Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
NISSIA
When I return to my room, Zephala shoots to her feet.
“What did he want?”
It had been quite an event, King Vizarios abandoning me on the altar, so to speak.
Sweating and covered in his spend, I’d muddled my way through putting my clothes back on while the dragons standing around speculated about what had happened and why he’d left so abruptly without “presenting” me to them—whatever that means.
Zephala, thankfully, rescued me from my awkward abandonment and hurried me back to my room. So it was very odd to both of us when the king called for me.
“He wanted to coordinate clothes,” I explain as I wander into the closet, picking out the dark blue robe we agreed on and still not quite believing it. “To make sure we matched for dinner later.”
Zephala cocks her head. “That was why he summoned you?”
“He also told me I need to take a bath.” I rub my chin. “I guess I should do that.”
She nods sagely. “You do smell like, well...”
“I wish I’d known! I didn’t realize dragons has such an acute sense of smell.” I sigh and turn to her. “You’ll keep me in the loop about things like this, right? Tell me whatever I don’t know?”
Zephala’s delicate brows rise on her forehead.
“I will try my best,” she says at length, taking the dark blue robe from me so she can hang it up by the mirror. “Though I must admit I understand very little about humans, so I may not have any idea what you know or don’t know.”
I shrug. “Something is better than nothing. Just think of me like a toddler. A very stupid toddler who doesn’t understand anything.”
Zephala laughs. “I can do this for you.” She offers me the door to the bathing room, where she’s thoughtfully drawn up a warm bath. Something about her reminds me of Ari, and it’s comforting to have her nearby.
I show her my different soaps and oils, all of which I brought from home. As I wash, I do my best to get between my legs so nobody can smell me anymore. How embarrassing.
When I’m finished, Zephala investigates my hair, and I explain to her how to pat it dry with a cloth and run oils through the curls. Then she gets to work on my makeup, learning my different skin tone and face shape.
“Interesting,” she says often, quirking a brow and then adding a little color. When she lets me look in the mirror, I’m surprised to find she’s added a greenish blue tint to my eyelids that reminds me of Vizarios’s scales.
“Now you will match,” she says with pride. Then she leans down conspiratorially. “Since you are human, you probably do not know. But in the throne room, the king? He released his scent glands. He marked you in front of everyone.”
Huh? His scent glands?
“Is that why I reeked?” I ask, lips twisting.
“Yes. When a male dragon does this, he is claiming his partner. Telling everyone else who might be interested that you are spoken for.”
He claimed me? That can’t be right—not after the way he left me there to fend for myself, or the way he treats me like an annoying fly.
Hm. Maybe there is some hope after all, though, if she’s right. Maybe Vizarios is an egg with a particularly hard shell that I just need to crack open. Could a good marriage be possible between us?
With a faint smile, I look at myself in the mirror again, and I have to admit that I like the color on me.
RAGNAKOR
I didn’t leave the king unprotected, of course. I assigned two of my guards to him while I went to work off my turmoil.
Changing quickly out of my ceremonial garb and into my workout clothes, I head out to the training yard. I snatch a wooden sword off the wall, and the arms master lifts his head from polishing a sword.
“There’s no one around, Ragnakor,” he says, setting it in its cradle. “Everyone’s preparing for the dinner later.”
I shrug and head into the training yard anyway, rolling my shoulders and then bending at the middle to elongate my back, sticking my tail straight out behind me.
When I stand again, the arms master, Tralazan, is cracking his knuckles.
He grabs a practice sword off the wall, too, and rolls up his sleeves.
“You look like you need a fight,” he says, spinning the wooden sword in one hand. He squares up across from me, though his limbs all appear loose and easy.
“I could use some exercise.” I pad into the arena across from him, doing no such fancy maneuvers. I am a simple dragon in some ways.
Tralazan lunges first, with an attack that looks straightforward enough, and is even more straightforward to parry. Again he comes for me, and again I parry, easily meeting him stroke for stroke.
But he’s not trying to get in through my defenses.
He’s testing me out, getting a feel for my mood, figuring out if he can lure me into making a mistake.
I did not reach my position by showing my cards, though, or by giving in to my emotions.
The king is a frustrating dragon, but I don’t let it affect how I move, how I fight, or how I do my job.
The moment Tralazan reveals his right side to me on his next lunge, I slide my sword through his defenses and tap him on his exposed flank. He freezes.
