“It’s a day when past victories are commemorated,” I explain. “The Empress hosts a State Banquet for all the most important families in the realm – many of whom have lost relatives in past battles.”
“But she ordered us to come here immediately. We need to talk to her urgently.”
Sir Cecil looks down his nose at our thrall and says nothing.
Dray pushes past me, cracking his knuckles as he does, making it clear he’d like to slam his fist into the old man’s stupid face and send him flying straight into next week. I understand. I’ve never liked my mother’s right-hand man. He’s always been cold and calculating. I’d like to punch him myself. However, I doubt that will get us very far. Luckily, Dray adopts his most charming smile. “Yeah, but surely the Empress has time for her son.”
“The Empress has many sons and many daughters,” Sir Cecil says haughtily.
Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see everyone in our little group gaze towards me and despite my best efforts, my shoulders stiffen.
“My mother has seven sons, but she always makes time for me,” Dray says, stepping further forward and landing his hand on the old guard’s shoulder, which has his, as well as his officers’ fingers twitching, their magic prickling in the air. “Because I’m the best she has.” Dray squeezes Sir Cecil’s shoulder tight enough to hurt, although the old guard is stubborn and his face does not betray any pain. “And as Beaufort is clearly the most handsome, most talented and cleverest of her sons, I’m sure she’s going to want to see him too.”
Sir Cecil gives Dray that look people give him when they’re not sure if he’s sane. Dray gives him his widest grin to show him in no unclear terms that he is not and that he doesn’t want to fuck with him. Attacking the Empress’s Head of Guards would probably lose Dray his head, but he could do a lot of damage before it got to that point.
“I will go now and speak with the Empress,” Sir Cecil finally concedes, “Fletcher here will escort you to your quarters.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Yeah thanks, Cecil.” Dray pats his cheek. The old guard looks like he wants to knee my bond brother in the bollocksbut that’s the difference between him and Dray. Dray would do it and Cecil won’t. He’s too strongly bound up by protocol and rules and all that bullshit that’s been drummed into me too, ever since the day I was cut from the Empress’s womb and whisked a way to a waiting wet-nurse.
Sir Cecil marches off and I shake my head.
“Shit, man. Do you have to be such a prick? It’s not going to win us any favors. He’ll probably go out of his way to ensure she doesn’t see us until the end of the day.”
Briony squeaks in dismay.
“He was the one being a prick – saying you couldn’t see your own mom. Looking at Briony like she was pond scum. Locking up her dragon.”
“It’s how things work around here – we’re not in the prairie lands now, and this isn’t some pack gathering.”
We’re so busy glowering at each other, we don’t notice one of the other guards move forward and offer his hand to Briony.
“Ma’am,” he says, “if you’d like to follow me.”
Dray and I stare at each other again and then we’re attempting to barge the guard away. He’s about our size, dark-skinned, dressed in a uniform that’s stiff with starch and gleaming with buttons.
“Hands off our thrall,” Dray growls.
Briony takes no notice of him.
“I can’t leave Blaze,” she tells the guard.
“Blaze?” he says, peering at Fly over the top of her head.
Fly rolls his eyes. “She’s talking about the big scaly one. The one you’ve chained up.”
Briony walks over to the dragon, shushing him as she comes closer, until he settles down and she’s able to weave her hand through the muzzle and run her palm up and down his long snout.
The officer – who must be at least five years older than us – stares at her like she’s the first woman he’s ever seen. Which I get. Briony is beautiful, stunning and in Thorne’s oversized shirt, the waist pinched in and showing off her curves, damn sexy – but that doesn’t mean he gets to stare at her that way. She belongs to us.
“We have to follow orders,” the guard says, obviously attempting to pacify her. “I can assure you, my men will take great care of him. In fact, I will take personal responsibility for his care.”
“Really?” Briony says, chewing on her lip as the dragon nuzzles her head.
It has some of the guards bristling uncomfortably. Briony’s head is millimeters from the dragon’s sharp teeth. One snap of his powerful jaws and she’d be no more. However, Briony seems oblivious to the danger. She trusts the dragon intensely – just like she trusts the professor. I don’t know if that makes her a fool or not.
“I give you my word.” He lays his hand across his chest and bows his head as if she’s royalty. It makes her blush and I wonder if this creep has things worked out far better than I do. Maybe if I’d played it this way with Briony right at the beginning, there would have been a lot fewer arguments and far less fireworks.
