The Fallen Princess

Four

Princess Zaria stood pressed into the deepest, darkest corner of the preparation room, back against cold stone; fingers knotted tightly in the fabric of Zakai’s cloak. He had wrapped it around her shoulders just before the guards separated them, jaw tight, eyes full of warning.

Don’t let them see you. As if she’d ever had a choice. The cloak clung to her like the thinnest of shields, a flimsy barrier between her and the world waiting just beyond those doors.

This part was always the worst... The waiting. She forced herself to breathe shallowly. In. Out. Again. Anything to keep the panic from climbing too high up her throat and choking her.

I suppose I am in a zoo of sorts, she thought grimly, casting a brief glance at the tall, narrow window beside her. The drop beyond it was far too high to survive. Still, for a single dangerous heartbeat, she considered it. A little laugh... light, false, and desperate scraped her throat. Death had stalked her for so long in subtle ways. How ironic it would be to meet it by her own foolish leap.

Across the room, several of her half-sisters fluttered about like brightly colored birds. They fussed with their gowns. Garments of silk and shimmer, cut low and slit high. They preened and adjusted and spun. Their flirtatious laughter echoed off the walls.

Zaria watched them over the edge of Zakai’s cloak, her expression carved into something unreadable. Have they no regard for their own worth? she wondered, not for the first time. Did they truly think this was choice? That their beauty guaranteed them favor rather than danger? Or were they simply pretending, because pretending was easier than admitting the truth?

A familiar voice sliced through the noise of the room. “You won’t gain the attention of any man dressed like that.” Her older half-sister, flame-haired and painted to perfection, sauntered toward her, hips swaying with the same cruel confidence she’d wielded when they were children.

She wore a gown the color of spilled wine, slit nearly to the hip, her bodice tight enough to threaten the structural integrity of the dress.

“That is my greatest wish,” Zaria replied, tone flat, irritation slipping through the calm mask she normally kept in place. “Why must you always be so stubborn, little sister?” the redhead fingers caught Zaria’s chin, pinching hard enough to sting, forcing her gaze up.

Gold dust shimmered on the woman’s eyelids and collarbones, catching the light as she leaned in. “You won’t get away with hiding tonight,” A sharp nail flicked the cloak’s edge. “We have special guests to entertain.” The word entertain carried its usual poisonous implication.

She shoved Zaria’s chin away, satisfied, and drifted back toward the other girls who were admiring themselves in a tarnished standing mirror. Her sister’s smile never reached her eyes as she left. For the first time, Zaria wondered if it hadn’t been cruelty at all... just the closest thing to a warning the girl knew how to give.

Zaria exhaled slowly once her sister’s back was turned. Her fingers dug tighter into the fabric of the cloak. It has always worked before, she reminded herself.

Stand near the back. Keep your head bowed. Become forgettable. Just enough to slip unnoticed into the back of the hall beside men insignificant enough that no one would question their disappearance.

Nearly an hour later, the door to the preparation room creaked open. A guard stepped inside, armor clinking. “It’s time,” he announced. Her half-sisters flocked past him, eager as moths to flame. Zaria waited until they were nearly gone before allowing herself to be swept along in their wake.

The great hall thundered with life, torchlight blazing over stone columns and packed tables. Servants wove through laughter and clinking goblets with wine and roasted meat, fruit gleaming like jewels on silver trays.

On his throne, the King lounged beneath heavy robes and a golden crown, every inch the performer. “Presenting… the daughters of His Majesty!” the herald boomed.

Zaria stepped into the hall with her head bowed. The weight of a hundred eyes pressed down on her shoulders like a physical force. Humiliation clawed at her chest, but she forced her feet forward, keeping her pace slow, measured.

She set her sights on the farthest chair at the edge of the hall, near the lesser nobles. Just get there, she told herself. Sit. Breathe. Endure. “Zaria!” Her father’s voice sliced through the clamor, loud and commanding.

“My most exotic and beautiful daughter,” he continued, loud enough for every noble to hear. “come here a moment.” The guards at the edges of the hall shifted instantly, two of them stepping subtly into her path. There would be no slipping away tonight.

“Take that cloak off her,” the King ordered with a lazy flick of his fingers. A guard reached for the clasp at her throat. She slapped his hand away. “I can take it off myself,” There was steel beneath the quiet.

