Nell
I still didn’t know why the ice dragons had taken me. Only a few hours ago, it had been New Year’s night in Beggar’s Hole, Maine. My biggest problem had been being forced to attend my going-away party thrown by my former best friend, Michelle Ballinger, at her beach house. My only concerns at the time had boiled down to disrespectful comments made by college freshmen clutching red Solo cups. And now here I was… in the clutches of the terrifying dragon Lethe.
His savage grey-blue eyes bored into mine. His skin was as pale as porcelain, his hair coal black and straight as a blade, and his mouth cruel and bloodless. His face was void of compassion, not unlike the wasteland just outside the window.
“I don’t know anything!” I repeated, as his grip on me tightened. “I only just met Theon. He told me of The Hearthlands last night, Lethe.”
“Prince Lethe,” he corrected acidly. His fingers dug tighter into the flesh of my upper arms. “Prince Lethe Eraeus, of the Obran peninsula.”
“You can call yourself whatever you’d like. Call me Penelope O’Hara, Contessa of Sesame Street.”
Lethe’s face twisted, and his fingers banded around my wrists like iron. His touch was the exact opposite of Theon’s, which had been almost painfully hot; being near him had been like wandering into a steam bath. Lethe’s touch, however, was frosted. He felt as if he’d just come in from a snowstorm.
“If you love the fire dragons so much,” he hissed, “perhaps you will enjoy this reminder of them.”
Lethe exhaled plumes of ice crystals against my face, propelling me backwards. He let me go—and I stumbled into the fireplace. Hot, sudden pain erupted in the backs of my legs, and I whirled to witness my petticoats on fire. With a shriek, I lunged and rolled to smother the flames.
Still smoldering and gasping for breath, I peered up at Lethe from where I lay on the floor. He was laughing. “Tell me, Penelope,” he said, lowering down onto his haunches to gaze at me. “Will you miss your homeland? Your people? Would you be happy to live out the remainder of your days a slave to the ice dragon kingdom?”
The question caught me so off guard—the thought of never returning home—I stiffly shook my head and did not dare to get mouthy with him again.
“The king of the fire dragons is in our dungeon now.” Lethe examined his fingernails as he spoke. “The remainder of his people have fled into what is surely deadly weather. Even still—” Lethe winced and shrugged one shoulder. “Not all things are certain, and any information you might have regarding the methods, tactics, or plots of the fire dragons would be greatly appreciated. Perhaps, my lady, worthy of such a reward as your freedom.”
I racked my brain for any piece of misleading information I could give him. Maybe I could work this to my advantage—and help Theon while freeing myself.
“I know that, upon seeing his homeland so devastated, he proclaimed that he would never return to it,” I lied. “He told me that he would stay on Earth, among my people, and make a new life for himself. Carry on without fear; your rivals are all dead and gone.”
“That sounds like no fire dragon I know,” Lethe murmured, eyes panning away from me. They caught and hung, fixed just above the fireplace, and I followed his gaze.
The words I’m coming were scrawled across the wall in black ink, then faded and disappeared.
The vengeful prince turned with a pinched mouth. “You would deceive the gatekeeper between yourself and freedom for the lowly, deposed prince?” he asked, grabbing my arm and hoisting me back to my feet. His eyes raked along my face contemplatively. “Intriguing.”
My spine stiffened and my heart hammered in my chest. Did he mean—that the message was from Theon? Did he mean that Theon was coming?
Lethe knew that I had lied to him. Theon would never abandon me to imprisonment at the hands of his enemies.
Lethe’s eyes ticked toward the door. “I must go warn my father,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“No, Lethe. You don’t have to do anything. You could just… just let me go, and I wouldn’t tell anyone. Nothing would happen; I would just go home. If that message is from Theon—all he might want is me. Give him me, and he will leave.”
Lethe looked back at me and I could have sworn that his pale eyes softened.
“There are no real rules in life,” I urged.
“But… we can’t predict the future,” my father had said the night of Christmas Eve. “We just have to go on what we feel. There is no agreement on what ‘right’ is—like we’re playing a game without real rules.”