Did it leave because he commanded it away?
“It's late,” the king says, his attention falling back to me. “You should be in your room, resting.” His gaze sweeps over my body, catching on the particularly impressive bruise that spans across my right jaw. “Don't you have training you need to be prepared for?”
“Don't you have a kingdom to run? Innocents to terrorize? Wasteful, hedonistic parties to throw?” I will myself not to shrink as his eyes narrow in warning. “All things you should probably be resting up for, too, as long as we're giving one another unsolicited counsel.”
“Luckily, I'm so talented at all these things that I can do them in my sleep. Particularly that last one.” His eyes are still narrowed, his tone walking a dangerous line between displeasure and dark amusement.
I hesitate. I’m irritated about how little we’ve spoken these past days, about Briar and otherwise, but I know I need to tread carefully.
Before I can decide on a safe response, we're interrupted by a soldier racing up to us. He gives a hasty bow to his king, then casts an uncertain glance at me as he says, “I have a message from the Outer Guard, Your Majesty.”
I expect dismissal. To my surprise, Reave gestures for him to relay his message despite my presence.
“Th-There was a breach at the East District Gate,” he says, still catching his breath. “We lost several soldiers. The assailants are now contained, and no threat to the city any longer…but we think it might have been a distraction from their real target. We're trying to track down a few suspicious figures we saw moving toward the palace earlier.”
“And our own perimeters?”
“Secured.”
“Well, secure them again. And make sure Commander Gareth is briefed on the situation; he should have returnedfrom his business in Dunnal by now. I'll see to the security of the main gates myself.”
“Very good, sire.” With another hasty bow, the soldier hurries away.
Without a moment of hesitation, Reave starts toward the aforementioned gates at a brisk pace.
“Someone is trying to break into the palace?” I ask, jogging after him.
He cuts me a slightly exasperated look—as if he was hoping I wouldn't follow him—but he surprises me again by actually sharing information. “Your dragon has attracted a bit of attention, unfortunately.”
“Attention?”
“From filthy rebel groups who would rather see both you and the creature dead before either of you recognizes your power and potential. They've been increasing in number over the past few days, and it seems they're getting bolder now, too.”
I try to steel my expression into something fearless.
I don't think I quite manage it, because he quietly adds, “You're safe as long as you're within these walls. Don't worry.”
I nod, but I'm far from reassured. And it isn't just my own safety I'm thinking about—it's the larger picture. All the questions I can't seem to find answers to.
There is a reason the king needs you, Gareth said.
A reason that apparently makes me a target.
If Mouren is so blessed by the gods and their dragons, then why is my existence causing such upheaval? Is the power I supposedly represent really that much greater than what they already have? Is it really so threatening?
“The dragons gathered in the skies near the edge of the city…are they under your command?”
He slows for half a step, tension rippling through his shoulders. Maybe it's the poor lighting playing tricks on my one good eye, but I think I see something like unease flash across his face. He masks it quickly.
His voice is quiet but confident when he finally answers. “Yes; they serve this city. They have long protected it from harm, and they always will.”
“Even if thesefilthy rebelscontinue to grow in number and confidence?”
He doesn’t reply.
I grab his arm, jerking him to a stop.
And it happens again, just as it did the night we met: a twitch in his jaw, a flash of darkness in his pale eyes…and then an obvious, violent rippling of his muscles that’s accompanied by a wave of cold magic.
