Page 21 of Song of the Shadow Prince (The Dragon’s Ballad #1)

20

CAT

T he next morning, Maeve and I arrived at the beach house to find Garrick in the living room surrounded by dozens of chests bursting with gold coins.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

Garrick smirked. “I found your coin, my lady.”

“I can see that.” Striding to the nearest chest, I dug my hand inside and cupped a fistful of gold leaves. “This… is a lot.”

“By the immortals, Arya…” Maeve stepped around me to get a better look, her eyes like saucers. “No wonder she spent coin the way she did!”

“Of course,” I snorted. “She was loaded.” I turned my attention back to Garrick, who calmly sat on a closed chest. “Where did you find it?”

He waved his arm in the air. “The floorboards, the attic, inside the walls, you name it. It was hidden all over the place,” he grunted. “It’s too much coin to keep in one place.”

“Can you protect it?” It made me nervous to have all this money sitting out in the open instead of locked up in a bank vault somewhere.

Garrick nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

“My lady!” Maeve gasped. “Don’t you want to give it to Lord Zacharia?”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because he’s…” She looked over at Garrick and back at me, spearing me with a knowing look, unwilling to announce the Ryders’ dire straits.

I knew what she wanted to say. Because he was going bankrupt, I should use this money to help him.

I shook my head. “No, Maeve. While this may look like a lot of money, it’s not enough to help him. Lord Zacharia needs more than this,” I said softly so only she could hear.

She furrowed her brows, unable to understand my reasoning, and I felt a flicker of worry. She seemed like the type who would go and tell Zacharia about this money, thinking she was doing the right thing. I had to stop her before she did anything stupid. As long as I was in Elaria, this would be enough to sustain me and hopefully keep most of Arya’s money intact. It was her money, whether dirty or not. We shouldn’t give it away without her permission.

“Hey, Maeve?” She ripped her gaze away from the chests and looked over at me. “Can you go upstairs and look for a thicker cloak? I’m a bit chilly.” I rubbed my arms for added effect.

She nibbled her bottom lip and nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

Once I heard her step onto the floor upstairs, I rushed over to Garrick. “I need another favor.”

He raised one brow and smirked. “You want me to erase her memory, don’t you?”

My eyes widened. “How—?”

“I might be blind in one eye, but I’m not deaf, my lady. I heard your conversation clearly, and your facial expressions give you away. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Maeve,” he said calmly.

“Do you know?” I murmured carefully, not wanting to give away the truth.

Garrick nodded. “There’s little I don’t know about that happens in Elaria. I know the Ryders are going bankrupt… and you’re right.” He waved to the assembled chests. “This isn’t enough to make a dent in what they owe. It would be a waste to give it to Lord Zacharia.”

I sighed. “I’m glad you agree.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s right,” he countered shrewdly. “You might not be Lady Arya, but that’s the family Maeve serves. Not helping them is cruel. And erasing Maeve’s memories is even crueler.”

I lowered my head in shame. “She’s too emotional, Garrick. Sometimes we have to make hard choices for the greater good.”

He nodded. “Very well. Stay here.” He slowly went upstairs, the wood steps creaking with each footfall.

While Maeve slept off the memory wipe in an upstairs bedroom, Garrick and I spent the next few hours squirreling the money chests back into their hiding spots so Maeve wouldn’t stumble onto them. After removing a hefty sum for me and also Garrick as payment for services rendered, the warlock placed a cloaking spell over them so no one would find them.

My insides churned uneasily. Garrick was right. It was messed up to ask him to wipe her memory, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I knew in my bones that Maeve would mess up the plan, good intentioned or not. And I had to avoid that at all costs.

We finished cleaning up downstairs and I started to put on my cloak. Garrick looked up at me with a frown. “What are your plans now?”

“I need to go to the Southern District. There’s a carriage waiting for me outside.”

He furrowed his brows. “Aren’t you going to wait for Maeve? You shouldn’t travel alone. You don’t know your way around Elaria well enough and—”

“I won’t be alone.” I tied the cloak at my neck.

Garrick narrowed his eye. “Who are you going with?”

“Klaus,” I answered nonchalantly.

His eye widened. “By the immortals, my lady! You’re not summoning him, are you?”

I nodded. “I promised him I would.”

