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It’s a credit to Aiden’s respect as a leader that everyone still believes in him even at this desperate stage of the game. People’s expressions are sober, but hopeful. They still believe we have a chance to win.
As for me…
It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t care much if we win or lose. I just want Aiden to be safe. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. I can’t handle the thought of losing him. I don’t tell him this, but if I could be convinced of his safety, I would almost consider surrendering to Lord Brantley.
No, that’s not true. I remember the hate in Lord Brantley’s eyes when I defied him at the conference with Aiden’s father. I remember his words regarding humans. He sees us as nothing more than animals. He is not only endangering humans, he’s threatening to bring about the end of dragons as a race. Aiden is the only thing left that stands in his way.
I think of the poem, the prophecy that Valentia assured us was about Aiden. I think of Valentia’s exhortation to me, that it is up to me to show Aiden how to breathe fire.
The problem is that I don’t know how to do that. How can I teach him how to breathe fire?
I wonder for the first time if this prophecy might be false. Perhaps this is simply a case of an evil man killing innocent people. That’s certainly not a new problem in history. Perhaps the myths and legends are simply that, and the only chance we have of stopping him is to…
Well, there is no shot. Either there’s a miracle, or we don’t succeed. This prophecy has to be real. If not, we might as well settle in and enjoy the rest of our lives eating canned food and watching DVDs while the rest of the world moves on above our heads.
After the meeting, Aiden and I retire to our chambers. Only when the doors close do I see the despair in his eyes. “I never imagined my father would allow himself to be defeated like that,” he says. “I never imagined he would give in to the demands of a tyrant like Lord Brantley.”
“He’s afraid for his people,” I tell him, “that’s all. He doesn’t want to risk any more death.”
“He won’t prevent death by surrendering,” Aiden counters. “He’ll enable it.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, musing. My heart aches for him. There’s not much I can do to make him feel better, but there is one thing.
I stand in front of him and slip off the dress I’m wearing. His eyes meet mine, and I hold his gaze while I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. I push my panties down and let them all as well. I stand naked in front of him for a moment, then approach him. He slides his hands in between my thighs and brings them up to pull me down onto his mouth.
I gasp when his lips close over me. He suckles me with an urgency born of desperation and frustration. I last less than a minute before my first orgasm explodes. My feet come off of the ground, but he holds me there as though I weigh nothing, his tongue buried in my pussy as I gasp and shudder on top of him.
When he drops me to the bed and begins to thrust into me, I cum again, and this orgasm is so intense that I am grateful for the soundproofing in the room because I scream loudly and moan as the orgasm grows more and more powerful with each passing second.
When he finishes inside me, I grip him with my arms, legs and pussy and grind on him feverishly. “Yes, Aiden,” I moan, “Yes, my love. Fill me up. Cum in me. I’m yours.”
He remains inside me for a long time. I cling to him, desperate to keep him close, savoring in the feel of him as he breathes above me. I think I already know that the day may soon come when I no longer have him.
We fall asleep in that position, and he’s still deep inside me when there’s a knock on our door to let us know that his Majesty the king has arrived. Aiden lifts himself up and covers me with a blanket while he answers the door. Petyr takes no notice of me. Under ordinary circumstances, I would marvel at his ability to ignore everything but his duty. Under these circumstances, I believe I could be naked, legs spread and moaning, and Petyr wouldn’t even realize I was there.
* * *
Aiden
My father is not an old man as far as dragons go, but he appears old when I see him. He manages a smile when he greets me, but I can see the defeat in his eyes. I hate seeing him like this. Throughout my whole life, I’ve looked up to him as an unshakable pillar of strength. He is not just my father. He’s the King. The best king that our kind has ever had.
And now he’s a broken man, and I can’t accept that.
But here it is in front of me, the evidence of just that fact. He arrives alone, with no attendant but the pilot of the airplane he takes here. I hate seeing him like this, but more importantly, I hate what this means for our race, for dragons everywhere.
He meets me in my office. Brooke remains with us, and when the three of us are alone, I say, “The Vault is secure, Your Majesty. The enemy will not find you here.”
“I am no longer a king, son,” my father says. “There is no need to address me as such.”
My eyes narrow. “You must be a king, father. Dragon kind relies on it. The world relies on it. We don’t have the luxury of abandoning our responsibilities because of our suffering.”
“And what of the suffering of others?” Father asks. “How many must die for us before we decide it’s enough?”
“Those who have died did so fighting for their freedom,” I point out, “they would make the same choice again if given the chance.”
“Well, the living have made their choice,” Father counters, “who am I to deny them that right?”
“They made that choice out of fear,” I say, “they are not willing subjects of Lord Brantley’s but his fearful slaves.”