“That was fast,” he says with a snort. We return to our starting positions. “I should know better by now than to underestimate you.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. Now I’m focused on the fight, on my opponent, on everything except Vizarios and his new queen. I size up Tralazan, and this time, I strike first. He easily parries, and we lock into a battle that is much more even. He won’t let me squeak through twice in the same place.
After a good long session, we are both sweating. Tralazan slaps me on the shoulder when we set down our swords.
“What has you all worked up today, Ragnakor?” he asks as we towel off. “You fought well, but with a tad more ferocity than usual.”
He brings out some fresh water when I don’t answer right away and puts it in my hands.
“It is simply that the transition brings complexity with it.” I take a long sip. “And I am learning how to navigate it.”
Then my eyes fall to the wooden swords on the wall. Perhaps there is more than one way I can use the training yard to achieve my goals. I did make a promise to Nissia, once upon a time.
“Tralazan.” I pick up one of the smaller swords. “Will you have another one made in a smaller size? More like a dagger.”
He cocks his head. “Why?”
“The queen is an amateur sword fighter. I would like to teach her more, but she’ll need a weapon in the appropriate size.”
Tralazan gawks at me. “Really? The new human queen?”
“I think she would enjoy it, and it will achieve other ends for me.”
I know exactly what to do next. Vizarios may not understand what it is that he wants, not on the surface, but deep down... there was a reason he released his glands while he was on top of her. I need to encourage that seed to grow and then nurture it.
“Hmm.” Tralazan hangs up our swords. “Then I will have one built for her.”
I nod agreeably and thank him for his time and energy.
Now that I know what to do, I stride back to my rooms to clean off and change quickly before the dinner tonight.
VIZARIOS
The banquet hall is loud when I arrive, but as soon as my footman announces me, everyone inside falls quiet.
I enter in my long robe, the train sliding along the floor behind me, with Ragnakor in tow.
He has behaved as if nothing at all occurred between us earlier, which really is his strength.
He can school away any emotion, any weakness, behind that heavy brow.
I pause in the doorway. I’m supposed to be presenting my new queen. Turning around to ask one of the many servants where she is, she appears around the corner.
Queen Nissia is dressed in a flowing blue robe, dark blue like the trim on my own clothing, as she described. The hollows above her eyelids are tinted a familiar teal, the same as my scales, and her lashes look longer than ever.
So strange, all the places that humans have hair, but I have to admit that I rather like eyelashes.
They shield her dark eyes, as if protecting them from the outside world.
I remember how they sat low over her eyes as I fucked her, as I slid in and out of her perfect body, as she moaned and cried underneath me—
I grunt as I extend an arm to her, as I am supposed to do if we’re to present a unified front. She slides her hand neatly around it, and it’s even smaller than I remember it being when she was gripping me with fingers like claws.
I have to stop thinking about that.
We march into the banquet hall together and head toward our seats. The wardens all rise to their feet and hit the floor with their tails. Nissia jumps at the sound, and I wonder if she’ll have to stomp a foot instead.
Blasted human with no tail.
When we’re seated and Ragnakor has taken up his post at the door, I raise my goblet, which is already full of firewine.
“I have gone and retrieved my bride from the human lands,” I say loudly, so everyone in the banquet hall can hear me. “Please welcome Queen Nissia to Selvumrrest.”
More tails thump the ground, and the wardens and courtiers raise their goblets into the air before taking a long drink. While I take a hearty gulp, Nissia sniffs her drink, her brow furrowing.
“What is this?” she whispers.
“Firewine.” I throw more back. “Do they not have it in your kingdom?”
“Not wine that smells like cinnamon.” She takes an experimental sip, and though she keeps her expression carefully neutral, I can tell by the widening of her eyes that she doesn’t enjoy it.
I snicker. “You’ll have to have some, to be polite.” Not that anyone would notice if she didn’t, but this will be amusing for me.
I don’t want her to think what happened during the ceremony means anything to me. Tonight, I will put her back in her place, so she understands that my releasing my glands was simply a mistake, an instinctual urge.
Nissia narrows her eyes like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she takes a long drink of the firewine anyway. She can’t hide her grimace.
At least she’s brave enough to do it. I can admire that.
