Page 59 of Blood Singer

I didn't bother denying it. There was no point, not now, not when Leila's life hung in the balance. "Who?"

"The question is who had both opportunity and motive," Binwee said. "The only strangers with access to the castle have been the Alliance scientists, but the Prime herself vetted them all."

The answer came from one of the guards who'd been searching the outer grounds. He approached with his head bowed, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to report.

"Your Majesty," he said. "I saw Rhucard in the village yesterday. He was asking questions about the human female. About her work, especially regarding the mating issue."

The rage that flooded through me was primal and all-consuming. It burned through my veins like molten gold, and for a moment, I couldn't see anything but red.

Rhucard. Of course it was Rhucard.

"Prepare the guards," I said to Sanyra, my voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "We're going to the northern wastes."

"Kavan—" Sanyra started, but I was already shifting, my body transforming into my dragon form as much as I could right there in the corridor. My wings unfurled, scraping against the stone walls, and I let out a roar that shook the castle's foundations.

Leila was out there somewhere. Leila, who'd trusted me. Leila, who'd given herself to me completely. Leila, who was mine in every way that mattered. My mate.

And I was going to burn the universe to ash if that's what it took to get her back.

Chapter 17

Leila

The first sensation that broke through the heavy fog in my head was an unfamiliar softness. I was lying on cool silk sheets that glided against my skin, cradled by a mattress far too plush to be my quarters or Kavan's bed. The air smelled strongly of dried lavender and tallow, but underneath the sweet herbal layer lingered a sharp, chemical stench that coated the back of my throat.

When I tried to shift my arms, rough hemp bit brutally into my wrists.

My eyes flew open, blinking against the warm glow of candlelight. Overhead, a vaulted stone ceiling displayed a hand-painted mural of massive dragons cutting through a twilight sky of bruised purple and gold. Crystal chandeliers hung from heavy gilded chains, throwing fractured light across dark wood furnishings and thick tapestries woven with historic battles. It was an opulent room, grand and suffocating, and I was pinned right in the center of it.

I attempted to push myself upright, but the coarse cord held my wrists bound. While my ankles were unbound, a thick length of cloth was wedged between my teeth and knotted behind my head. The gag pressed my tongue down, turning my involuntary gasp into a muffled vibration in my throat. Panic surged through my bloodstream, hot and dizzying, but I forced air in through my nose and fought to slow my racing pulse before terror hijacked my senses completely.

I looked down and recognized the deep forest green gown I had put on that morning before leaving Kavan's bedchamber. It was the dress with the delicate silver embroidery along the bodice, the fabric he had traced with his knuckles while whispering that the color turned my eyes into bright emeralds. The memory of his warm breath against my skin and the gentle, lingering kiss he had given me before leaving my side struck me with an ache so sharp it physically hurt.

I had to figure out how I ended up here. I remembered walking through the castle corridors, practically floating on the sheer weight of happiness I felt. I had been daydreaming about what it would mean to stay on Drakhone, wondering what a real future at Kavan's side would look like. I had been so lost in the warmth of those thoughts that I never noticed the shadow stepping out of the corridor alcove near my suite until it was too late. There had only been a heavy palm clamping over my lower face, the sickeningly sweet sting of a chemical rag pressed to my nostrils, and the sensation of the stone floor tilting sideways as my legs gave out.

I forced my gaze across the vast bedroom, cataloging every detail just as Binwee had drilled into me during our intelligence training. The room was massive, easily twice the footprint of my suite at the palace. I spotted two heavy doors, one likely leading to an adjoining washroom and the other serving as the main entryway. Thick velvet drapes hung over the tall arched windows, blocking out every sliver of natural daylight so that only the flickering candles marked the passage of time. I had no way of knowing whether I had been unconscious for minutes or hours.

My training with Asad Intelligence kept my thoughts from spiraling into pure hysteria. I told myself to evaluate the perimeter, calculate potential exits, and stay calm. That was always easier said than done when my hands were bound and I had no idea who had snatched me.

A quiet mechanical click sounded near the main doorway, and my stomach dropped into free fall. The heavy timber swung inward, framing a tall Drakhoni nobleman against the brighter hall outside.

Lord Verrater.

I recognized his sharp, aristocratic features immediately. Whenever we had crossed paths in the village or at the palace, he had treated me with a polished, icy courtesy that barely hid his disdain for my species. I had written him off as an ordinary political traditionalist who disliked human diplomats, assuming his hostility was limited to sneers and snide remarks. I had never imagined he was capable of this.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Then he turned to face me, and I saw his expression—calm, controlled, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Ah, Lady Hunter," he said, his voice carrying that same polite tone he'd used in the village. "I'm pleased to see you're awake. I was beginning to worry the dosage was too strong."

I tried to speak, but the gag turned my words into muffled sounds. Verrater crossed the room with measured steps, his boots silent on the thick carpet, and stopped a few feet from the bed. He studied me the way someone might study an insect pinned to a board—with clinical interest and no empathy whatsoever.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here," he said. "And I suppose I owe you an explanation, given the circumstances."

He pulled a chair from beside the ornate desk and positioned it near the bed, then sat with the kind of grace that came from centuries of practice. His golden eyes—so similar to Kavan's, yet completely different in their coldness—fixed on my face.

"You see, Lady Hunter, I have nothing personal against you. You seem like a perfectly pleasant human." He paused, and his expression changed. "But you are human. And that makes you fundamentally unsuitable to be Drakhoni queen."

The cold certainty in his delivery turned my stomach. I knew Drakhone had its share of purists who looked down on human blood, but hearing my existence dismissed with such casual cruelty made my skin prickle with fury.