Chapter Thirty-three
BEN
Dominic’s hope had slowly grown as the morning had passed without a summons to see Rhodri. But lunch had changed everything.
“Abimelech Mortimer will be visiting us this evening,” Rhodri announced to the gathered family. “Glenys will provide further details.”
The buzz of conversation around the table sounded almost as shocked as I felt. I raised my eyebrows at Dominic, who was silently sitting beside his father, carefully still. He gave me the very slightest of shrugs in return.
It wasn’t until we were away from the lunch table that I was able to ask him. “Why on earth would Mortimer come here? The only thing I can think of is to see your records for himself, but they’re not that interesting.”
And despite how pale he still was from the strain of lunch and Rhodri’s proximity, Dominic laughed.
“Oh, I’m going to remind you of that for the rest of your life, historian,” he informed me. “Might even get a t-shirt made. One that has Fuck history – Ben Berstow on the back.”
I pulled a face at him. “You know what I mean.”
And he did. He sobered. “I have no idea why he’s here,” he said, as he held the records room door open for me.
“But it does explain why Rhodri hasn’t kicked me out yet.
It doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind—it’s that he won’t do anything that might destabilise the family just before Mortimer turns up on our doorstep. ”
Bitterness spiralled through his voice, and I couldn’t blame him. I hated that he was right.
* * *
We’d actually managed to change together for supper without getting distracted.
But the moment I saw Dominic in his suit, I realised that state of affairs was unlikely to last much longer.
The suit fitted him to perfection. Worse, it seemed designed purely to remind me of the body underneath it.
The black jacket broadened his shoulders, nipped in at his waist, and the trousers somehow made his thighs look eminently lickable.
He'd shaved carefully, leaving not even a hint of shadow along his jaw, and done something to tame his hair that made him seem more formal. It also made him even more impossible to look away from.
His deep brown eyes flicked up briefly to mine, amused at the way I couldn’t stop staring at him, before he returned his attention to the cufflink he was fastening. It blazed with green fire as it caught the light.
“That’s beautiful,” I told him. Because if I focused on little things, I might be able to stop myself from shoving him down on the bed and ripping those clothes right off him. Possibly.
He picked up the second one and showed it to me briefly, his dragon in his eyes. Not in a threatening way, though. Simply there, the way it so often was with him. As he fastened the cufflink, he crooned to it softly.
I’d never heard a dragon croon in human form before, and honestly, it might have been the best sound I’d ever heard.
I’d always envied dragons who could carry their treasure around with them.
It wasn’t so easy to slip a fragile fifteenth-century historical document into a pocket.
But at the same time, I didn’t feel that need to have my treasure with me all the time.
If I did, I’d probably spend my days curled up in the records room, refusing to leave.
Maybe it was because the knowledge was in my head, and so was already with me.
But then, that would make my treasure knowledge, not history, so…
“You ready?” Dominic interrupted my thoughts, as he straightened my tie.
Or rather, un-straightened it, because it had been perfect as it was.
But as he leaned in and kissed me, I instantly forgave him.
His tongue slid against mine, and as I kissed him back, I cupped my hand to his jaw, loving how smooth his skin was just after shaving.
And then he nudged his thigh between mine, and hell’s teeth, we couldn’t do this now. Turning up late to this particular supper would be the end for Dominic. In fact, we’d probably both end up flamed to a crisp.
I pulled back, breathless. “Supper,” I reminded him. “Mortimer.”
“Oh, God. You know how to kill a mood,” he said. “I still don’t know why he’d come here rather than summoning Rhodri to him.”
“Maybe he really does want to see your records for himself,” I said.
“To prove Arthur stole the throne from Mordred and the Mortimers are the true kings of Britain, so he can mount a coup and take over Buckingham Palace?”
I stared at him.
“What?” he said. “If we’re going to do conspiracy theories, I think we should commit.” He checked himself one last time in the mirror, before holding out his hand to me. “You ready for this?”
Hand in hand, we descended the staircase, and I was hopeful that by the time we’d made it down two floors, my lips would look a little less thoroughly snogged. Dominic was moving more easily today, though under his clothes, he was covered in gruesome-looking bruises.
The great hall was full of Bedwyr dragons, rather more than the twenty who were usually at the dining table.
Everyone was dressed up, and the sound of multiple people talking all at once held an unmistakable undertone of excitement.
