Dragonsbane! Lucas realized. I’ve been shot with an arrow dipped in dragonsbane!
He hit the water with bruising force and plummeted toward the bottom. He instinctively held his breath and tried to swim away underwater. But his chest burned with pain, and he was dazed from the fall and the shock of the icy water. His boots and sword were pulling him down, forcing him to exert himself just to keep from sinking further.
He barely made it to the shoreline before he was forced to surface. He managed one gulp of air, and then rough hands seized him.
It was a group of masked men, like the assassins who had tried to kill Journey. Lucas fought, but he was outnumbered and wounded and breathless. Before he could do more than knock one man down, something sharp stung his back.
More dragonsbane, he thought, wincing at the idea. But though the pain didn’t increase, he immediately felt dizzy.
No, he realized. It’s a tranquilizer.
Lucas woke abruptly, his eyes flying open and his body jerking. Metal rattled. He was standing up, cold stone at his back and cold metal around his wrists and ankles. Even without looking, he knew the metal wasn’t gold.
There was no moment of disorientation. He immediately remembered what had happened. And with a single glance, he knew where he was.
He was chained to the wall of one of his own family’s dungeons.
It was a small cell of gray stone, smelling of dust and granite. There were no windows, but burning torches cast a flickering light.
Lucas jerked at the chains, but they had been made to withstand even the more-than-human strength of shifters; his ancestors had sometimes imprisoned each other, usually in battles over the throne. He pulled and yanked as hard as he could, but accomplished nothing more than making his wrists and ankles bleed.
He finally gave up and leaned against the wall, exhausted. He still wore his jewelry, but his sword was gone. The wound in his chest seemed shallow and small, no more than a pinprick— it must have been a dart rather than an arrow— but it felt like a red-hot poker had stabbed him through and through. His dragon was silent within him, quelled by the dragonsbane still burning in his veins.
But his physical pain and helplessness concerned him less than the implications of his plight. Whoever had imprisoned him obviously didn’t want him dead, so his jailers couldn’t be after the throne itself. They were most likely the same people behind the attempt on Journey’s life.
In that case, he was imprisoned to stop him from protecting her. They probably meant to keep him here while they searched for her. Once they found and killed her, he would be released.
Lucas knew it was useless to struggle, but a surge of fear and rage made him again throw himself against the chains. A red haze clouded his sight. He felt no pain. He heard himself shouting, but he didn’t know what he was saying. He could think of nothing but protecting his mate.
Cold water dashed into his face, bringing him to his senses. Lucas coughed and shook his head, blinking to clear his vision.
A masked man stood in front of him, holding an empty bucket.
“Fight as hard as you please,” the man said coldly. “It won’t change a thing.”
Lucas didn’t recognize his voice, other than that his captor had a Brandusan accent. Then he looked closer and saw that the man wore an earbud. He must be getting his orders from someone trying to conceal his identity. Every word he said was probably dictated by an unseen watcher.
His knees felt shaky and every muscle in his body ached, but Lucas took a deep breath and made sure his voice was calm.
“No matter what, I will not marry Raluca. If you kill Journey—” The thought of it choked him. It was so easy to picture her sprawled on the ground, her emerald eyes glazed in death, her warm heart stilled forever. When he went on, he despised himself for being unable to prevent his voice from shaking. “If you kill her, I still won’t marry Raluca. So there is no point to any of this. Drug me again and release me. I don’t know who you are, so I won’t be able to take revenge.”
There was a pause, no doubt while the watcher spoke into the earbud. Then the masked man said, “I do not believe that you would betray the honor of a lineage of a thousand years for mere revenge.”
“Believe it,” Lucas said.
Another pause. “Princess Raluca knows nothing of this.”
Lucas had never thought she did. But suspicious of where the conversation was going, he didn’t reply.
“If you will not marry her, she is worthless,” the masked man continued. “Then I will have to kill her and you. That will leave one of your cousins to inherit. And then I can arrange an alliance for that cousin which will suit me almost as well.”
Lucas stared at the masked man, letting his dragon show in his eyes. The man took an involuntary step back.
As I guessed, Lucas thought. He’s not a dragon himself. He’s just some trusted minion.
“Release me.” Without even meaning it, Lucas heard his voice drop to a draconic hiss. “Do you know what it means to imprison a dragon? Do you know what it means to threaten a dragon’s mate? Dragons do not forget. Dragons do not forgive. If by some miracle you live to escape this cell, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. Nothing you have been promised is worth dying in dragonflame.”
Once again, the man took a step back. Then he jumped as if someone had shouted in his ear. Squaring his shoulders, he demanded, “Where is Journey Jacobson?”