He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re trying to get yourself killed, my lady. If the emperor learns what you’ve done—”

“I’ll be fine,” I interrupted calmly. “Klaus will protect me.”

“Will he protect Arya’s family, too?” he shouted. “Because you’re putting them all at risk!”

I gulped. I hadn’t thought about them. It was foolish of me not to remember that my actions had consequences. Raising my chin, I blustered, “I’ll protect them.”

“How?” he scoffed. “You can hardly protect yourself!”

“I have my ways,” I said confidently. I always had a way of getting out of messes. I’d figure it out when the time came.

“When it comes to the emperor, my lady… you know I can’t help you,” Garrick murmured. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

I wanted to ask what happened between the two of them. What did the emperor ask him to do that was so ghastly, Garrick rejected him and lost an eye for his dissent? But I kept quiet because I knew he wouldn’t tell me. We weren’t that close. Not yet, anyway.

“I understand,” I said. “I won’t put you in that position. Just protect the beach house.”

Garrick huffed but kept his arguments to himself, turning his back to me. Without another word, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and darted out of the house to the waiting carriage.

The driver helped me up the short steps into the carriage and I settled on the upholstered bench. With a sharp snap of the reins, the carriage began to move.

“Where to, my lady?” the driver called out.

“The Broken Tankard.”

It was late in the afternoon, the sun was setting, and everyone was getting off work and hitting up the tavern to relieve their stress for the day. The familiar raucous atmosphere of The Broken Tankard washed over me as I shouldered my way through the throng of patrons, my cloak’s hood pulled down low to hide my face. Spilled ale and the musk of labor-worn bodies mingled with the tang of smoke from a dozen pipes and cigars. Laughter and clinking glasses punctuated the lively conversations, a stark contrast to the dim lighting that barely reached the tavern's far corners.

The gambling corner of the tavern was particularly congested. A thick crowd surrounded the tables, where the air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of tobacco and sweat. Voices rose and fell in rapid succession—shouts of triumph mingling with groans of despair. The space was cramped, the air close; every inch I moved required negotiation, an apologetic smile, or a firm elbow. The corner was a cacophony of shouts amid the sharp rattle of dice on wooden surfaces.

“Small!

“Big!”

“Big!”

“Small!”

Reaching the gambling table was an ordeal. Gamblers, a mix of seasoned regulars and hopeful newcomers, were packed shoulder to shoulder, each vying for a place at the table. Their eyes were fixed on the rolling dice and the hands dealing cards, their expressions a blend of concentration and excitement. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the collective eagerness and anxiety of those risking their hard-earned money.

I finally edged my way to the front and stood on my tiptoes to catch the dealer’s attention.I approached the table and pulled a heavy pouch of gold coins from my belt. The eyes of the players flickered to me, taking in my confident stride and the breezy way I tossed the pouch onto the table. It landed with a satisfying thud, drawing a few appreciative whistles and more than one calculating gaze.

“I'm in for the next round,” I announced, my voice cutting through the chatter. My hand hovered over the pouch, fingers brushing the cool metal of the coins.

The dealer, a grizzled old man with a scar running down his cheek, nodded and slid a set of dice across to me. “Your call, miss.”

“Big,” I declared, throwing the dice with a practiced flick. They clattered across the table, coming to rest amidst groans and cheers.

“Small!” the dealer called out, happily scooping up the majority of my coins with a grin that showed several missing teeth. Murmurs of sympathy rippled through the surrounding crowd.

I clenched my jaw, feigning anger. “Another round!” I snapped as I threw down another hefty handful of coins. The dice rolled again, the outcome no better than the first. The murmurs grew louder, mixed with a few snickers.

That was my cue. I abruptly stood and gave the table a slight shove, causing coins to jingle and spill. “This game is rigged!” I shouted, my voice rising above the din. A hush fell over the nearby spectators.

The dealer's eyes narrowed. “You accusing me of cheating, girl?” he growled, his hand inching toward the knife belted at his waist.

“Yeah, I am!” I shot back, stepping closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

The tavern's atmosphere shifted palpably. The previous mirth cooled into tense anticipation. The dealer straightened to his full, towering height. “You've got a big mouth, girl. Maybe I’ll shut it for you.”

