Dragons Reign

  “To the two hundred and sixth year of the Dragonas’ Reign, season of the sapphire king,” Ari said boldly. “We will speak no other result; we will accept no other outcome. May Nuri, the Lord of Fire, make it so.”

  All six males sipped their wine in prayerful allegiance.

  Chapter Twenty

  The floors were earthen and uneven; the walls were made of thick, stacked stone, packed together with fading mortar; and the high, pebbled ceiling was one rounded archway after another, crisscrossed with large wooden beams. The only light that could be seen outside the black iron bars was the shadow of torchlight flickering in the dungeon from the numerous sequential brackets placed every four or five feet along the rough, craggy walls.

  Damian Dragona would have given his right arm—and both legs—for a flask of whiskey or a brew of Valerian mixed with Devil’s Claw. Unholy phantoms of the night, his cell was dank and cold; the muzzle was so tight it was painful; and the agony in his limbs was unbearable. To make matters worse, that den of prisoners on the opposite end of the dungeon, that fetid stench and that incessant wailing…

  Would somebody please shut those bastards up!

  They moaned like they were dying.

  Whereas, Damian likely was—

  Dying, that is.

  He blinked several times to clear his vision, and that’s when he noticed the shadow of a woman slinking along the outer dungeon wall, tiptoeing slowly toward his cage. He angled his head to the side and listened to her heartbeat—it was racing in her chest. Who was it? he wondered. Perhaps Mina Louvet, come to gloat over his captivity and relish in his suffering?

  His memories blended with Dario’s in the body he still possessed. No, it wouldn’t be Mina Louvet. She would likely be at Castle Umbras with that foul usurper, Matthias, the two of them pretending to be the prince and Sklavos Ahavi of Umbras.

  “Dario?” A faint whisper.

  Prince Damian rolled to his side on the hard wooden cot.

  He knew that voice!

  But how did he know it?

  Ah yes, it was Cassidy Bondeville, the Sklavos Ahavi he should have chosen. She was wearing a pale blue nightdress, and her thick blond hair was hanging down, still beautiful after all these years. Prince Damian couldn’t help but wonder: Perhaps if he had asked for Cassidy instead of Mina, his fate would have taken a different turn. At the least, Cassidy would have been faithful to her prince, and the blasphemous scenario at Dracos Cove would have never taken place.

  Dario’s memories flashed again, and Prince Damian snickered behind the suffocating mask.

  Nope.

  The wench had been unfaithful, too.

  She had slept with King Demitri.

  What the hell was wrong with the Realm?

  “Dario?” Her voice was stronger now as she grew nearer to the iron doors of his cage. “Are you okay? What did they do to you, my precious son?”

  Prince Damian sought her bright-blue gaze, the moment she approached the bars, and he stiffened. What the hell does it look like? he thought. But speaking was not an option. At least not into the air. He gathered what little strength he still possessed and burrowed into her mind.

  Mother…

  He did his best to project Prince Dario’s presence since he didn’t have access to Dario’s voice behind the infernal muzzle.

  Cassidy raised the candle she was carrying, peeked deep into the cell, and recoiled. It was as if her heart were breaking, and that was all well and good. Prince Damian could use her compassion—perhaps all was not yet lost.

  Mother! He said the word more forcefully now, scanning Prince Dario’s memories like a general scanning a battle-map. Father knows, and he means to have me destroyed.

  Cassidy’s free hand went instinctively to her chest, and she lowered her voice to a whisper, not that anyone could hear them so deep in the earth. “Your father knows what?” she asked.

  Prince Damian stared at the roof of his cell. He contemplated rolling off the cot, shimmying across the floor like an imbecile, and placing his head within Cassidy’s reach—perhaps she could reach through the bars and unfasten the muzzle—but he would probably die from the effort, if the pain didn’t knock him out. No, his best bet was to bring the simpering wench to him. Father knows that you slept with King Demitri. He knows that I’m Demitri’s bastard son, and he fears the king will claim me as his own. He’s going to execute me before morning, and he’s going to slay you, too. That’s why I fought him—for your honor—but I was overcome by Prince Ari, Azor, and Asher: one against four. Mother, he is going to have you executed for adultery, and you know that such is his right. He does not need to beg for King Demitri’s permission in these matters—he can seek his forgiveness instead.

