“I am a son of the Dragon.”

“The Dragon?” Helena’s face squinched adorably. “The Dragon of Wallachia?”

I tried to nod and failed. “Yes,” I rasped out, my chest feeling weighed down. I could barely breathe.

“Do you have his magic, then?” Helena’s face moved out of view.

For a moment, I did not say anything. My father’s magic was not well understood, even if it was well known, and he had inspired great fear in his enemies. I could not blame her if she fled the moment she learned I was the Dragon’s son. But then I felt her lift my left arm, and I could breathe a little more easily with its dead weight removed from my chest. She ran her fingers all around the anti-mage cuff, tracing over its runes before she let go of that limb, letting it fall to the dirt floor above my head like a dead man’s arm.

“I hope so,” I said, belatedly answering her question. Lying to such a lovely creature would be a sin, and silence would lead her only to assume the worst. “My father taught me some secrets, but my magic had not yet fully awakened. The old sultan had these clapped on me before I grew to be a man. I know I have magic, but I cannot truly know what kind.”

I felt Helena pick up my right arm from where it lay beside me and then let it drop behind me as well, the anti-mage cuffs clicking as they struck each other. Something moved around my wrists, perhaps a piece of fabric. “You must have quite a lot of magic, Dragon’s son. Maybe as much as the Dragon did. It has to be his magic you’ve inherited, and after two in line, you will likely pass it on to your sons, if you have any.”

This wasn’t a question, so I had no answer. I asked a question instead, a question that had weighed on my mind as heavily as my arm had upon my chest. “Will you kill me and run away?”

“You’re a Vlach, not a Turk,” Helena said thoughtfully. Her face came into view again, right-side up this time. Something sharp pricked my chest—the knife, I assumed—and then a hand retrieved my little cross from the dirt floor next to me, fingering it before gently positioning it on the center of my chest. “But you were going to ravish me anyway, weren’t you?”

“Um…” I weakly licked my lips, unsure of myself. “You are very beautiful. I hoped…” What had I hoped? That she would leap into the arms of a conquering princeling who had helped break the walls of her city?

The knife waved one more time in front of my face and then moved back out of view. Then a warm, soft weight pressed down on my chest as Helena’s face came closer, and two hands felt at my neck and chin, exploring. One was warm—the hand that had been gripping the knife—and the other cold. I tried to breathe in, but I could not lift the weight on my chest, and my breaths were shallow. An old story from my childhood came to mind, being told of an old woman suffocated by a cat lying on her chest while she slept. Was this how Helena meant to kill me?

Helena’s face pulled back out of view, the warm weight shifting more toward my stomach. “I can’t bring myself to murder a helpless man,” she murmured. “It doesn’t seem charitable.” A pair of hands, one warm and one cool, slipped under the hem of my shirt, pulling it up. The cool hand moved to my sternum, rubbing the sparse hair I had grown there. “You’re barely full-grown. Maybe even not done growing, though you’re plenty tall enough already. Practically a boy.”

“I killed a man today,” I said to the unseen womanly weight crushing my stomach, seeking to protect my pride. When a woman calls a man a boy, it is rarely felt as a compliment. “More than one. That makes me a man, does it not?”

The hands rested on my chest, lingering in place. “I guess.” Helena’s voice held traces of bitterness at the reminder of the recent battle. She was silent for a long moment. “What use does the new sultan have for you? I can’t imagine Vladislav the Dragonslayer wants the Dragon’s son back in Wallachia. Or is that the point? You could replace Vladislav if he rebels.”

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“We’re…” I stopped myself before calling the new sultan a friend. “My brother and I were suitable company for him as princes. He favors us, I hope. At least, I think if he didn’t still favor us, Pasha Mustafa wouldn’t have given us a choice out of the sultan’s prizes. But maybe we are useful to him as checks against Vladislav.”

“You have a brother?” Helena’s voice sounded surprised.

“You saw him; he was with me when I picked you.” I stared up at the dark rafters, frustrated.