When he lunged forward, I sidestepped and used his momentum to throw him over my shoulder. He crashed into the table behind us, sending cards, coins, and tankards flying. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others shouting for the tavern’s security.

I didn’t have to wait long. As the dealer scrambled to his feet with rage distorting his features, a familiar, chilling sensation swept through the air. The crowd parted and there he was—Klaus, stepping through the tavern door with the silent authority of a storm. His eyes found mine immediately, a flicker of both amusement and irritation playing across his face.

“Right on time,” he said, his voice smooth over the growing chaos.

“Just as you requested… Now, if you could help a girl out,” I replied with a grin, though my heart pounded with the thrill of the fight and his sudden appearance.

“It’s a fae!” someone in the crowd shrieked.

Gasps rang out all around and the crowd parted like the Red Sea around us.

Klaus surveyed the scene— overturned tables, gamblers nursing bruised egos, and the detritus of a gambling house scattered on the floor. But the fighting had stopped, and it seemed I was no longer in any danger. With a sigh that seemed to carry more weight than the night air, he stepped forward, his presence commanding calm. “Let's get you out of here,” he murmured, his hand grasping mine with unexpected gentleness.

I took his hand and let him usher me out of the tavern. Luckily, my hood still covered my face. If it wasn’t, I could only imagine how fast the owner of The Broken Tankard would ban me from ever darkening the threshold of his establishment again. This was my second fight here. I really needed to find a new spot to brawl.

Klaus and I walked out into the street. “I see you’re a woman of your word,” the fae smirked.

“You asked me to start trouble, so I did.”

He chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind if we part ways here. There is something I must do while I have the time.”

“Hey, that’s your business, but since I did you a favor, you owe me,” I said quickly, knowing now how these fae operated.

Klaus quirked a brow. “Is that so? Am I right in guessing you want to know more about the traveler’s song?”

My eyes shot wide open. “Yes!”

“Ask the seer,” he said plainly.

I gasped. “Who?”

“The seer. He’s the emperor’s right-hand man. He’ll have all the answers you seek.”

Before I could ask anything further, he disappeared into thin air. I gritted my teeth in aggravation. I hated when he did that. I wanted to ask more questions, but he never gave me the opportunity to do so.

Who the hell was the seer? Was it that creepy guy who stood beside the emperor when we went to the luncheon at the palace? If so, how the hell was I supposed to talk to him? He was practically glued to the emperor’s side. The only other person I could ask was Damien’s uncle. He might know.

Snapping out of my daze, I looked up and down the street, searching for the carriage that was supposed to be waiting to take me back to the beach house. The sun had set and it was dark out, and with only the flickering light from gas lamps, it was difficult to tell which one was mine. I swiveled my head back down the street and saw a hooded figure entering The Gilded Serpent. A very familiar hooded figure.

“Damien?” I murmured with a frown. He disappeared inside and I wondered what the heck he was doing on the mainland. Ignoring the promise of a warm carriage, I jogged down the street and stepped over the brothel’s threshold.

By the time I entered, he was already climbing the stairs that led to the second floor, two at a time. I pushed through the patrons toward the stairs, but by the time I reached the second, he was gone. Closed doors lined the hallway and I didn’t have a clue which one he’d entered.

“Damnit!” I spun around and decided to press my ear against the wood of each door, hoping I’d get lucky and hear his voice on the other side. Unfortunately, the rooms were soundproof.

Just then, a group of three young women carrying instruments climbed the stairs and walked towards me.

“Lysandra said we must play but not listen,” a dark-skinned brunette whispered. “These are special men.”

“I hate when she makes us play for them,” the blonde said, her voice forlorn. “We could get killed at any moment!” The redhead nodded but kept quiet.

I bit my lip and silently followed them. I trailed their steps most of the way without being noticed, until the quiet one turned around and stopped the group.

“W-What are you doing here?” she gasped as she pointed at me.

I cleared my throat as the three women clutched their instruments and stared at me, wide eyed.

“I’m the dancer Lysandra sent,” I answered confidently. “They didn’t give me my attire, but—”

“Oh!” The brunette smiled. “There’s a change of clothes in the room. You can change there.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, then I fell into step with them. At the end of the hall, we entered a small dressing room to the left, which was filled with clothes and instruments.

