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85
Kaitlyn
The banquet in my honor was held in the Feasting Hall—another area of the palace which was built to Drake-sized proportions, apparently because the nobles and royals were expected to attend in Drake form. Ari came to get me from my room and escorted me there, but once we got to the doorway of the huge marble room—bigger than two football fields put together—he gave his expensive robe to a servant and abruptly turned into his Drake.
The Drake turned and nosed me anxiously and I could feel him asking if I was all right. Ari had asked the same thing but I hadn’t wanted to worry him, so I had lied and said I was fine.
With the Drake, it was different. There was no lying to him because the moment I touched his skin, he knew everything I was feeling, just as I knew everything he was feeling. The emotional bond was both deep and somewhat disconcerting, but it was comforting as well. Comforting to know and be known so completely while understanding that the one who knew me loved me unconditionally at the same time.
“I’m worried,” I told him softly, as I stroked the velvety skin of his long muzzle. “I’m afraid the people are going to hate me because they think I’ll ask you to do something terrible and you’ll do it, just because you love me so much.”
The Drake acknowledged that he loved me more than his own life—I was his most perfect treasure and I must be protected at all costs. But he pointed out that he would not have chosen me if I was the kind of person who would ask him to do terrible things.
This made me feel somewhat better but the problem still remained.
“But the people that you and Ari will rule over don’t know that about me,” I pointed out. “They don’t know I won’t use your power for my own ends.”
The Drake assured me that they would get to know me—it would simply take time. I must be patient. In the meanwhile, we must take our place at the banquet.
He picked me up carefully in one taloned forehand and put me on his back before proceeding to lope gracefully, in that sinuous, cat-like walk of his, over to the spot at the head table which had been reserved for us.
There were actually two tables set up, though. One was huge and about ten feet off the ground. It was clearly meant for the Drakes because enormous platters of fresh meat and bowls of clear water as big as bathtubs were already placed at intervals along it.
The second table was human-sized and obviously meant for the Drakes’ mates. It was placed on top of the first table, right in the center, with a good view of the rest of the Feasting Hall. I saw that Ari’s mother was already seated there, looking regal in robes that matched the scarlet and gold scales of her husband’s Drake. There were several other noblewomen on either side of her but the seat directly to her right was empty. That was my place, Ari’s Drake informed me. The queen-to-be always sat to the right of the current queen, apparently.
There was an empty place for the Drake, too, to the right of his Sire who looked at me and snorted disapprovingly.
Being disapproved of by a creature that could eat me in one bite was more than a little frightening, but my Drake informed me that no male would ever touch another male’s L’lorna—it was simply unheard of. He promised me I would be safe before depositing me gently beside the empty chair at the human-sized table and taking his own place behind me, at the larger Drake’s table the smaller table was placed upon. I could feel his comforting presence at my back and it made me feel much better as I took my seat.
“Hello, my dear,” Ari’s mother greeted me calmly. Raising her voice a bit, she called to the other noblewomen and introduced me as her son’s L’lorna. Most of the women simply nodded at me with neutral expressions on their faces. But one of them—a woman with flashing black eyes who was wearing a poison-green gown—glared at me with a face full of hatred.
“I know who she is,” she snapped, when Ari’s mother said my name. “This is the little puta who got mi hijo, Pedro, marked for life and kicked out of that expensive school in the human world!”
“Sasha! Watch your tongue—you are speaking of the L’lorna of the Alpha-to-be!” Ari’s mother sounded genuinely angry on my behalf, which I appreciated.
The other woman, who had to be Pedro Sanchez’s mother, said nothing but only stared daggers at me some more. I wondered what she meant by her son being “marked” but then I remembered, uneasily, the handprint Megan had left on Pedro Sanchez’s cheek when she slapped him for hitting me in the face with a football and laughing about it.
