Page 66 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

But Grange had a plan for that too—inside the backpack over his shoulder. Some nice, targeted explosives.

Reaching the dungeon, he used the Key to set wards around the room, to keep either of the Al-Maddeiri dragons from sensing the magic he was about to use.

Then he activated the Key, opened a portal, and walked through. He’d take care of this one last task, and be back before morning.

Chapter 33

Trish was up early, working in the lab. With the rest of the team gone, she’d been working even more hours trying to get a handle on the toxin and what it was doing to Emon’s wound.

Everyone in the castle was upset and on edge. Trish still didn’t know if she believed that the researcher really was the guilty one, but she did know that the hurt and betrayal Emon felt had made his wound worse.

He still made love to her, but the playful humor was gone, replaced by dark ferocity followed by an almost desperate tenderness.

She was just rubbing her bleary eyes when Grange appeared in the doorway, holding a coffee tray. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I thought you might be able to use this.”

“You are a prince among—well, among princes and princesses,” she said. He set it down on the lab table and Trish poured herself a mug. “Thanks.”

Even Grange had been affected by the upsets in the castle. His golden glow had dimmed, and his usually friendly and open face looked wary. “How’s the prince?” he asked.

Trish waggled her hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Not that good. He hasn’t even been sleeping on the roof the last couple of nights—just spends half the night flying around in the dark. I’m worried about him, to tell you the truth.”

Grange nodded. “Me too. I’d hoped being with you would help mitigate his Al-Maddeiri instability, but…” He let the words trail off.

Trish wanted to punch him in his friendly innocent face. Emon was not going to slide off into insanity, just because something in his life had gone wrong. “He’ll be okay,” she said. “It will just take a little time.”

Grange gave a little shrug, like Emon had always been a lost cause and she’d figure it out sooner or later. She wanted to punch him again, which was probably wrong of her, because he’d just brought her coffee.

Grange’s communicator went off with a hollow musical sound. He glanced at Trish, then answered. “Head Steward here,” he said. She could hear a soft murmuring as someone on the other end talked to him.

Trish went back to her tests. The sooner she could figure out how to counteract this damn toxin, the sooner she could prove Grange wrong.

Emon had been out most of the night, flying. He knew Trish hated it when he left her in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep. All that rage and helplessness and betrayal just sloshed around inside him, eating him up from inside.

It was a race to see which would devour him first—the inner wound or the outer one. Somehow even being with Trish didn’t make it better anymore.

His dragon said.

Cage her, you mean? She’d be better off without us.

Fucking dreamer. Which was a thing he’d never though he’d say about his dragon.

Trish wasn’t in their rooms, so he headed for the lab. Grange was there, just finishing a call on his communicator when Emon arrived.

“Thank goodness you’re here, your Highness. I just got a call from the iron mines out at the eastern edge of the territory,” Grange said. “There was a major rock slide. Some kind of earth tremor collapsed part of the mine, and blocked off the main road access. It sounds pretty bad.”

Fuck. He could have sworn those mountains were stable. “Was anyone killed? Are there workers trapped in the mine?”

Grange shook his head. “I don’t think so. It happened just an hour ago, before the daily shift started. According to the mine manager, the main problem is the rubble covering the road. They’re cut off—no food, no extra supplies, no help from the neighboring communities. They’re asking if you—your dragon—could come out and clear the road for them. And maybe help them dig out the mine? If they have to do it themselves, production could be halted for weeks.”

his dragon grumbled.

A King of the Draken without other Draken subjects to do our dirty work, Emon said. We’re going to have to do it ourselves.

Emon suppressed a smile. Talk to Mayah about that. If you’re nice, she’ll probably give you one. She can paint little flowers on your claws with nail polish.