“You can change here and meet us inside. Go through that door,” the blonde instructed as she pointed to another door.

I nodded and watched them leave. Once they were gone, I quickly discarded my cloak and shuffled through the costumes for something that could cover my tattoos but was also provocative. There weren’t many options, as many of the costumes were sheer and didn’t leave much to the imagination. But I found something a little less revealing along with a filmy face panel that covered from the nose down. After adding some bangles and tear-drop earrings, I checked out my reflection in the mirror, surprised that I truly looked like one of the women from the brothel.

Lilting music began to play on the other side of the door, which I took as my cue to enter. I grasped the handle and stepped inside, certain I was about to make a fool out of myself.

I stepped into a much larger room with dark corners and scant lighting. The musicians sat against the far wall playing their instruments, partially obscured by a gauzy curtain that hid the identity of the guests. From what I could tell, our guests consisted of two men. Not wanting to be caught staring, I started to dance.

Swaying to the music, I stepped onto the center stage and put on the performance of a lifetime. I wasn’t a dancer. Far from it. But I was an actress, and I knew how to perform. I moved with each melodious, smooth note. My hips swayed, my hands twirled, I arched my back and showed more of my skin than I probably should have.

I was too close to the music to hear their conversation, so I twirled around and inched closer to the sheer curtain that separated us from them. Then I heard his voice.

“I just don’t have the evidence,” Damien said. “It’s a solid theory, but the evidence is lacking.”

“Do you think you can find a way into Nightfall Citadel? I would wager that’s where they’re being held,” the other male said.

“It’ll be tricky, but I always find a way,” Damien said. “I’m just not convinced they’re meeting at the Citadel. I find it hard to believe royals and noblemen are traveling all the way to the furthest point of the Southern District to the Citadel to avoid the underground fights at the market.”

There was a pause. “I think it’s easier and more private in the Citadel than the market. Especially for the dragons who can fly there,” his companion suggested. He sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place his voice.

I continued to dance and seductively sway to the music while earnestly eavesdropping on their conversation. The lilting harp and lute flowed together like water. Caught up in the melody, I accidentally brushed against the sheer curtain and their attention darted to me.

Shit . I stumbled back toward the musicians. My heart plummeted to my stomach when the main door opened and a woman strode in and greeted the men. That must have been the signal to break up the meeting, because one of the men left, leaving the other man with the woman.

The woman clapped a few times and the music came to a screeching halt. Startled by the abruptness of the gesture, I tripped. When the musicians stood and gathered their instruments, I followed in their wake. Just as I reached the door, Damien called out, “Stop!”

All four of us froze, though none of us were brave enough to look back.

“What is it, my lord?” the woman standing beside him nervously asked.

I noticed she addressed him as my lord and not His Highness . Did she not know who he was, or did she not want to reveal who he was in front of us?

“ Her ,” he said. I didn’t know who he was addressing since our backs were to him, but I had a pretty good guess. “I want her.”

There was a momentary pause before the woman stuttered, “B-But my lord, you never want anyone! If you’d like company, I can—”

“No,” he growled. “I said, I want her !” he practically yelled.

“Very well,” the woman murmured. “You! In the pink,” she called out.

I glanced at the three musicians dressed in sky blue, then down at my pink garment. I closed my eyes and cursed. Fuck .

The other three quickly hustled outside, leaving me with Damien and the woman who had joined him on the other side of the curtain. Slowly, I spun and faced Damien and the woman who was obviously pissed that he had paid attention to me.

“Come here.” He motioned for me to join him on his side of the filmy curtain.

Thank God my face was covered, but even so, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who I was. I tentatively pushed past the curtain and approached, stopping a few feet away.

If looks could kill, the woman standing beside the Dragon Prince would slaughter me without remorse. Her beautiful face scrunched in distaste. “I don’t believe I requested a dancer for this room. What are you doing here?” she demanded, annoyance lacing her tone. “Speak!” she shouted.

I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to answer when Damien cut in. “I requested this dancer,” he offered nonchalantly. “I saw her from afar when I entered The Gilded Serpent and was instantly entranced.” He watched my every move, his dark eyes roaming every inch of my exposed body.

I frowned. Does he know who I am? No way. He couldn’t! My tattoos are covered. They… fuck … my tramp stamp. When I turned to leave the room, he must have noticed it. Could he have seen it through the sheer curtain?

