think I will be promised to Lionel where that beautiful, happy day took place.

My parents, brothers, and Lionel are waiting for me. Guests have already begun to take their seats, and villagers are milling around outside to watch from the doorways and windows. We skirt around the back to avoid them.

We reach the back entry, but before we go in, Leonora stops me. “Pippa, I’m so sorry.”

I shrug instead of answering because my eyes are beginning to sting. I give her a wide, fake smile. “I’ll pull through.”

Her face crumples, but she nods and darts through the door. I linger for a moment longer and lean against the carved wooden door frame. The sound of harps and stringed instruments drifts through the halls. I start to feel dizzy, so I take several deep breaths, willing myself to pull it together.

Alexander is waiting for me in a chamber just outside the chapel’s main hall. He looks handsome in his tunic and crown. I seldom see him dressed as the prince he is; he’s always dressed like one of the knights.

“Pippa,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I am.”

Part of me, a large part, knew the tournament only delayed my marriage to Lionel. I feared he would win from the beginning. After today, there is no turning back. In a month, there will be a huge, luxurious wedding in Vernow, and I will be married to their heartless, mirthless ogre prince.

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

We enter the small room where my parents and Percival wait for me. Percival looks agitated. His eyebrows are drawn low, and his fingers anxiously drum on his crossed arms. Mother twists her gold necklace, twirling the emerald pendant in her long, artist’s fingers.

“Lionel is waiting,” Father says, and I step away from Alexander and go to him. Together, with my family behind me, Father and I step into the main hall. Lionel is at the front. His face is twisted in a smile that’s both smug and arrogant.

I glance into the room and scan the faces staring up at me. Irving is with Marigold. She clings to a crushed handkerchief in her lap. He gives me a tight smile .

My heart leaps with temporary happiness when I see Dristan seated next to Bran. He’ll be all right. But Galinor is standing in the back, close to the door. His expression is as cold as I’ve ever seen it.

The one face I’m looking for isn’t here, not that I expected him to be. If he was being promised to another, I couldn’t watch either.

It’s warm in here—too warm. The garden maids have picked flowers, and they are in large vases near where we stand. There are spices infused in the air—an aroma I remember from my visits to Vernow. The scent is overpowering.

Father steps in front of us. “Lionel, you are the rightful winner of the tournament, and as such, it is your right to have Princess Pippa’s hand in marriage. Do you wish to take her as your wife?”

For a moment, just one heartbeat of a moment, I hope he might say no.

Lionel turns toward me, his eyes flashing in the sunlight streaming in from the glass skylight above us. “I do.”

Father turns to me and says, his voice soft, “Pippa, do you agree to wed Prince Lionel in a month’s time, as was promised to the winner of the tournament?”

There’s no air in the room. It’s too hot and too crowded.

Spots dot my vision, and I hear an anxious pause in the music.

Before I can answer, a dark shadow blocks the light above us, and it’s startling enough I catch my breath.

In a moment, the sunlight streams through again.

I blink several times, wondering if I imagined it, but no—others are standing, startled by the interruption .

“What was that?” Percival asks, and already his hand is on the hilt of the sword at his side. There’s a scream from one of the villagers outside, and through the windows, I see many women and children flee to the sides and around the chapel’s back.

Without thinking, I run down the steps. Lionel yells for me to come back, but I ignore him. I burst into the sunlight, and my heart leaps to my throat.

The ground trembles as a red dragon lands in front of the crowd. He’s massive—as tall as three men—and as beautiful as he is terrifying. His eyes are black ebony, and wisps of gray smoke drift from his huge, scaled nostrils.

“King Ewan!” the animal roars, fire licking from his mouth. “I demand to see the king!”

The men standing before me step back and away from the flames. The breeze shifts and sends the great animal’s metallic scent our way.

“I am here, Noble Beast.” Father steps past me.

Black eyes narrow as they focus on Father. “You have violated the treaty.”

A chill runs down my spine, and the crowds begin to chatter in fear. The dragon steps toward my father, and I feel the movement through the ground.

“My mate was slaughtered during your tournament,” the dragon says. “And now I am saddled with the burden of searching for a new one.”

My father is temporarily speechless. Who would dare break the dragon treaty?

“If you refuse to find the man responsible, I will destroy your village. After the village is burned, and your people are nothing but memories to the waste that is your kind, I will move to the next town and then the next.”

Rigel. It must have been.

I search the crowds, frantically looking for the dark-haired Errintonian. I find him leaning against the chapel, seemingly unconcerned except for the hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Sensing my accusing gaze, his eyes flick my way. He shakes his head as if to say it wasn’t him.

“Sir Rigel.” Father obviously has the same thought as me. “Do you know anything of this?”

Rigel steps forward, his hand still on his sword. “I paid for my treasure with sheep,” he answers, and then he turns to the dragon. “Fifty ewes to Malgonith, the great winged serpent.”

The dragon snorts and flames lick from his mouth. “I know of this bargain. It was not this man.”

“Galinor?” Father asks.

“I didn’t kill his mate.” An honest, if evasive, answer. He shakes his head, looking pale.

The dragon peers at Galinor, and his reptilian tail twitches back and forth. “King Ewan, how many returned with treasure?”

“Three men,” Father answers.

“Line them up,” the beast demands.

Father bristles at the command, but it would not do well to argue with the dragon. I’m anxious as I wait for his decision. “Yes, fine.”

Rigel comes forward, as does Galinor. Lionel joins them. He’s as white as fleece, and there is the sheen of nervous sweat on his brow .

The beast tilts his head back and sends a burst of flames into the air above him. “Do you think I am a fool?”

“No, Great One,” Father says.

Knights and archers are slowly circling the area. On my father’s command, the dragon would be dead. He’s only one dragon.

