Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129: Loyalty Split At Her Father’s Seal

Guinevere splashed water on her face and looked up at her reflection. Her reflection wasn’t alone.

She screamed.

Spun. Empty bathing chamber. Spun back.

Gone.

Her hands were shaking and her pulse was a war drum.

"I am verbally processing and am not losing my mind."

She had woken up in the dark alone with fog in her brain and an icepack on her neck and had come to the bathing chamber to investigate. Now she was hallucinating. Fantastic. Wonderful. A real crowning achievement.

She gently pulled off the gauze that was bandaged to her neck.

Two puncture marks. Neat. Fresh. Bruised.

Between the punctures was a golden dragon mark she had been wearing since the first time she was marked. That’s when she caught movement in the background.

She glanced up.

The jester was standing behind her. It tilted its head and waved.

"To hell with that. Fuck no." She let out a crazy-woman laugh and did not give a flying fuck because her sanity had left the building.

She closed her eyes. "Get out of my head."

Firm. Authoritative. The voice of a woman who was absolutely in control.

She opened her eyes.

It was gone.

She turned and went straight to the closet.

Put on a bralette because, well, priorities. She briefly considered pants. Settled on silk shorts. Cloak. Boots.

"You are scared, Gwen," she said to herself. "That was a hallucination. Caused by dragon venom and dark-magic-removal trauma. This is a perfectly logical reaction."

She stood. Adjusted the cloak. Pushed open the closet door.

The thing was crouched on the ceiling, directly over the bed.

The realization came slow and then all at once: it had been watching her sleep.

It was turning her ice pack over in its fingers examining it the way a child looks at a toy they found on the ground, bells jingling softly.

Its head snapped to her, eyes narrowing, like she’d interrupted it.

Guinevere screamed so hard her voice cracked. Her hands flew to her face.

Every lamp in the chamber shattered simultaneously. Glass rained across the floor in a cascade of sparks and oil, and the room plunged into a darkness that was too thick, too fast, too hungry to be natural.

"I am verbally processing," it said in her voice, word for word.

Using her own coping mechanism against her was a level of psychological warfare she was not prepared for.

She screamed again and ran out of the chamber doors into an empty corridor.

The guards who were always posted outside were gone. The last time the guards vanished from these posts, the Keep was under siege.

Her blood went cold. No, this was a shift change and she was rattled.

She sprinted through the hall.

"Everything is fine." Her voice was a whisper. Her heart disagreed violently.

A small boy stepped out from a doorway.

Guinevere slowed. She didn’t recognize him.

"You are the woman they are looking for," the little boy said.

She stopped. "I’m sorry?"

He grinned, then started humming a lullaby that her mother used to sing.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Then he came at her in frames. Standing in the doorway. Then six feet closer. Then three. No movement between positions. She didn’t need to see the fourth frame. Three was plenty.

You will breathe. You will think. You will find people you know. And ideally, you will find a well-lit, padded room with a bottle of white wine and zero hallucinations.

Guinevere: Jaxon are you in the council meeting?

Jaxon: Yes, what’s wrong.

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