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Arthur knocked his shoulder into the knight in silent rebuke, urging him away from the gaggle of women.
“What?” Tristan complained. “I was just being friendly.”
“How does your Mate feel about your friendliness?” Arthur reminded him.
“Ayelet loves my amicability!” Tristan crowed rather proudly.
“She’s a very high-powered empath. It’s exhausting sometimes. But when she’s with me, she feels nothing but happiness and contentment. Besides, she knows I haven’t a disloyal bone in my body.”
Based on experience, Arthur knew this to be exceedingly true.
After Guinevere was… gone, he, Lancelot and Tristan had many wrongs to right, countless battles to win. He wasn’t the man he used to be during that time. His fits of unprovoked temper were legendary.
But Tristan and Lance stayed by his side. They picked him up when he was down. Literally. As he often drowned his dark memories in mead and ale.
He could well believe that once Tristan found his person, he would never take them for granted. Not for one moment.
No matter how many skirts he’d flipped before he met the One.
“What is that sound?” Dalair said, eyes narrowing at Tristan’s side.
“The sword is singing.”
Indeed, when Tristan unsheathed it, the soft, vibrating ring grew louder. It jerked suddenly toward the right, and Tristan had to hold it in both hands or it would have flown right out of his grip.
“It looks like we’re heading east,” Aella said, squinting in that direction.
“That’s a lot of land to cover,” Tristan mused with awe.
“There doesn’t seem to be an end.”
As they spoke, a noisy buzz sounded right beside Arthur’s ear. He shook his head and swatted at the disturbance.
“Wait!” Aella called out.
She held out her hand, palm down, index finger extended.
The oddest-looking dragonfly landed on her finger. If there were albino insects, Arthur thought this might be one of them.
Its gossamer wings were almost entirely transparent, the veins so delicate they were finer than spider silk. Its body was a myriad of opalescent shimmers, reflecting light yet not really containing any of its own color.
But its eyes were the most disturbing. They looked extremely intelligent for an insect. And just then, they glared at Arthur as if affronted. Perhaps because he’d tried to flatten it with his hand.
“White Dragon,” Aella greeted the bug, smiling fondly.
“It’s so good to see you again.”
Then, before Arthur’s disbelieving eyes, the dragonfly turned into a—well—white dragon!
Its wings were almost the same shape as the dragonfly, but far sturdier by the looks of them. Its face and body looked horse-like, and it even possessed flowing white mane, though its tail was that of a giant lizard.
“Right on time,” Aella praised. “Just as Cloud promised.”
She climbed on top of the carrier dragon with a graceful leap. Dalair and Tristan followed suit.
When Arthur tried to do the same, the dragon huffed at him through two giant nostrils, almost blowing him off his feet.
Aella’s low chuckles reached him as he clambered up on the dragon’s back. Before he was securely seated, White Dragon leapt up with a shove from its powerful hind legs.