But if we kill this dragon, we will surely be at war once again.

“The weak-hearted she-dragon, Zenalin, gave a piece of treasure to a man. Where is this man?”

Galinor swallows, and I can see in his eyes he’s searching for an answer.

No one comes forward, and once again a stream of fire jets toward the clouds. “The shield!” he says. “I was with her. I remember the man, and I do not see him here.”

The crowd jumps back when the dragon’s fiery breath is directed at them.

Sparks fly to a nearby cottage, and the thatch roof catches.

The courtyard rings with shocked, terrified cries.

A woman’s mournful scream punctuates the rest, and with it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

At Father’s command, men scramble to put out the burning cottage.

“I am here.” Out of the wide-eyed crowd, Archer steps forward. He looks out of breath, as if he’s just run across the courtyard.

The dragon swings his great head toward Archer and narrows his serpent eyes. “Hello again, Master Archer.”

Archer bows his head.

“Did the treasure win you your love?” The dragon cackles. He watches the men extinguish the burning roof with disinterest .

Archer glances at me, and our eyes lock. “It did not. I never said it would.”

The dragon turns away from the steaming, soggy cottage, looking bored. “It was not you who murdered my mate. I have no use for you.”

Father looks taken aback by the announcement. He shakes his head, and looks from Archer to me, and then to Galinor. “Galinor, did you retrieve your treasure?”

Galinor lowers his head, ashamed. “I did not, Your Majesty. It was Archer?—”

“Enough!” the dragon bellows, and the heat of his breath travels past us. For the first time, his depthless eyes settle on the ill-looking Prince Lionel. “You murdered my mate.”

His words have lost their fury and are now cold. Deadly.

Lionel shakes his head, and his curls swing around his face. “I might have wounded her,” he says, stepping backward. “But I did not kill her.”

“She is dead.”

Rigel and Galinor step away from Lionel, leaving him the sole target of the dragon’s wrath.

The prince tries to draw his sword, but he can’t seem to grab hold of it.

His sweaty hand repeatedly slips off the hilt.

Lionel’s terrified eyes dart around the crowd, looking for help.

When he finds none, he stammers, “I…I didn’t mean to, I swear. ”

The dragon roars, lunges forward, and pins Lionel to the ground with a stout, clawed foot. The prince blubbers, begging for mercy, while the rest of us look on in horrified, helpless silence.

“Won’t you fight me, oath-breaking prince?” The dragon tilts his head like a cat taking pleasure in the slow torture of a field mouse.

There are tears streaming down Lionel’s cheeks. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me.”

I have a lungful of air I can’t seem to release, and I hold it, waiting. I want to cry out and beg the dragon for mercy. No one deserves to die this way.

Not even Lionel.

“Wait!” I take a step forward, my legs and mouth moving on their own accord. What am I doing? “Please.”

“No—” Archer yells.

“Pippa, stop!” Alexander grabs me, holding me back, but it is too late.

The dragon slowly turns his head, and I quiver as he studies me. Curls of smoke leave his nostrils, rising in a lazy manner. “Who are you?”

“I am Pippa.”

Lionel tries to scoot away, his back on the ground, but the beast adds pressure to his clawed foot, keeping Lionel firmly in place.

The dragon turns his attention back to me. “The princess?”

I nod, not sure I can find my voice again.

“Do you love this cowardly man, Princess? Do you wish I spare his life?”

If I step back, the dragon will surely kill Lionel. If I step back, I will be free.

“Pippa, please,” Lionel begs, using my shortened name for the first time. Tears continue down his face, and his eyes are wild and desperate.

I stare at him. I hate this man. I hate everything he is, and everything he has done. How can I show him mercy? Why would I even want to?

He almost killed Galinor. He tried to have Archer murdered.

“Dragon.” I clear my throat, hoping my voice will not waver. “I do not love him, but I ask of you—I beg you—please. Please spare his life.”

“Would you trade your life instead?” The dragon tips his mouth in a reptilian smile, and his tail twitches. “Would you trade your life for the safety of your people?”

There is a riot of angry cries, but Archer’s protest is the only one I hear distinctly. It’s too much to ask. I close my eyes and tears spill down my cheeks.

I nod.

The dragon laughs, and fire comes with the guttural wheezing. “I do not want you.”

My eyes fly open, and before I can think or move or cry out, he lunges at Lionel.

The prince hangs from the beast’s mouth.

He’s flailing and shrieking, but he seems otherwise unharmed.

The crowd parts as the dragon stalks closer to me.

He drops the prince at my feet, and then once again pins him to the ground.

If I had the inclination, I could touch the dragon’s snout. I can feel his hot breath on my face, and I try not to choke on the smoke.

“I will spare his life for now, Princess, because of that lovely, noble gesture.” He’s mocking me, but I stay quiet. The dragon’s black stare drops to Lionel. “Where are you from, oath-breaking prince?”

Lionel lies still, gasping for breath. “Vernow. I am a prince of Vernow. ”

“Then we will travel there, and I shall decide what to do with you in front of your own people.”

Lionel’s eyes go wide. “I don’t?—”

I stumble back as the dragon snaps his wings from his body. He crouches low on powerful, scaled legs, and then leaps into the air. Lionel is swept away with the beast, hanging from the dragon’s talons like prey in an eagle’s grasp.

In that one moment, there is perfect, horrified silence, but it is soon followed by chaos. The villagers shriek and many flee. Animals, as if sensing the danger, cry out, bleating and squawking.

I fall to my knees, quaking, trying to block out the sound of Lionel’s screams.

“We are even, King of Lauramore,” the dragon calls. With that, he rises higher into the sunset and takes to the sky, leaving pandemonium in his wake.