To my surprise, he’s not exactly seething. If I were to wager, I’d say he’s pissed off but also impressed.Like father, like son, it seems.Time to play the meek, lost explorer, then.
“My apologies, your grace. I was lost?—”
“You knew exactly what you were doing and where you were going,” he cuts me off again, his massive shoulders squared against his gold-plated tresses. The tunic hugs his broad figure snugly, gold-thread embroidered dragons clashing across the leather. “This area is off-limits to everyone. Why did you think you belonged here?”
“I was just curious, your grace.”
“You could’ve asked Nyssa for a tour. She would’ve said no, of course.”
“Then what would have been the point?” I flash a grin that doesn't reach my eyes. “Like I said, I was just curious.”
His nostrils flare slightly. The air between us seems to vibrate with tension, and something cold slithers around my throat.
“If your intentions were genuine, you wouldn’t have used your shadow work to sneak around.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got wards all over the place to warn you if I’m using blood magic. Maybe even a couple of blood magic blockers.”
“Of course. We do not yet have the runes necessary to block whatever this shadow work of yours is, however,” Lord Bemmar concedes. “And you were smart enough to figure it out. I should convey my appreciation for your cunning at this time.”
“So we're good? Water under the bridge?” I attempt my most disarming smile.
It doesn’t work. Lord Bemmar is an unyielding bastard. The ruler of dragons. And there isn’t a single cute enough bone in my body for me to get away with any of this. My sister Brynn might’ve pulled it off. I’m not Brynn.
“You may be a darkblood, but you don’t strike me as dense,” he says.
“Thank you. I guess?”
“Despite my personal desire to eliminate you, my son's protection stays my hand.”
“Again, thank you?” I’m playing with fire here, but he seems to be taking it alright. Surely, there is a limit to the dragon king’s patience. This isn’t the time or place to test it. “Forgive me, your grace. My curiosity is a terrible burden.”
“What business do you have with the Black Archives?”
Footsteps approach from behind. Guards with hands on weapons, expressions hard as granite.
“Return to your posts,” Lord Bemmar commands. “This matter is private.”
“As you wish, my king,” comes the immediate response.
Just as quickly as they rushed toward us, they return to their position by the archive’s doors, while I make a mental note to plan a different incursion the next time around. I’m so not done with this place. I’ll just need to make sure Bemmar doesn’t catch a whiff of me when I come back.
“Answer my question,” he says.
“Like I said, your grace,” I reply, lowering my gaze to appear submissive. “I was just curious. It’s in my nature to explore, to figure out, to understand.”
“There is nothing for you down here, Esme Salem,” he replies coolly. “Remember: you may be a guest in my home, but if you pull this stunt again, I’ll unleash the full force of the law, no matter how my son feels about it.”
His brow arches and then, to my surprise, he hands me a scroll. “This is for you. I was on my way to deliver it personally when Isaw you sneaking out of your room. In case you were wondering how our paths came to cross.”
I stare at the scroll. It’s bound with black ribbon and sealed with the Draxion sigil in wax.
“What is it?” I murmur, hesitant to take it from his enormous hand.
One strike from him could probably knock me out for hours. Next to Lord Bemmar, Corvin seems a feeble runt. My mind drifts home: they must be desperately searching for me, and the Heathborne sentries are undoubtedly in shambles too—a dragon just tore through their walls.
I sense the world above will never be the same.
“It’s an invitation,” Lord Bemmar says. “Open it.”
