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Isavelle moves to my side and points out a western town closest to the capital. “That’s Joryan. This morning I met a family from there, but the rest of the region?” She draws her finger in a circle, encompassing an area that makes up at least a fifth of Maledin’s landmass. A humble region of dotted villages and a few low-ranked lords, which is doubtless why no one but Isavelle has been beating down my door about it. “I have encountered no one from these towns and villages. Don’t you find that alarming?”
That does seem strange. The people may have fled to the far west, into the vast and empty Silk Reed Plains that belong to neighboring Grendu, or it could be something more sinister could have happened. Killed. Captured. Something else.
“All right,” I say, nodding slowly. “You’ve convinced me that the area should be investigated.”
Her eyes widen in delight. “Really? I can fly to Amriste with my bodyguards?”
“No. You’re flying with me on Scourge. Fiala and Dusan may accompany us to give you additional protection.”
Isavelle’s face falls as I mention my dragon. “On Scourge? Surely you’re too busy.”
I glance out the window at the sky and see that the sun is just tipping past noon. A little over an hour to fly there and the same to come back. The magical barrier is occupying most of my mind, but the people of the west are important too, and if seeing her village for herself is what Isavelle needs to assure herself that she’s doing everything she can to find her family, then I can spare the time.
Besides, if I say no, she’ll go and do it anyway, and at least she’s safe with me.
“I’m never too busy for you,sha’len. But we’ll eat first.” I signal to one of the attendants to bring us food.
Dusan and Fiala both bow and murmur, “Ma’len. Lady Isavelle.”
“Meet us at the dragongrounds and ask Captain Ashton for two more wingrunners to protect Lady Isavelle.”
“Yes,Ma’len,” Fiala says, and she and Dusan leave the room.
There are comfortable chairs by the fire, and I draw my mate that way and invite her to sit down. A few minutes later, the attendant brings platters of bread, fruit, cheese, and sweets, as well as a carafe of watered wine sweetened with winterberry juice. I make up a plate for Isavelle and pass it to her, only to find that her expression is pained and she’s fidgeting. I think I know what’s preoccupying her.
“Scourge will never hurt you, on purpose or by accident,” I assure my mate. “He’s big, but he’s aware of you at all times.”
I’m starting to believe that he purposefully landed with Isavelle safely between his front legs at the funeral pyre because he understood immediately that she must be protected. He sensed her before I did. He scented her before me. My dragon found my mate for me, and if I wasn’t already eternally devoted to Scourge, I would be just for that.
Isavelle twists a grape in her fingers. “I believe you, but it makes me feel so ill to ride on a dragon. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
“I’ll help you so you don’t feel sick, and you don’t need to keep your eyes open.” How sad if Isavelle never discovers for herself the joy of flying. There are Maledinni who never ride, but I always expected that my mate would be a dragonrider.
Isavelle is watching me closely. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you? You want me to love flying, not merely endure it.”
I give her a quick smile. “I don’t care at all. There are a thousand other things we can share. Now, eat.”
As we eat our meal, Isavelle tells me about the people she has encountered and their fears and challenges. “Are you sure you want to hear about villagers and crop planting? These aren’t the kind of people that interest a king.”
They probably didn’t interest King Alaster, and they absolutely didn’t interest my father, but as both those kings met a bloody end, I don’t much care for their preferences. “All my people are important, and I don’t have much time to get to know them at present. You’re helping me immensely. I’m understanding them through you.”
Isavelle considers this, and then continues to tell me about the former Veiled Virgins who are now working in my kitchens, and some refugee men who have shown interest in the wingrunners.
I glance over and see with pleasure that her empty plate is dotted with crumbs. She’s eating well. Her body has healed from all her injuries. She smellsdivine.
Before I can stop myself, I put my arms around Isavelle and scoop her into my lap. She feels softer than she did the first time I held her in my arms, and a golden feeling of happiness spreads through me. “Good girl for eating so well. I just want to squeeze you. I just want toeatyou.”
I imagine the delicious bounce of her breasts as I thrust into her and moan, pressing my face into her neck to inhale even more of her delicious scent.
“Eat me?” she squeaks, her eyes going wide in alarm.
“Yes, the big, bad dragon eating up the princess because he’sravenousfor her. You’re so plump and juicy.”
“Actually, I’m usually bigger than this, and I’ll get that way again if you keep feeding me.”
“Good,” I purr, sliding my hand possessively around her thigh, pulling her closer, and licking slowly up her neck, right over her sensitive gland. I don’t know how sensitive it is yet, but Isavelle gasps softly, and I feel her melt a little in my arms.
There’s a plate of sweets that we haven’t touched yet, so I pick up a creamy tart and hold it for her, watching as she bites into it. “Vru’mai, your mouth is sexy.”