“It’s good to see you, King Vizarios.” Lagarion, the warden of one of our farther eastern territories, sits across from us. “I have not had the pleasure since your mother passed away.”
I scowl at the memory of her memorial. She had been cremated, as all dragons are, and those wardens who could make it on such short notice attended to say their farewells. Others, in the farther reaches of the kingdom, could not participate. This is my first time meeting them as their king.
“Indeed,” I say. I don’t want to think about the funeral.
“My sincerest apologies for your loss.”
If I could roll my eyes, I would. It’s merely a pleasantry—no one knew my mother like I did, and certainly nobody grieved her like I did—but I settle for sipping my wine.
“I hope that now you have a queen, you’ll grace the kingdom with an heir,” Lagarion goes on. “We need the stability of knowing there’s someone to take over after you. To prevent... a scuffle.”
I hiss between my front teeth. My family line has ruled this land for hundreds of years. With no heir, the wardens would be left to choose their own leader, and if I know anything about dragon history, it would probably lead to a bloodbath.
“That is the plan,” I manage to say in a cool tone. What, did he not see what Nissia and I did this very morning?
I veer the conversation away. Soon, we start discussing what resources the wardens need, and I know the ask is coming. Before Lagarion can put in his request for more wood-cutting rights, though, the sound of Nissia’s bright laugh interrupts us. It’s surprisingly pleasant, like a bell.
“Sorry,” she says when she notices me staring at her. “Kalara told quite a good joke.”
The elderly warden sitting across from her chuckles. “I didn’t expect wordplay to go over quite so well with the new queen. I’m glad you found someone with a sense of humor, Vizarios, to make up for your lack of one.”
I bristle. “Do I not have a sense of humor?”
“No.” Kalara doesn’t even attempt to soften the blow. But she has always been a prickly old crone, and even my mother treated her with a little deference, like the dog that leads the pack.
Queen Nissia snorts at that, too, and I scowl at the disrespect from my own wife.
“You agree?” I demand.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried to tell you a joke. But I could.” She taps her chin as she thinks. “Ah, I know. Why can’t a leopard hide?”
“That’s a foolish question,” I say. “Leopards always hide. They fear us, and—”
“It’s a joke, remember?” She pokes me in the shoulder. “The leopard can’t hide because its hide is always spotted!”
Nissia bursts out into a laugh, and obnoxiously, Kalara laughs, too.
“This is child’s play,” I grouse. I do not enjoy being left out, even if Nissia is quite funny.
“Do you have a better one?” pipes up one of the other wardens from the territory to the north.
Of course, I cannot think of a joke off the cuff. Humor has never been one of my focuses in life, what with spending my time learning how to rule and taking care of the ungrateful wardens’ constant demands.
The queen watches me eagerly, and one of her small hands lands on my thigh as she encourages me. It sends a spark up my body, through every muscle, straight to my groin. Even just her touch steals my breath.
But I don’t want her believing there is any sort of intimacy between us. It’s impossible. I ought to nip this in the bud right now.
I push away her hand. “No, I don’t have any other jokes,” I say darkly. Then I look at Nissia, right into her brown eyes. “Because the joke is that I am here, shackled to you, for the rest of my life.”
The smile falls from her face, replaced by hurt. I expected to feel satisfaction at taking her down a few notches, but instead, I feel a distinct displeasure at the way she turns back to her food, staring down into it with her brows drawn.
Perhaps I was too harsh. But I want her to know where she stands with me.
The rest of the dinner is tedious as I speak with wardens who approach me and field their various requests. I try not to grant them anything, directing each to go and speak with Syzari instead. She shoots me a venomous look as they continue to interrupt her dinner.
Then, at last, the meal ends. Nissia has not said a word to me since her “joke” earlier, though she did resume conversation with Kalara. The old warden occasionally shoots me glares, but her judgment means nothing to me.
Eventually, I rise from my chair and, knowing what’s expected, offer Nissia my arm. She looks at it quizzically for a moment, as if I have offered her a handful of chicken bones.
“We’re going to pretend to have unity,” I murmur to her, urging her once again to take the offered elbow. Eventually, she rises to her feet, shaking her head, and we leave the banquet hall arm-in-arm.
The moment we’re free, though, Nissia disentangles herself. Without another look back, she charges off down the hall, leaving me behind.
This is how it should be, how I want things between us, but it still stings.