Apparently this was the first time Abimelech Mortimer had visited Dragon’s Ending.
Rhodri was standing by his study door, talking intently to Dylan. As voices echoed through the hall, I could feel the tension back in Dominic again, beneath the apparent ease and immaculate tailoring.
Then I saw the visitor. As he talked to Josh and Megan in the crowded hall, there was a space around him as if there were a radioactive zone that no one dared cross.
Abimelech Mortimer was of an age where most dragons would want to put their feet up and snooze the day away while watching cricket.
Not him. His banking empire seemed to grow by the day, and all his coordinating with Evelyn made it very clear he was planning something.
But as that something had brought me here, had brought me Dominic, I found I couldn’t resent Mortimer too much.
I looked at Dominic and couldn’t help smiling. He squeezed my hand before letting it go. “Once more unto the breach,” he murmured into my ear.
As we made our way down the last few stairs, into the throng below, my casual glance over the crowd stuttered and promptly got stuck.
Mortimer’s pale grey eyes were on us, assessing.
I broke his gaze immediately, pretending I hadn’t noticed, but cold snakes were coiling in my belly.
My dragon had reared up, somewhere deep inside, wings extended in alarm and threat.
Mortimer was dangerous. And he’d been watching us.
I dared finally to glance back in his direction and found he was now talking to some different Bedwyrs, who were laughing too hard at something he’d said. Although to all outward appearances, he was concentrating on them, I noticed the way his eyes flicked to us. No, not to us—to Dominic.
He was far too polished a social performer for his interest to be obvious, but as someone who spent his time tracking where Dominic was in a room, I recognised it in someone else.
While I was concentrating on Mortimer, Dominic’s attention had evidently been elsewhere. He handed me a glass of sherry.
“Thanks,” I said, then watched in horror as he threw his own glassful back in one gulp.
“You’re not supposed to neck sherry,” I told him, and he looked deeply unrepentant.
“I have to get through supper somehow.” Leaning in, he added in a murmur, “When there’s somewhere I’d far rather be.”
I shivered at his low voice against my ear, and I wanted to say fuck supper, before seizing him by the hand and dragging him back to his room.
“Dominic.” A low, emotionless voice intruded, and I knew before I turned round. Those snakes were slithering in my belly and my dragon was insistent this was a threat.
Dominic gave a tight smile. “Good evening.”
Mortimer tilted his head very slightly to one side, studying Dominic for a moment. “You still don’t trust me.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “And there I was, thinking I was hiding it better this time.”
My jaw dropped. But I didn’t have time to dwell on Dominic’s audacity, because Mortimer’s attention was now on me, and it was as if there was a very old, very powerful, cunning presence behind his eyes.
“Ben,” he said. “I understand you’ve spent your time here buried in the records room.” His eyes flicked to Dominic, very briefly. “For the most part.”
“I’ve been cataloguing the archives,” I said cautiously.
“Yes, Rhodri mentioned as much.” His gaze sharpened. “And? Have you discovered Camelot yet?”
“Afraid not,” I said. “Unless Camelot consisted primarily of quarrels with the neighbours and depressingly repetitive Arthurs.”
To my surprise, Mortimer smiled slightly. It made him look considerably more dangerous.
“The curse of Welsh medieval genealogy,” he said. “Every nobleman appears to have shared his name with his father, his son, and several of his brothers.”
“I’ve noticed,” I admitted.
“It’s always interesting to see which names endure,” he continued. “Particularly in the oldest families. People preserve what matters to them however they can, whether it be a bloodline, stories, or memories of power.”
“Or claims to legitimacy,” Dominic said beside me, and I almost hyperventilated, remembering our conspiracy theory about Mortimer and Mordred. God, Dominic, do not poke the dragon.
Mortimer’s pale eyes rested on him. “That sounds very specific.”
“Not necessarily,” Dominic said lightly. “Ben and I have spent too long looking at medieval genealogy. It makes every family tree look like a succession crisis.”
Dominic! We’re not supposed to let him know that we know what he’s up to. But sadly, in human form, I still couldn’t speak into Dominic’s mind no matter how loudly I thought at him. I considered stamping on his foot instead, but that would be a little obvious.
“I was unaware you had a particular interest in history,” Mortimer said mildly.
“Oh, I don’t,” Dominic agreed cheerfully. “Historians on the other hand…”