Zaria unfastened the cloak and slid it from her shoulders. The dress beneath clung to her frame like liquid night. Plain by her sisters’ standards, but still far more revealing than anything she would have chosen. A hush fell over the nearest tables.

The guard who accepted the cloak from her stared. “Please send it to my room,” she murmured. He nodded too quickly, clutching it like a sacred relic.

“Zaria,” the King boomed, gesturing her to come near. “I’d like you to meet our special guest tonight.” A man rose from the seat beside the King. No... not a man.

He was enormous, even before he straightened fully. broad-shouldered and built like something forged rather than born. His jaw was strong, his features sharp, his auburn hair was dark and swept loosely back from his face. A ruthless kind of beauty that made the room feel smaller.

“This is Prince Callen of the Western Dragon Kingdom,” the King announced proudly. “Treat him well.” Zaria swallowed. Even if she and Zakai fought him together, she doubted they would leave more than a bruise.

She lowered her gaze, settled her features into a mask of compliance, and took the empty chair beside him. Her mind spun, not with options; there were none, but with the bitter knowledge that everything about her life could change tonight.

After a moment, curiosity pried at her. Just a glance, she told herself. She turned slightly and met golden eyes. Not human. Not remotely human. They glowed faintly, like molten metal, like the eyes that had haunted her nightmares. Her heart stumbled in her chest.

His mouth tipped, like he’d been waiting for her to look up. “Breathe Princess,” he murmured, so low only she could hear. “You’re alright.” The prince’s gaze held hers for a beat, then flicked to her untouched plate. “You should eat.”

She forced a tight, polite smile, picking up her fork. She moved the food around, cutting a piece of meat, nudging vegetables, lifting one bite halfway to her lips before setting the fork down again.

He chuckled, low and amused. “That fork’s doing a lot of work for no reward,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. Zaria inched her chair away and the King noticed. His fist slammed down on the table with a boom that silenced the hall. Goblets rattled. Conversations died mid-sentence. Zaria flinched.

He held her in a hard, unblinking stare until she slid her chair back to its original position, close enough to feel the dragon prince’s heat. “Do not test me,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. A cold prickle of fear traced down her spine. Not for herself, she had endured worse, but for what he might do to her sisters if she pushed too far.

“I apologize for my daughter,” he said then, his tone suddenly slick with false charm. He gestured for more wine. “Though her beauty rivals a goddess, she has the manners of a beast. She simply needs to be tamed.” Heat flooded Zaria’s cheeks. Shame and fury warred in her chest. Her nails bit into her palms beneath the table.

“But if she’s not to your taste,” the King continued conversationally, “I can suggest another of my daughters…” He snapped his fingers.

“Take her to the dungeons and leave her a few weeks as pun—” “There’s no need,” Prince Callen cut in, voice smooth as poured steel. Zaria’s head snapped up. No one interrupted the King. Not without paying for it.

Callen lifted his goblet, not quite a toast, more like a warning wrapped in manners. “I like her the way she is,” he added, smug and lazy. The King stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed. “You’ve chosen well,” he said, clinking his wine against the dragon princes.

Callen stood and extended his hand toward Zaria. She took it because she had no choice, her fingers light in his grip. “I request permission to escort your daughter to my room,” he said smoothly, bowing his head respectfully. His golden eyes flicked to Zaria’s.

Disgust curdled in her stomach. She looked away. The prince pulled her closer, her shoulder hitting his chest as he drew her against him. His grip was steady, unyielding. His mouth hovered near her ear.

“Don’t fight me in front of him,” he murmured, voice pitched for her alone. Then he straightened as if they were sharing a private joke. “It was a grueling trip,” he said lightly. His tone was polite; his meaning was not. “I’m exceptionally tired.”

Zaria pinched his side... hard. He only tightened his hold, amused. “I see,” the King said, hiding his satisfaction poorly. “Please, go get some rest.” Then, more pointedly, to Zaria: “Kindly escort our guest of honor to his room.” I will rip out the king's heart, she thought, smile tight. Someday.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she managed between clenched teeth. “She is my gift to you,” the King added lazily. “I am no—” The protest caught in her throat as Callen caught her wrist and pulled, turning her with him, guiding with iron behind the courtesy.