  Cassidy shrieked, leaped back, and dropped the candle—the stupid, hysterical wench. Her eyes darted around the tunnels like she’d just seen the specter of death. “How did he find out?”

  Mother! He came at her again, placing as much compulsion as he could muster into his telepathic voice. There isn’t time for wailing or self-pity. He tried to communicate as clearly as he could. At the bottom of the staircase, just as you enter the dungeon, knee-high to your right, there is a loose stone, and behind it, you will find the skeleton key to the dungeon-cages—that key works every cell. Fetch it, Mother! Quickly! Then return and let me out. I need you to remove this mask and feed me, to reanimate my fire so I can heal my broken bones and break free of my bonds. Time is not a luxury we have. Do it, Mother! Do it now!

  To Cassidy Bondeville’s credit, she didn’t waste any time thinking, contemplating the truth of Prince Dario’s words, or wondering if Prince Dante would truly do such a thing. She gathered her shift in her fist, spun on her heel, and took off running…to fetch the skeleton key.

  Prince Damian breathed a sigh of relief.

  Yes.

  Yes!

  The fates had smiled upon him at last.

  Cassidy found the key with ease, and although her hand was quivering, she removed it from the stony shelf, clutched it in her fist, and scurried quickly back to Prince Dario’s cell.

  How could Prince Dante do this to their son?

  She had no idea how the prince had found out about her betrayal—after all these years keeping the secret—but in her heart of hearts, she had always believed that Dante Dragona loved their child. The thought that he would slay Dario made her queasy. The thought that he would slay her, too, hardened her resolve.

  She didn’t waste a moment slipping the key into the lock and turning it to the right until she heard the telltale click. She pushed the heavy iron door open and padded into the cell. “I’ve got it,” she whispered, rushing over to the cot. By all the Spirit Keepers, gods and goddesses, Prince Dario was nigh to death already. “Hold on, my son,” she whispered lovingly as she cradled his head in her lap and began to fumble with the muzzle’s clasps. “I’ll have you out of this in no time.”

  Just then, she heard the heavy pounding of footsteps coming down the dimly lit tunnel, beating a path toward Prince Dario’s cell, and the beating resounded like an entire entourage of guards.

  But why?

  And who?

  Were they coming to slay him so soon?

  Hurry, Mother! Prince Dario must have heard it, too.

  Her fingers trembled as she tried feverishly to work the last of three clasps, and just as the cell filled up with fearsome profiles, she yanked the muzzle from Prince Dario’s head.

  Her son shot upright on the cot, twisted his head to the side in an eerie serpentine motion, and seared a bright-orange flame across the cage at the person of Prince Dante Dragona.

  The prince shot into the air, rising above the flame, even as he bounded across the dimly lit space and landed like a vulture behind their son. His left hand went to Dario’s head, his right hand brandished a blade, and in motion so swift, so brutal, and so exact that it stole Cassidy’s breath, he swiped the dagger from left to right, opening Dario’s throat.

  “Turn hi
m on his side, and press his head to the stone!” Aguilon Jomei ordered, rushing to the head of the cot. Together with Prince Dante, they laid Dario on his side, anchored his head to the wood beneath him, and watched as a stark pool of crimson snaked from his gullet to the ground.

  Cassidy screamed in horror, and someone wrapped their arms around her waist and wrenched her backward, dragging her to the opposite side of the cell. A quick glance downward and to the right, and she knew it was Prince Azor Dragona—she could see the leafed chain of precious metals wrapped around his bicep.

  “Bring the gourd!” Prince Dante commanded, and a shadow-walker stepped forward.

  The shade knelt on the ground, removed the cork from a leather gourd, and made a seal with his lips around the lid, and then he slowly inhaled the contents, his wispy face growing substantial, even as his body jerked and his stomach heaved.

  Yet and still, he retained the contents.

  “Listen for his heartbeat, my prince.” Aguilon Jomei, again. “Tell me the moment it slows to a halt.”

  Prince Dante nodded furiously, his brow beading with sweat. “Hang on, Dario,” he whispered, blanching at the sight of so much blood pooling onto the dungeon floor.