“My lord?” The woman whipped her shocked gaze to him. “You never—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Lysandra, you can leave now.”

The woman’s face crumpled. “B-But—”

“Leave. Now .”

Lysandra’s mouth fell open in dismay. Before storming out of the room, she sent a nasty glare my way, then punctuated her departure by slamming the door behind her. I had to be careful when I left here. She might very well kill me for stepping on her toes.

The instant we were alone, Damien’s eyes hungrily roamed my body as he approached. I stood as still as stone, but he didn’t circle me to inspect the tattoo on my lower back. Thank you, baby Jesus! I wasn’t ready to be found out just yet.

“Do you need anything, my lord?” I asked sweetly. As a pretend-worker here at the brothel, my primary job would be to keep him happy. But there was only so much I was willing to do.

With a devilish smirk, Damien took a few steps back and sat down on a broad, plush lounge chair, spreading his legs wide. “Dance for me,” he commanded.

My eyes widened as I looked at him. He wanted a… a lap dance? The fuck? How the hell was I going to hide my tramp stamp? “There’s no music, my lord,” I whispered breathlessly.

He smiled. “No worries; I’ll sing to you,” he said confidently. “Tell me, beauty. What song would you like to hear?”

There was only one song I knew. “The Song of the Shadow Prince.”

He grinned. “Very well.”

Damien hummed the melody with a surprisingly smooth baritone. I nervously scanned the room and began to sway my hips. My eyes lit on the sheer curtain and I had an idea. Sashaying toward it, I snatched it down and wrapped the fabric around me like a shawl to cover the tattoo on my lower back, then began to dance in earnest. I sauntered toward Damien, stepping between his wide legs as he sang the first notes of the song.

“Hear the song of the Shadow Prince,

Through the alleys where shadows wince.

A dragon’s blood with no flame to dance,

In the darkness, he finds his chance.”

The rich, sultry tones of Damien's voice filled the room as the melody rippled through the air like a tangible thing, wrapping us in an intimate embrace. I allowed the music to guide my movements, the lyrics a haunting echo of stories and secrets only whispered in the darkest corners of Elaria.

As I danced, the fabric of the gauzy curtains flowed around me like water; the soft texture against my skin provided just enough coverage to keep my tattoo hidden. The delicate scent of lavender from the fabric mingled with the heavier aromas of incense and the lingering touch of wine that seemed to perpetually cling to the air of the brothel.

As I moved closer, the heat from his body was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Each step was measured, my feet barely making a sound on the plush carpet as I circled him, my movements sinuous and deliberate. I felt his eyes on me, not just watching but experiencing the dance as I wove around him, a slow, teasing promise held in the curve of my arms and the tilt of my hips.

Flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw and the deep set of his eyes, which followed me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The room seemed to grow smaller, the walls inching closer as the space between us charged with electric anticipation.

Damien's voice grew softer, a low rumble that matched the rhythm of my heart as it beat faster with each verse. His singing was not just a performance; it was an invocation, calling to the very depths of my being, urging me to lose myself in the moment.

“Under moonlight, he bears no scales,

In his eyes, a sorrow that never pales.

He walks the earth in silent plea,

A dragon’s form he’ll never be.”

As I reached him, the distance closing with every breath, I slipped between his legs, my body close enough to feel his warm breath. My makeshift shawl shifted, the soft fabric caressing my skin as I moved. I leaned forward and my loose hair cascaded down to brush against his face. For a moment, we were locked in a world of our own making where only the song and the dance mattered.

Damien's hand came up, almost touching but not quite, respecting the artifice of our roles in this dance. His eyes, however, betrayed a depth of emotion that words could never capture, singing louder than any melody could convey.

As the last note of my dance faded into the quiet atmosphere of the room, Damien's eyes remained fixed on me, charged with an intensity that pulled me inexorably closer. The air between us seemed to crackle. When I stepped back, planning to retreat to a more professional distance, Damien unexpectedly moved. His arm lashed out, quick and sure, catching my wrist and gently but firmly pulling me toward him.

In one fluid motion, he pulled me down, not just to stand in front of him but to sit on his lap. His strong hands steadied me as I settled against him. His presence enveloped me, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my attire and exposed skin until I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us.

