We are alone in this too long hallway, well apart from some sentient moss, so he doesn’t have to ignore me.
“To meet some dragon riders.”
My feet nearly freeze, but I don’t want to be yanked along by my leash, so somehow I manage to keep moving while my mind scrambles to absorb this new information.
“Did you say dragon riders? As in people who ride dragons?” I squeak.
“Yes.”
The bastard doesn’t even look over his shoulder to acknowledge me. I swear if he wasn’t so hot and so damn good in bed, I’d really, trulyhate him.
“Dragons are real?”
“Yes.”
Well, that’s super helpful. I’ll just have to pester him for information later, when we are back in our rooms. He is far nicer and far more talkative when we are truly alone.
Right now, we are sweeping out into an enormous courtyard. The very same one we began our carriage trip through London in. There is no carriage in sight today, or any shadow beasts. In fact, Rhydian and I are the only people in this vast exposed space.
The sun is shining and a warm breeze ruffles my hair. It smells like spring. And it just smells good. Not like London at all. Far fresher and cleaner. The bird song sounds more vibrant too. I wonder if strange birds from the fey realm are settling in with English birds. That would be quite something.
A shadow falls over the sun, and Rhydian looks up. I follow his gaze and then immediately huddle up to him and cling onto his arm. My heart is pounding. My legs are shaking. I think my bladder and bowels might give up. Some ancient primal part of me that formed when humans were tiny mammals cowering from dinosaurs, is convinced I am about to die.
Three dragons are circling in the sky. One is gold, one emerald green, and the other is coal black. Real live dragons. With wings and scales and everything.
The air in the courtyard whips up into a mini tornado as the dragons land. Bits of dirt and small stones are flying everywhere. I bury my face into Rhydian’s arm and hope for the best.
I don’t look up until I hear Rhydian say, “Greetings. Welcome to Buckingham Palace.”
As I look up, my attention is fully taken by the three men standing in front of me, I barely even glance at the dragons behind them, because, oh my god, these guys are super hot.
They look human, and all three of them are wearing tight black leather, head to toe. One has long flame red hair and looks like a super sexy twink. One has short brown curly hair, biceps to die for and a cool tattoo that zig zags down his muscled arm. The third is tall and slender with pale blond hair falling to his shoulders. His eyes are dazzling emerald green and he seems to be staring at me instead of Rhydian.
I swallow tightly and step even closer to Rhydian. Even though I’m already close enough to be his shadow.
Rhydian turns on his heels and leads us to a large room just inside the palace. The huge windows look out onto the courtyard and the three waiting dragons. That’s thoughtful of Rhydian, and bound to put the riders’ minds at ease.
Mabon and Tristan are already in the meeting room. Everyone takes a seat at the large round table. The dragonriders at one end and the princes and me at the other. I’m so glad there is a chair for me next to Rhydian. Kneeling in view of these riders would be horribly humiliating, in a way I haven’t felt before. I don’t know what it is about these men, but they make me feel deeply ashamed of my collar and leash. Perhaps it is simply because they keep staring at me, whereas usually, fey give me a cursory glance and then ignore my existence.
Tristan moves his hand in an intricate gesture and a crystal ball that is set in the middle of the table begins to glow. I thought it was merely ornamental. Pine cones andsprigs of rosemary encircle it. It is a pretty display, but clearly that is not its only purpose.
“Now we can understand each other’s words,” says Tristan.
My ear lobes twinge. Fucking fey bastards. They didn’t need to torture me. All this time and a glowing crystal could have done the same job as these silver threads in my ears?
The riders glance at the crystal uneasily. A tense silence falls, and then a troop of servants bustle in and set the table with an array of cheese, grapes and drinks. The riders don’t even look at the food. Their hands remain firmly under the table. The one with green eyes keeps staring at me.
“Who is this?” he asks as soon as the servants leave.
“My pet,” says Rhydian calmly. “The first-born son of Graham Grantham.”
I probably shouldn’t squirm, but I can’t help it. I’m not used to being the centre of attention.
The one with green eyes glares at Rhydian. I think he is the rider’s leader. He is sat in the middle and he exudes authority.
“Humans are not your playthings,” snaps the rider leader.
Rhydian shrugs elegantly. “Taking pets does not negate the terms of our agreement. My oath to you was to not harm you or yours. Jamie and other mundanes are not your people.”
