The Dragon of Bellerose Island

By Sasha L. Miller

Politics are dangerous, a fact Leandre failed to appreciate until too late. Kidnapped by his rival, and abandoned on the mysterious Bellerose Island, he expects to be one more body that no one will ever find. But he didn't expect the island's sole occupant...
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sasha L. Miller
• Release date: Oct 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393672449

Sasha L. Miller

Sasha L. Miller spends most of her time writing, reading, or playing with all things website design. She loves telling stories, especially romance, because there’s nothing better than giving people their happily ever afters. When not writing, she spends time cooking, harassing her roommates, and playing with her cats.

Book preview

The Dragon of

Bellerose Island

SASHA L. MILLER

Politics are dangerous, a fact Leandre failed to appreciate until too late. Kidnapped by his rival, and abandoned on the mysterious Bellerose Island, he expects to be one more body that no one will ever find. But he didn't expect the island's sole occupant…

Author's Note: This story was originally published in Fairytales Slashed Volume 6.

The Dragon of Bellerose Island

By Sasha L. Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Samantha M. Derr

Cover designed by

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

Second Edition August 2018

Copyright © 2018 by Sasha L. Miller

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter One

Leandre Giroux's heart pounded in his chest as he stared across the swinging rope bridge that would lead him to his death. Bellerose Island was perpetually, magically, shrouded in fog, hiding the dangers that lurked on the island. The sun, bright and hot as it beat down upon him, did nothing to dispel the fog, and Leandre swallowed against the urge to throw up.

You'll regret this, he said.

Morell Fournier laughed, an unpleasant sound that made Leandre wish his magic were unrestrained. He'd flatten Morell in a heartbeat, but Morell knew that and had accounted for it with the magic-suppressing shackles he'd snapped in place around Leandre's wrists.

He looked down at Leandre scornfully from his horse, the expression marred by the way his left eye was swelling shut and the swollen, squashed look of his nose. Leandre couldn't take any satisfaction from the injuries he'd inflicted on Morell, given he was the one in shackles, about to be consigned to his death.

If only he'd listened to his sister and taken more precautions, he'd still be in Montsaon, grumbling at her over afternoon tea. Now he'd likely never see Arlette again, and she'd likely never know what had happened to him. No doubt she'd figure out Morell was behind his disappearance, but with no proof and no idea where to start looking…

Pray tell, my dear count, how I will regret this? Morell asked, his words only slightly garbled. You'll be gone, there's nothing to link me to your disappearance, and no one will be there to stand against me in the council vote. How tragic, that you disappear too close to the election for your pathetic coalition to come up with another candidate to run against me.

I'll find a way to make you regret it, Leandre said. It was an empty threat and they both knew it. No one ever came back from Bellerose Island.

Give my regards to the dragon, Morell said. He smiled, but it appeared more like a grimace given the battered state of his face. He jerked his chin imperiously at the two goons bracketing Leandre.

Leandre struggled against their grip as they dragged him closer to the rope bridge. They were none too gentle with him, awakening all the aching bruises that Morell had gifted him with in retribution for attempting to smash his face in.

Cross the bridge, my lord, or I'll see to it your sister joins you, Morell said loudly.

You touch a single hair on her head and you'll face more than my wrath, Leandre said, jerking free of the goon on his left. Arlette was protected by stronger than him, thankfully, given her connection to the crown. Morell could make all the threats he wanted against Arlette, but she was smarter and far more careful than Leandre. He couldn't touch her, and that was the one saving grace about this whole damn thing.

Unfortunately, Leandre's best chance for freedom was to cross the bridge and wait for Morell and his goons to leave. It wasn't a good plan, given he had no idea what lurked on the island and they were ten miles from Montsaon, but it was better than waiting for Morell to get impatient and decide that throwing him off the cliff would work as well as exiling him to Bellerose.

