Page 9 of Throne of Ice and Blood
“I’ve already told you. I was trying to protect you. From this.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that from the beginning?” All of my conflicting emotions are just bubbling over and pouring out of me like a raging flood now, so I end up practically screaming the words at him. “Everything would’ve been so much easier if you had just told me that the Atonement Trials were a sham!”
Frustration flits across his face. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Draven opens his mouth as if to reply, but apparently, he doesn’t have a good answer to that question, because he just closes his mouth again and flexes his hand in frustration while annoyance blows across his features again.
However, before I can press the matter further, footsteps thud from farther down the corridor.
“Commander,” a voice calls. A moment later, a messenger rounds the corner and skids to a halt a few steps away from us. He draws in a deep breath. “The Emperor and Empress have requested your presence in the throne room.”
A muscle flickers in Draven’s jaw, and for a second, he only continues staring me down. As if he wants to continue our argument. But then he forces out a long breath and at last turns to meet the messenger’s gaze.
“I figured as much,” Draven replies. He jerks his chin at the messenger in dismissal while taking a firm grip on my arm. “Tell them that I’ll be right there. I just need to return my pet to where she belongs.”
I whip my head around to glare at him, but before I can get a single word out, the messenger clears his throat.
“Your, uhm…” He trails off, his gaze flitting around the empty corridor for a second as he squirms uncomfortably. “Yourimmediatepresence has been requested, sir.”
Draven clenches his jaw. Then he grinds out, “Fine.”
Relief washes over the messenger’s face, and he gives Draven a nod. “Please, follow me.”
I frown at the messenger’s back as he turns around and starts down the hall in the direction from which he came. Draven obviously already knows how to get to the throne room, since he apparently lives in this castle. So there would be no need to havesomeone escort him there like this. Except as a power play to remind him that he can be summoned at will. Which strikes me as a little odd.
Draven’s hand is still around my arm when he starts forward, pulling me with him. Since I was lost in thought, I stumble a little before I manage to fall into step beside him.
“Behave,” he commands, his voice hard.
Snapping my gaze to him, I’m just about to growl back at him that I am not his pet. But the expression on his face stops me. His voice might be cold and ruthless, and his words might be an order, but when he meets my gaze, it looks more like a plea.
My gaze drifts to the messenger’s back again where he strides along the corridor in front of us.
A sense of uneasiness slithers through my stomach. Whatever is going on right now obviously involves things that I don’t understand yet. And I don’t want to make the same mistake of charging blindly into something and screwing up my chances of escape.
So instead of snapping at Draven out of stubborn defiance and stupid pride, I shift my gaze back to his and give him a slow nod to signal that I understood the warning.
Relief pulses across his face for a second before that cold ruthless mask is back on his features again. But he gives my arm a small squeeze before he releases it.
We continue towards the throne room in silence after that.
I try to memorize the path we take as we weave our way through the sparkling ice castle. And I count the guards too. Most corridors we venture through are deserted, and the few times we meet someone, it’s people who are dressed like servants. But to my great annoyance, most stairwells we pass are guarded by dragon shifters in silver armor. I add their positions to my mental map anyway.
Once the grand double doors to the throne room at last appear before us, I shift my gaze back to Draven again. He is walking with his back straight and his chin raised, and that usual expression of ruthless power is firmly on his features. I desperately want to reach out with my magic and push at his emotions to see what he’s really feeling.
“Your Imperial Majesties,” the messenger says, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged hall, as we walk through the open doors and into the throne room. Taking a step to the side, he sweeps his arm out towards Draven. “Commander Draven Ryat.”
Draven just keeps stalking right past the messenger without even glancing at him, as if he can’t be bothered to give him even a second of his precious time. The messenger doesn’t seem to mind. He just bows to the Icehearts and then backs out of the throne room again. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I find him closing the massive ice doors behind us while Draven and I continue towards the dais ahead.
I shift my gaze back to the two thrones ahead right before an ominous boom echoes through the room, signaling that the doors have now been shut.
Jessina and Bane Iceheart are sitting on their imposing ice thrones atop the dais. As usual, both of them are wearing impeccable clothes in shades of silver. Jessina’s white hair has been pinned up with sparkling pins while Bane’s black hair hangs straight down his back like a smooth black waterfall. His black eyes are fixed on me while Jessina’s pale gray eyes study Draven. Their massive silver wings rustle slightly as they spread them out wider.
Draven keeps his own wings tucked in tightly. I don’t know enough about dragon shifter culture to understand all of the subtleties, but this somehow feels like another power play. As if the Icehearts are spreading their wings wider to showdominance, and Draven is keeping his folded to signal that he has no intention of challenging them.
Five paces from the dais, Draven stops. It’s the exact same place that Isera, Alistair, and I were standing in during the fake winner’s ceremony three days ago. At just the thought of it, I get an overwhelming urge to reach up and tug at the iron collar around my throat again.
