My brows narrow in, yanking my arm from his grip. “We almost died Florian—”
“Prince Florian,” he interrupts, and his eyes glance over to his father, almost seeking an approval that I’m sure has never been there.
“Sorry,Prince Florian,” I grunt. “We almost died. And if those dragons are normally not out there, I feel as if a King should be worried about that. But also…”
Wait. A damn. Minute.
Remembering what Koen had said earlier, a light bulb switches on in my head. I turn on my toes, glaring at the man that had hit me over the head with a broken branch and realize… he thought I was a dragon shifter?
“Did you say…dragon shifters?”
“Where did you find this one again?” The King stands, his towering body walking over to the three of us.
“Out in the fields past the village.” Koen’s shoulders arch back, raising his chin high as the King walks up to us.
The King lets out a sigh, his silver eyes scanning me from the ground up. “Koen, take her to get changed. I need to speak to your brother in private.” His hand gestures to us to leave. “She can not meet the Queen of Azure dressed in…this.”
I let out a bellowing laugh. “I am not going anywhere with him.”
Koen licks his bottom lip before a smirk plays along his lips. His thick arms cross in front of his chest as he looks over to his brother. “Well, she’s a feisty one.”
Florian scuffs. “You have no idea, brother.”
Chapter 8
“The Deskyiara line must always survive. If the bloodline vanishes from the Realms, pure chaos will scoop the lands. The Gods will rain fire upon the Realms for what they have done.” - Book of Azure
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” I exclaim.
My eyes widen as they take in the onyx attire suit spread elegantly across the king-size bed. I’m sure if I crawled into the velvet, silver sheets, I would be lost forever.It’s massive.Maybe being lost from this world wouldn’t be such a bad thing right now.
The suit gleams with a slick sheen, its rich, inky black fabric capturing the dim light of the room by the dark chandelier above. My finger glides over the indentations of the suit, my fingers rising and falling every few seconds. The design is similarto what Prince Florian wore, and the dragon-like scales are what catch my attention the most.
But as my finger gradually brushes the scales, I begin to wonder… why do they add dragon scales to their suits?
My eyes trail around, finding dark, midnight canopies cascading elegantly from the ceiling. The bed's towering wooden posts are crafted from dark, charcoal wood, each one intricately etched with dragon-like scales that shimmer subtly.
My lips form a tight line, my fingers grasping at the sheets before letting out a deep sigh. “Nope. I’m not wearing this.” I let out a frantic laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Put it on.”
I jump a few inches off the slick, cobblestone ground, my hand clutching my chest as I lose my balance, tumbling against the side of the bed frame to steady myself. Koen leans casually against the wooden doorframe, his arms folded across his ripped chest in a relaxed, yet confident manner. It makes my eyes roll, but his gaze is fixed intently on me. There is a quiet intensity in his eyes that makes my stomach twist. Unsure if it's anger. Frustration.Or something else.
A single strand of hair has escaped from his messily-tied bun, swaying softly in the air just in front of his eye, catching the light from the chandelier above. Adding a touch of rugged charm to his composed demeanor. Hisarrogantdemeanor.
Next time, it’ll be me hitting him over the head with a broken branch.
“Can I not have privacy?” I lean into the wooden bed frame, gripping it tightly so I don’t rush over there and attack him. Constantly reminding myself of the last time I hit him, when his body felt like steel. The bones in my hands still ache with pain.
“Nope.” He strides in with ease, using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. The door responds with a resoundingslam, echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, and I instinctively flinch by the sudden noise.
Damn.What the hell is he doing?
My eyes stay glued on him, watching his every step as he walks past me to the arched window that overlooks the snowy terrain.
“This was my mother’s room.” He clears his throat, his finger gliding along the charcoal window sill before rubbing it together. Dust scatters in the air. I notice markings along his wrist, hidden by his sleeves.
“The Queen?”
