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His free hand wraps back around my hip, and he steps further into my space. He smells wrong, even to my weak human nose—like decaying leaves and sour almonds. “I will be your King soon.”
My talons dig into his forearm that’s pressed into my neck. Blood drips down his arm, the red clashing with the bright green scales that have covered him from wrist to shoulder. Our scales and human skin are nearly impenetrable, only able to be pierced by dragon claws or teeth.
I grin, gripping his arm even tighter, but my smile falls and my stomach pitches as he leans in. My claws sink deeper, but he ignores it, slicking his tongue up my neck. I’m so startled, I freeze.
His voice rumbles. “You are a beauty. You will be the one to bring the Mountain clan back into the fold once I am King—once I make you my consort.”
Oh, fuck no!
He leans in, dragging his nose up my neck. I rip my talons from his arm and grab his thumb. Wrenching down, I pull until I hear a crack.
“Ahh!” He shoves away from me, cradling his hand against his chest. “You broke my hand!”
I push away from the wall, straightening my dress, wiping his foul saliva from my neck. “Just your thumb. Don’t be dramatic.”
I may feel clumsy in my human form, but I can still move fast. My hand is around his neck in a flash, and his eyes go wide as my talon-tipped fingers dig into the pulse pounding below his jaw. My hand shakes in rage as I say, “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you and save the King the trouble.” His lips pull back in anger, his sharp teeth snapping, but I dig my claws deeper, and blood drips down his neck. “And I’d rather die than become your consort.”
With a little squelching sound, I rip my talons from his flesh. I grin as a stronger flow of blood pours down his neck, staining his immaculate shirt. He growls at me, pressing his hand to the punctures, but he lets me walk by without another word.
The wounds will close fast enough, especially if he finds a healer, but then he’d have to explain his injuries. I’m sure he’ll try to enact some kind of revenge, but satisfaction squares my shoulders as I pass into a large, open library.
I’ll be gone tomorrow. Inchel seems to be under the illusion that I will return for the Challenge, but I have no intention of ever setting foot or claw back in this valley or this castle. Inchel can find someone else to torment … until the King kills him … hopefully.
I swallow hard, not quite understanding the rush of churning fear that burns through my stomach. I definitely don’t want Inchel to take the throne, but it’s the thought of Kemremir dying that threatens to drop me to my knees.
My brows scrunch together as I grip the back of a soft leather chair. My head turns as a woman with lavender hair pulled back in a high tail comes into the library with a large vase in her arms. Pure white flowers spill over the lip of the vase, and she sets it in the center of a polished wood table. I take a moment to breathe deeply, inhaling the intoxicating smell of books. This is my favorite room so far.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me.”
The lavender-haired woman turns, clasping her hands in front of her when she sees me, bowing slightly. “Yes, my Lady?”
“I’m”—I look around—“I’m supposed to have dinner with the King. I’m afraid he didn’t say where I should go.” Tugging at my simple cream dress, the hem swirls around my knees. It’s pretty, but seems too simple for dinner with the King. “I’m not sure I’m properly dressed, either.”
The woman smiles brightly. “I’ll escort you, my Lady. Dinner has been prepared and will be brought up to the King’s quarters shortly.” She turns to leave the library and smiles at me over her shoulder. “And I’m sure you’re dressed fine, my Lady. The King rarely stands on formality.”
My fingers pinch and twist at the soft fabric of my dress. I am to eat with the King in his chambers? The woman must catch my nervous gesture, because she pauses, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is warm and comforting, like I imagine a mother’s touch would be. Though, I wouldn’t know.
“I think we can find something if you’d prefer to change.”
My lungs fill with a deep breath, and I nod on a slow exhale. “Thank you. I just …”
Her kind voice fills the silence. “Of course, my Lady. I understand.”
“It’s Tatha.”
“Tatha, my Lady. My name is Fynola.”
“Nice to meet you, Fynola.”
She leads the way down hall after hall. We pass so many rooms, I can’t fathom what most of them are used for. Some are open to my curious eyes, and some are closed, their heavy carved wood doors hiding their secrets from me. Fynola’s hips sway within her tight pants that hold her crisp white shirt neatly tucked in. She leads the way up a wide staircase, then down another long hall, this one covered with a plush rug. I have the sudden urge to kick off my boots and wiggle my toes in the deep pile, but I follow along until she finally turns into an open room. As I cross the threshold, I blink a few times as the torchlight from the hall dims and the dark room beyond greets me. It’s all shadows and darkness, and my blinking intensifies, and I shake my head to clear my eyes before remembering my night vision doesn’t exist in this form.
Fynola glows for a second before bending over and breathing gently into a fireplace. Her dragon’s fire spills from her lips and catches on the logs, brightening and warming the room. I blink a few more times as I look around. I’m … confused.
She chuckles, scurrying around the room, pulling a dress from one rack before draping two more over her arm from another rack along the opposite wall. “This is the guest wardrobe. Dragons are notorious for showing up unprepared.”
Her laugh is like a bell, and I smile. There are racks and racks of colorful clothes lining two entire walls of this large room. There are dresses, skirts, tops, pants, shorts, and cloaks. I ache to trail my hands down the lines of clothes to caress the velvet, silk, linen, wool, and a few fabrics I can’t identify on sight.
I turn a circle. There’s a long cream velvet sofa flanked by two blue velvet chairs in the center of the room. I fold to sit on a chair, but pause, hovering over the luxurious seat. Inchel’s blood is still on my hands. Ugh. I’m a mess. I’m in no shape to dine with the King.
