An Exclusive Excerpt from Curse of the Dragons
The darkness was stifling—unbearable. Heat and pressure weighed on Rowen as she opened her eyes for the first time in weeks.
It took a moment for her sight to adjust, but Priscilla was there, waiting. Just like in the hauntings that had plagued her since she and Warwick came to Withrae Palace.
Rage bubbled within Rowen’s belly, and she fought to rise from the bed. It was fruitless.
Priscilla straddled her, sitting on her pelvis, with her hands on the small mound stretched above Rowen’s abdomen.
“So,” the sorceress whispered. “It’s true. A little baby dragon grows inside of the half-blood?”
Tears burned Rowen’s eyes, as she tried to lift her arms. To be so helpless and without hope was unbearable. She wanted to rip Priscilla’s mask off her deformed face and shove it down her throat.
Big eyes looked to Rowen. If she hadn’t been tormenting her for weeks, Rowen might have thought the beautiful woman before her looked innocent, like a child.
“Warwick will be pleased. The Red Dragon from the prophecies isn’t what we believed at all,” Priscilla said. “It is a child.”
Rowen squeezed her eyes shut as Priscilla stepped onto the floor and placed her hands on either side of her face.
“A very powerful child,” she said. “A weapon.”
Her eyes popped open, and in a fit of adrenaline, she snapped her hand around Priscilla’s throat and brought her down to her face.
Stunned, Priscilla gasped for breath and stared into Rowen’s eyes with absolute disbelief.
“You—touch—” Rowen began, fighting for the strength to continue, even as the darkness threatened to consume her once more. “And, I will pluck your eyes from your face.”
Priscilla wrenched herself free, and scrambled onto the floor, backing away from Rowen.
“Aye,” she said, snarling. “I wouldn’t want to touch you for all of the riches and glory in the world. But, I’ll do whatever it takes to end the reign of dragons and their tainted magic.”
She stood then, and stormed from the room, leaving Rowen in complete darkness.
Her life was one of constant agony, and she now wished she’d never agreed to come to Withrae Palace at all. She wished she’d stayed in Harrow, and far from the princes of Withrae and their charms.
She’d be free now, if she’d have done so.
The tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the pillow.
Free and miserable.
The Duke of Harrow—her stepfather—would have never have given her a moment’s peace if she didn’t do everything he commanded. Her life had always been one of constant duty, and the pleasing of others.
At least as queen of Withrae, wife to the man she’d grown to love, she had purpose—at least she had an innocent child growing in her belly.
The child.
She had to protect him, at all costs.
The sound of the door opening made her tense. She flickered a frantic glance toward the door and watched with dread as Priscilla re-entered the room.
The soft thuds of her feet were all too well-known to Rowen, and each one made her cringe.
The clanging of shackles was a reminder of her time in Withrae Prison, and the glinting of the steel was confirmation that was what the sorceress had in mind.
“What are you doing?” Rowen asked through a sharp pain in her throat.
Priscilla grinned in the darkness, and Rowen could see the evil in her eyes.
“Nothing,” she said, staring at the shackles. “Just come to make sure our investment isn’t getting too strong for her own good.”
That was it.
Rowen refused to be held against her will for a moment longer.
The rage that bubbled from her belly was enough to fuel her entire body with heat and power. The sensation was unlike anything she’d felt in a long time. It was more than the agony she’d suffered and the brief memories of better times when she was queen. This—it was new territory.
Her body rose from the bed, and before she could restrain the power that rippled though her blood in quick shocks, she outstretched her right arm and opened her balled fist.
What she released was a bright red light that shot through the darkness like a lightning bolt.
As it seared through the center of Priscilla’s face, tears fell from Rowen’s eyes, and a slow grin came to her lips.
The look of completed bewilderment on Priscilla’s eyes would forever remain in Rowen’s mind, and as her body fell backward onto the floor, she whispered a quiet thank you to the gift she’d just received.
Her chest heaved, her body hovered, and all she could think was; now, time to end this—time to end Sir Warwick Ludlow.
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