Squaring his shoulders, Leandre cast the goon to his right an icy look. The man let go of Leandre's arm as though he'd been burned, stepping back hastily. Leandre walked forward, staring down the rotting, swaying bridge. It was missing several planks and a handful more dangled from the ropes that made up the bridge's structure. The left guide rope had rotted away, leaving only the right, and Leandre wasn't at all certain he'd make it across the bridge.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and stepped onto the first plank. It didn't immediately give out beneath his feet, but the whole bridge swayed uncertainly in the breeze. Sea water crashed against the cliff face some eighty feet below, the foaming water swirling over the sharp, jagged rocks that stabbed upward. Leandre grabbed onto the guide rope with his shackled hands, gripping tightly as he edged out further.

Bellerose wasn't a natural island; it had been carved away from the cliff face by the Great Black Dragon that had made the island its home some forty years back. The bridge likely dated back that far as well, which didn't give Leandre much confidence in its strength. The dragon had been killed a decade ago by a band of treasure-seeking idiots who had promptly become the islands' first victims. Countless others had disappeared into the island's depths since, seeking the dragon's treasure, but none had ever returned.

Leandre didn't know what manner of danger lurked on the island, and he hoped he wouldn't have to find out. Sweat beaded on his brow as he inched across the narrow bridge. His fingers hurt from clutching the rope guide, but he didn't loosen his grip. The bridge swayed unsteadily in the breeze, and Leandre tried not to look at the eighty-foot drop as he assessed each and every step he took forward.

No doubt Morell was enjoying every second of Leandre's fumbling steps away from the safety of solid ground, and Leandre vowed to make him pay in the worst way he could devise if he ever managed to free himself from his predicament. Legal or not, he didn't care.

The bridge seemed to span forever, and Leandre was exhausted when he finally neared the island. He'd fallen once, landing on his knees, and he'd nearly toppled over the side of the bridge more times than he could count. Three steps more and he'd be on the island. Leandre closed the gap steadily, intent on the small patch of rocky ground he could see before fog swallowed the island.

Hopefully the fog would hide him until Morell left, and he then could make the return trip across the bridge. Leandre took the final step off the bridge, sighing in relief at the feel of solid ground beneath his feet again.

His relief was short-lived, however, as magic washed over his skin, sharp and painful. It was gone in the next second, taking the fog with it, and the shackles around Leandre's wrists broke open, falling to the ground at his feet.

Leandre turned, swearing loudly and thoroughly. His magic was still as dead as it had been under Morell's spelled shackles; something on the island suppressed all magic—including Morell's, which had caused the shackles to fail. The fog was completely gone inside the spell, and Leandre could clearly see the swinging rope bridge, Morell, and his two goons on the far bank.

Reaching out tentatively, Leandre swore again when his fingers hit a barrier, as solid and firm as the ground beneath his feet. The magic in it stung his fingertips, and despair crashed down on him. He was stuck on an island that no one returned from, with no magic and no defenses. Morell had been right to gloat: Leandre would never return to Montsaon.

He was essentially helpless and in danger from a threat he didn't know. There was every possibility that he was going to die soon, and Leandre wanted to hit something, wanted to rage and scream. It wasn't fair, but he'd known going into the election that Morell didn't play fair. He'd expected underhanded, had expected Morell's threats—he hadn't expected he'd die for standing against Morell. 

Turning his back on Morell, Leandre flexed his hands. It was a sour victory, being free of the shackles, but he'd take it over nothing. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Leandre tried to focus. He couldn't give up, not that easily.

If there was magic, there had to be a mage. Perhaps Leandre could convince them to let him go, since he wasn't after any prizes or treasures the island might hold. It was a thin hope, but it was all he had.

Leandre studied what he could see of the island. A massive manor house loomed ahead of him, likely where the dragon had made its home decades before and likely where Leandre would find the mage behind the barrier. The house was comprised of two wings, spanning in a

Reviews for The Dragon of Bellerose Island

[L'eau · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The story was nice, but I found it ended rather abruptly.