“Much better,” he murmured, his voice low and husky in my ear. The vibration of his words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a warmth that flickered dangerously close to forbidden territory.

I smiled and leaned into him slightly. “Are you always this hands-on with your performers?” I teased nervously, tilting my head to meet his gaze.

Damien's smile was slow and unapologetically suggestive. “Only the ones who captivate me,” he replied, his hand resting lightly on my hip, his thumb brushing the fabric of the curtain I had wrapped around me as if memorizing the texture. “And you are most captivating.”

Our flirtation danced a fine line, playful yet charged with an undercurrent of something deeper, something neither of us had planned for. I laughed softly, the sound more nervous than I intended, and placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my palm. “Is that so? I hope it’s not just my dancing that caught your attention.”

“Oh, it’s not just the dancing,” he assured me, his eyes darkening with a mixture of amusement and something more earnest. He ripped the curtain from around me and rested his bare palm on my lower back. “You can’t hide from me, Cat,” he whispered.

Our eyes locked and for a moment, the world around us seemed to still—it was just the two of us in the dimly lit corner of The Gilded Serpent, surrounded by shadows and dancing candlelight. His face was inches from mine. How the hell did he figure out it was me?

“How did you know?” I whispered. I was well aware of the rising stakes and the palpable tension that we both contributed to in equal measure.

“There’s no place you can hide that I wouldn’t be able to find you, Cat,” Damien whispered, his voice deepening. He pulled my face covering down and my breath hitched.

The playful challenge in his words was clear. Surprising us both, I responded with a slight press of my body against his. It was as if my body had a mind of its own and I was simply along for the ride.

“What are you doing, Damien?” I whispered, trying to gather my wits.

He raised a brow. “I should be asking you that.” His attention was drawn to my breasts pushed up against his chest, restrained by a whisper of barely-there fabric. I gasped and tried to pull away, but he pushed his hand against my back and pressed me against him. “Don’t stop now.”

“ Enough .” I tried to scramble off his lap. “I didn’t mean to—” I attempted to say, but my words were cut off when he tightened his grip and shifted me onto my back on the lounger.

Climbing on top of me, he slid between my legs and I instinctively wrapped them around his midsection, feeling him harden at my core. Holding my wrists above my head, he pinned me against the lounger. My eyes widened as I realized our precarious position.

“Damien,” I whispered. “What are you doing ?”

“The better question is what are you doing here?” he murmured and leaned closer. His dark gaze twinkled in the soft light, almost as if he was in on a joke I wasn’t. “Who said you could come into The Gilded Serpent dressed like this?” His heated gaze slid down my exposed body.

I frowned and looked away from his intense gaze. “Who said I needed your permission?”

He pinned my wrists with one hand, and with his free one he gripped my face and forced me to look at him. “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear yet, Cat, so let me clarify something right now. You are not allowed to show your body to anyone . I’ll gouge their eyes out if they so much as glance at your body.”

I tugged at my wrists and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but it only pressed my chest closer to his. “You don’t own me, Damien!” I shouted. “Just because we happen to share a mark doesn’t mean anything. You can’t—”

“Yes I can, and yes I will, Cat,” he growled as he pressed himself against me, making me feel every bit of him. I gritted my teeth, but I couldn’t stop the blush that covered my face. His eyes held a dangerous glint. “You may not know this because you’re not from my world, but that mark means you’re promised to me and me alone.”

“Fuck off!” I yelled, trying to buck him off of me. “The minute I figure out how to get back home, I’m leaving! So whatever twisted fantasy you have, I suggest you forget about it!”

He chuckled but kept quiet. And that silence worried me. When he didn’t argue, I wondered if he was planning to hinder my return home. Nah, he wasn’t that crazy. It was just a mark. A freakin’ tattoo I dreamed about. It wasn’t that serious!

I stared at my image reflected in Damien’s obsidian eyes and wondered who he was. We’d gotten close during my time here, but at the end of the day, he was still a prince, a freakin’ dragon prince, at that. One I couldn’t afford to trust. And I was just a girl from SoCal.

“Damien?” I whispered, our lips brushing. “What do you want?”

He watched me for a moment, his gaze dropping to my lips before he mumbled, “You.” Before I could respond, his lips crashed against mine.