  Hang on? Cassidy thought. “You’re killing him!” she cried.

  Prince Azor’s hand rose to her mouth, and he clamped it down, hard. “Shh,” he growled in her ear. “Quiet. Prince Dante needs to hear.”

  Cassidy struggled against Prince Azor’s hold, desperate to break free of his grasp, but she may as well have been struggling against a mountain. The dragon didn’t budge.

  “Bringer of Life, Lord of Flame, He Whose Voice Commands the Rain: I beseech you for power over life and death. From the bowels of the grave, to the womb of a gourd, I command this soul to yield and come forth! Come out! Come out! Come out!” Aguilon shouted the command at Prince Dario, and a dark, inky fog streamed from the prince’s open mouth and began to fill the cell with its dark, malignant presence.

  The shadow-walker tossed the gourd to Aguilon, who caught it in his left hand, even as he began to weave frantic, cryptic symbols into the air, all around the fog, trailing each symbol with a swipe of the vessel. The warlock’s eyes were blazing with heat; his hair was billowing behind him; and Prince Dario’s body rose off the cot, writhing and twisting like a fish out of water.

  Cassidy was going to be sick.

  She was going to retch in Prince Azor’s hand.

  Prince Dante slammed Prince Dario’s body back down on the cot and bent over his chest to listen to his heart. “It stopped!” he shouted, diving from the platform to make room for the shade.

  The shadow-walker straddled the jerking body, pressed both hands firmly against Prince Dario’s shoulders, and bent over his mouth like an unwelcome lover. He pressed a harsh, unforgiving kiss to Dario’s lips, pried his mouth open to cover it with his, and formed another seal. And then he began to slowly…carefully…exhale the contents of the gourd into the prince’s body.

  Stop! Stop! Cassidy tried to implore against Prince Azor’s hand, but the sound would not come out—it was muffled in the dragon’s palm. Mother of Mercy, she prayed in earnest. Please make them stop.

  Aguilon continued to draw symbols in the air, following each gesture with a swipe of the gourd, until at last, the dark, inky fog subsided, and then he feverishly scanned the floor. “The cork! Where the hell is the cork?” He shoved the palm of his hand over the lid of the gourd, even as Prince Ari Dragona scooped something off the floor and brought it to the warlock.

  Aguilon nodded once and removed his hand; Prince Ari sealed the container.

  “Bringer of Life, Lord of Flame, He Whose Voice Commands the Rain: I beseech you for power over life and death,” Aguilon chanted again, making his way to the cot, to the shadow, and to Prince Dario. “From your mother’s womb, to a profane tomb, your soul has tossed in the wind. Embrace the night and cease this flight—I command you to be born again!”

  Prince Dario shot up from the cot like a geyser shooting out of the ground. He tossed the shadow across the cell, roared like an angry lion, and fixed his violent, desperate gaze on Prince Dante.

  “At ease, son.” Prince Dante held up a cautious hand and stepped toward him. “Shh. Shh. All is well. Allow me to heal your wounds.”

  The prince brought his broken hand up to his serrated throat and felt the wound as he winced, and then his broken ankles buckled beneath him, and he slumped to the ground.

  Prince Dante was there in an instant, breathing narrow blue flames over each and every wound, pausing between breaths to soothe Dario with words, then continuing the systematic healing. Finally, Prince Dante breathed the healing fire deep into Dario’s throat, and the male’s strained expression grew slack.

  His chest heaved.

  He panted through several ragged gulps of air.

  And he raised his chin to regard the myriad of conspirators in the room, looking lost, looking dazed, and looking…hungry.

  “Asher!” Prince Dante called.

  And just like that, Prince Asher rounded the corner and entered the cell with two beautiful maidens at his heels: both Blood Ahavi. The first of the two, a tall brunette, strolled confidently across the space, bowed her head, and then spun around to kneel before Prince Dario, her back turned to his chest.

  The dragon didn’t hesitate.

  He tunneled his fingers into her thick, dark tresses and tilted her head to the side. Then he released his fangs, made a seal over her jugular, and sank his canines deep into her flesh.

  She didn’t even jolt as he began to draw her blood, her essence, and her heat.

