“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
I feel the two of them turn to me, expectant, but I don't move. I'm too busy studying the king, his elderly council member, and the vast array of interesting things behind them: the full bookshelves; the hanging maps and charts; the collection of sealed letters and documents stacked neatly on a desk in the corner. It all makes this seem much more real, somehow—evidence that I've stepped into a much more complicated kingdom, where survival suddenly isn't the only thing I have to worry about.
King Reave must feel me staring, because he tilts his head toward me.
“What is it?” he asks. “I assumed you'd be eager to get away from me by this point.”
“I am,” I assure him. “But there are still details we need to discuss. Things that can’t wait until later.”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding to his council member—a wordless dismissal, which the man doesn't question.
His sister and the head servant leave as well, but they only go as far as the hall outside. They linger by the door, the princess talking rapidly under her breath. Probably giving more instructions on how to make my stay here as miserable as possible.
The king moves to the desk in the corner of the room, settling into the chair behind it. He takes a pair of glasses from a drawer and slides them on. Yet another symbol of his wealth; no one in the Burn could afford such a luxury—particularly not a pair so finely-crafted as these. He wears them devastatingly well, too, the round frames onlyenhancing the sharp angles of his face and the arresting color of his eyes, while adding a hint of polish to his otherwise rugged, sleep-deprived appearance.
I'm now hyper-aware of my own lack of polish. There's nothing to be done about it, though. After a deep breath, I take a few steps closer to the desk.
He’s searching through the contents of another drawer, not really looking at me, as he says, “The details you want to discuss are those regarding your friend, I assume. Her arrival, and her accommodations.”
“Yes.”
“And the details regarding the dragon, too?”
I don't care about the dragon, I want to shout.
But that isn't the answer he wants; this feels like a test, an attempt to see if I'm truly willing to care, to forge any sort of connection with the creature.
“I just want to know how things unfold from here,” I say, carefully.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On how this first week of training goes.”
I clench my jaw, trying not to think about Briar being locked away somewhere in this godsforsaken palace for an entireweek. My obvious concern for her aside, she's never going to let me hear the end of this.
“In the meantime, let's just see if you can stay out of trouble, and resist the urge to try and stab me or anyone else.”
I can't help darting another look at the princess when he saysanyone else.
“You should ignore her insults,” King Reave says, taking out a quill and inkwell, as well as several sheets of parchment. “She just doesn't like outsiders.”
“And I don't like vapid, judgmental, bitchy princesses. So at least we're even.”
“…Do you ever think before you speak?”
“Rarely.”
“Noted.”
“I like to think I speak purely from the heart.”
He smiles slightly. I see no fangs, this time, but it looks monstrous all the same. “Do you know that human hearts are allegedly a dragon's favorite thing to eat?” He dips the quill into the ink, tapping it against the well a few times, his expression darkening. “When I was little, my father used to tell me stories about great rulers who would secure the favor of the creatures by offering them part of that vital organ.”
I swallow hard. “And do the dragons in your skies frequently go scavenging for the hearts of your palace guests?”
“Not unless we forget to feed them.”