Her back hit his chest as he steered her away from the table, his hand firm at her forearm, his body a wall between her and the watching eyes. The hall blurred past in torchlight and whispers as he towed her toward the doors with easy, confident strides.

The ornate doors shut behind them with a heavy thud. Zaria yanked her arm back and shoved at his chest. To her surprise, he released her at once. She stumbled, but caught herself before she fell.

She drew a steadying breath, gathering what remained of her dignity, and started down the corridor. The prince’s footsteps followed behind her at an unhurried, steady pace. From the corner of her eye, half-hidden behind a column, she spotted Zakai.

Her heart lurched. No, no, no, don’t you dare... He could not interfere. Not here. Not with a foreign prince. Not without risking more than his own life.

“So you are PRINCE of the DRAGONS,” Zaria said loudly, putting extra emphasis on the titles, hoping Zakai heard and understood who they were dealing with. She tried to wave him away with a small, subtle motion of her fingers. Callen’s head tilted a fraction, as if he’d heard the movement before she ever signaled.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stopping abruptly. She turned to face him and offered the most innocent smile she could manage. “Nothing.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing and resumed walking. Zaria fell into step again, mind racing.

I should have feigned illness one last time, she thought bitterly. Begged that odious messenger not to pick my sister instead. All the others she’d escaped or killed had been minor men. Nobodies. Their deaths had been buried or ignored. But this was different.

A dragon prince did not simply go missing. “So, you are an elf?” he asked suddenly. “Half,” she replied quickly. “You don’t seem to enjoy your father’s dinner parties,” he noted, amusement glittering in his golden eyes.

“The King’s dinner parties,” she corrected with quiet venom. “And no. They are only enjoyable for those considered people... not for those gifted away like objects.” He chuckled, unbothered.

Without warning, he reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. One smooth motion; turn, throw. Zaria realized the target half a breath before the blade could fly true.

Zakai! She flung out her hand on instinct, calling on that inner light. It burst free in a narrow flash, striking the metal and knocking it off course. The knife clattered harmlessly across the stone floor.

Chaos exploded. Zakai lunged from his hiding place, reaching for her arm, trying to yank her behind him. Prince Callen snarled and seized her other wrist, dragging her back. With his free hand, he drove his fist into Zakai’s skull with terrifying force.

Zaria watched in horror as her brother’s head struck the stone wall with a sickening c***k. He crumpled quickly, collapsing to the floor in an unmoving heap. “Zakai!” she cried.

She tore herself from the prince’s hold, dropping to her knees beside her brother. She turned his head gently, fingers searching frantically for breath, for movement, for something. She could not tell if he was conscious. She could not tell if he was alive.

She wrapped her arms around him, placing her body between his and the dragon prince. “If you wish to harm him, you will have to kill me first,” she spat, voice shaking with fury. Prince Callen laughed, the sound low and incredulous.

“You’re rather bold, Princess,” He tipped his head, eyes bright with cruel amusement. “Having your lover follow us, then defending him with your life even after he fails you.” “He is my brother,” she snarled. “He only wishes to protect me.”

“I don’t rightly care,” The words came easy, indifferent. His hand clamped around her upper arm and yanked her forward. Pain flared, but she refused to cry out. He kicked the door open and shoved her inside, slamming it shut behind them.

“I had no intention of harming you, little elf,” he growled. “Or of lying with you.” He stepped closer, golden eyes hard. “But now that you’ve attempted to take my life,” he continued, pulling a blade and pressing it against her throat, “I will take yours.”

A thin line of cold bit into her skin. “I wasn’t foolish enough to attack you,” she said coolly, keeping her voice steady despite the thundering of her heart. “Do what you must.” He studied her face, his gaze tracing the curve of her jaw, the defiance in her eyes. Something like amusement flickered there.

“Do you wish to die?” he asked, lips curling into a smirk. She didn’t reply. “I’ll leave your brother alive,” he added after a beat, “as long as he surrenders. But I will kill your filthy human father before I return home.”

Zaria let out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Then you have my eternal gratitude,” The blade pressed deeper for an instant, a sharp sting of pain. Then he withdrew it, laughter rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quite amusing, little elf,” The last thing she felt was the sharp, sudden impact of his strike at the back of her neck. Then the world tilted, went black, and swallowed her whole.