  “Your son was possessed by an unclean spirit,” Prince Azor whispered in Cassidy’s ear, finally releasing her from his powerful clutches.

  She turned around to regard him squarely, but she couldn’t maintain his piercing gaze. “He spoke to me in my mind, earlier. Was it the spirit, or was it Dario? He knew things…”

  “It would have been the spirit that spoke, not Prince Dario,” Prince Azor said. “And who knows what he knew…or how.”

  Cassidy shuddered as a wave of shame washed over her.

  What a fool she had been.

  Thinking she could outwit, outmaneuver, and circumvent Prince Dante, this night or any other. Thinking she understood anything of what took place in the Realm: the dangers, the depravity, the deceptions. Biting down on her bottom lip, she nodded. “Thank you, Prince Azor.” And then she turned around to exit the cell, pausing deliberately, if only for the space of a heartbeat, to catch Prince Dante’s attention.

  When his eyes met hers, she angled her chin in a respectful nod. “My prince, may I have a word?” She followed the nod with a proper curtsy.

  Prince Dante set his jaw in a stern, impassive line, his expression remaining inscrutable, yet he followed her out of the cell, stopped a few feet shy of a flickering torch, and angled his body toward hers. “What it is, Ahavi?” He sounded exhausted.

  Cassidy sighed, even as she summoned her courage. “There is something you need to know, something about Dario’s birth.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t want any more secrets between us, my prince. I’ve had my fill of danger and deception.”

  Prince Dante held up his powerful hand and shifted one finger sideways, from right to left. “If this is about Dario’s paternity, I already know, Cassidy. I’ve always known.”

  Bitter tears of regret and disgrace stung the corners of her eyes, and she swayed a bit toward the wall before catching her balance with a hand to the stone. “Yet all these years, you raised him as your own?”

  Prince Dante declined his head.

  Cassidy rubbed her temple softly. “My prince, I…I’m sorry.”

  He met her apology with silence, which was far more gracious than scorn.

  “Not just for that, but for what happened this night. I could have destroyed our son, when you were only trying to save him.” She immediately grimaced, acutely aware of that duplicitous phrase: our son.


  Prince Dante shrugged it off. “Dario will always be my son. And you will always be his mother.” He drew back, just a slight shift of his broad, powerful shoulders, and something archaic yet indefinable settled into his skin. “And, Cassidy, there are many more secrets between us, secrets both large and small, but soon, they will all be known. Can I trust you to take the knowledge of what you’ve seen this night to your grave if needed? I am so very weary, Cassidy. Can I leave you with your memories intact? Can you handle—and protect—what you’ve seen in this dungeon?”

  Cassidy shuddered. “Who was the spirit possessing our son?”

  Dante smirked. “Prince Damian Dragona.”

  She gasped, and then the words sank into her pores. “But then…who is ruling Castle Umbras?”

  One corner of Prince Dante’s mouth turned up in a wry, humorless grin. “Someone else.”

  Cassidy smoothed the front of her skirts, taking a moment to catch her breath before slowly reaching up to caress the side of Prince Dante’s cheek. By all the gods, the male was still one of the most handsome visions her eyes had ever beheld. Standing at least six-foot-two, his rich onyx hair fell to his proud, broad shoulders, and his striking, angular features appeared to be chiseled in stone. Midnight-blue eyes sparkled like sapphires emerging from hidden flames, even as dark, sculpted brows framed the mystical orbs like starlight enveloping the moon. The male was power, night, and flame personified. And in that moment, she realized he had never let her touch him like this before, and he would likely never allow it again. She had a pretty good idea of his other secrets, or at least three of them: Ari, Asher, and Azor had Mina’s green eyes and Prince Dante’s textured hair…

  Yet and still, understanding her true role—and her true place—in their family, she nodded with certainty. “Your burdens are far heavier than I ever supposed…” Her voice trailed off, and she blinked in apology. “My lord, you saved my son’s life tonight, even knowing the truth of his lineage. You can trust me with my memories. You can trust me to take all I’ve learned to the grave, if necessary.” She bowed her head in her first true, undiluted act of submission. “From this day forth, you have my undying fealty.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for your trust, Prince Dante. Thank you for loving Dario.”