“The pretty little blond boy?” Both hands were warm, having rested on my chest for long enough. One moved, a finger tracing an idle pattern over my abdomen. “He looked altogether different to me, but now that you mention it, I can believe the two of you are brothers.”

“Yes, Radu is the fair one and has ever been winsome, while I am dark and not so pretty.” I sighed and felt delight in the fact that I had regained enough strength to take a truly deep breath. I tried to lift my head and failed.

“You are at least a man,” the unseen Helena said. “Your little brother is not, for all that his voice has started to break. And you have the Dragon’s magic running in your blood. A powerful lineage, a heritage you carry.” Her fingers traced over my heart. “So, the sultan is given only noble virgins? And if you gave me back to him, I might become the mother of the next sultan?”

“I think so,” I said, wiggling my toes. As I did, I realized I wasn’t sure of the answer to either question—I knew the Turks had rules they followed regarding concubines, but I had not memorized them. I did know Allaedin was the son of a concubine himself, though; the old sultan had never married.

Helena sighed heavily. “Well, Dragon’s son, I think I shall not take my chances with running away. I will trust in your princely oath to Saint George instead. It must be uncomfortable lying on the dirt floor like that. Let’s get you into the bed.”

She stood, stepping over my face and bending over to fiddle with my cuffed wrists. Fabric traced over my arm and was gone. I was little help as she pushed me to a sitting position, though once there, I found I was able to bend my legs a little, my lowest extremities being furthest from the source of my weakness. An attempt to stand succeeded only partially, and I fell backwards, knocking over Helena and landing on the bed hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

After a few muttered words in Greek that had not been covered in my tutor’s lessons, Helena’s face appeared in my view again. “Are you alright?”

I groaned inarticulately, still unable to breathe.

Her hands felt around my face and neck. “Can you move your legs?”

Trying to tell her I could wiggle my toes was futile, as I still couldn’t breathe. Then wind returned to my lungs, and I breathed a deep, ragged breath, then another, and I spoke. “I can move my toes, but I think the cuffs will not let me do much more than that for a little while longer.”

One of my legs lifted, Helena having decided to take one of my boots off. “Are you still drawing on your magic?”

I tried to shake my head, and it moved just a little bit. “No,” I said. “I drew on it for just that moment that you surprised me with the knife.”

Helena pulled off my other boot, then lifted my legs onto the bed. Her hands squeezed my calves before running up to my thighs. “So much magic in such a short time. I wish I had powerful magic like yours.”

Her hands lingered for a moment on my thighs before pulling away, then pressed down on my shoulders as her face reappeared. My cloak was still around her neck, but with her arms out, it was open, her pale skin luminous in the firelight.

“If you weren’t laid low by your cuffs, would you want to ravish me?” She stared down into my eyes.

I licked my lips, looking up at the beautiful brunette above me as I considered her words. With tact typical of adolescence, I blurted out my answer with a suddenness and honesty that I regretted before the words had finished traveling from my lips to her ears. “I want you.”

One corner of her mouth quirked upward a moment before she turned away, her face moving out of view. “Well, let’s get your clothing off to air it out overnight. It stinks.”

I shivered weakly in the cool air as she tugged my trousers off, then my undershirt, even unwanted movements of my muscles hampered by the cold iron cuffs. After hanging my clothes up, she banked the fire, then sat on the bed and kicked off her sandals in the fading darkness. I could, by that point, flex my knees—or could until a warm, soft weight settled on top of my legs, pinning them to the straw mattress. The air above me warmed as well; Helena was still wearing my cloak, its fabric settling over my feet as one warm hand pressed down on my chest, the other searching its way up my body like a soft-legged spider until it found my chin.

A thumb brushed over my lips. A ticklish sensation brushed across my face, and for a moment, I felt the urge to sneeze as my breath pulled several strands of hair into my nostrils. Then soft warmth pressed against me, clumsy lips covering mine.