I sucked in a breath before he cut off my air supply. His soft lips pressed against mine and slowly opened my mouth and I… I let him. His tongue slid into my mouth and a moan escaped me as I tilted my head, giving him better access.

With desperate hunger, he kissed me like a man in need of water in the middle of the Sahara. Releasing my wrists and face, his hands roamed my body. When they touched skin, his calloused hands sent shivers through me, eliciting another moan.

What the hell was going on with me?? Was I just super horny or was I attracted to this man? My thoughts were too muddled to know the answer, but one thing was for sure… I needed to stop this before I crossed a line I couldn’t come back from. Before I lost myself in the darkness known as Damien, the Shadow Prince.

I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed him away. He released my lips with a gasp of air, and I stared up at him wide eyed as if I couldn’t believe what I just did.

I kissed Damien, and I liked it. A lot .

“I can’t do this.” I struggled to breathe. “Dude, I don’t even know you!” I pushed him up to sitting and edged away from him.

“Dude?” he repeated with furrowed brows. “And you do know me.”

With a sigh, I rolled my eyes and ran a hand through my messy hair. “No, Damien, I don’t. Maybe Arya did, but I, as in Cat, don’t. I just met you a couple weeks ago when you pulled me out of the river and almost beat me to death.”

He glared with a hint of remorse as he watched me. “That was a misunderstanding.”

I laughed. “Yeah, okay, buddy. Anyway, I can’t handle doing this with you. I have too much on my plate as it is. What you want from me… I can’t give you.”

“ Yet . Not yet,” he said knowingly. In a blink, he reached for me and pulled me back onto his lap.

“Damien!” I shrieked.

“It’s my time to ask questions.” He wrapped his arms around me.

I groaned. “Shoot.”

“Why were you spying on me, Cat? Better question is, what in the name of the immortals are you doing in The Gilded Serpent?” he demanded. “Are you alone?”

I cleared my throat and straightened my back, doing my best not to show an ounce of fear. “Yes, I’m alone. I don’t need a chaperone everywhere I go. And I was… curious when I saw you enter the brothel, so I followed you. Sue me.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

He shook his head. “I told you it’s dangerous for you to be here,” he growled. “If Lysandra finds out you’re—”

“You’ll protect me,” I said quickly. “Won’t you?” I tilted my head and offered a coquettish smile.

Damien opened his mouth to speak and then froze. His eyes widened slightly and he stared at me in a daze.

“Won’t you?” I pushed, trying to snap him out of his stupor.

“Y-Yes… I will,” he stammered.

I gave a wide grin. “Good. Now, why didn’t you tell me you were such a good singer?”

He grimaced and pushed me off his lap.

Barely righting myself before crashing to the floor, I shouted, “Hey!”

He stood. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“Wait!” I stopped him as he started to put on his cloak. “The vampires. Are you planning to go to Nightfall Citadel tonight?”

“That’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said brusquely as he pulled the hood down low over his head.

“What if I told you there’s an easier way to get inside? A better way?” I grinned and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a zing of electricity when his gaze dipped to my breasts.

He frowned. “I’m listening.”

My grin widened. “Royal Prince Bai.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m not following.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “You said all the big players are high profile people. Noblemen, royalty, folks like that. They’re the ones hiding behind the portrait, gambling big money in the underground fights at Underclaw Market. Well, Royal Prince Bai is royalty. Who better to go undercover than him?”

“Undercover?” he repeated the foreign word.

“Yes, like playing pretend. He’ll go there to gamble, while in reality he’s working for us to get information.”

Damien shook his head uneasily. “I don’t know, Cat. I don’t want to involve my uncle. This could be dangerous. If he gets hurt because of me—”

I nodded. “I know there’s a risk, but why don’t you ask him first? He might be willing to help. Also, he’s like, a thousand years old. I bet it would take someone hella strong to bring him down.”

Damien snorted. “You speak oddly.”

I chuckled. “I know. So what do you say?”

He blew out a breath. “It’s not a terrible idea. He could probably get more information than I could. And if he’s invited inside, it could confirm our theory.”

I snapped my fingers. “Exactly!”

Damien nodded. “I’ll ask him. If we could get him into this weekend’s fights, that would be ideal. But first…”

“First what?”

“First, let’s get you home.”