“The dragon of the hour,” Aeson declares evenly, and then his gaze languidly roves over me, taking in every inch of Fenox’s hard work.
His perusal momentarily pauses on the skin of my exposed shoulders before slowly drifting higher to my neck. With some effort, he once again meets my hard stare, but the look now blazing in his eyes is incendiary.
“You look…” He pauses, almost as though he’s at a loss for words, but I’m not buying it. I know what game he’s playing now, and if he thinks a barrage of flowery compliments are the key to my vagina, he’s in for a rude awakening.
“Hungry,” I insert for him, taking in the platters and trays teeming with food, which are spread across the wide table in front of him.
Aeson chuckles, and his smile grows just shy of wicked. “I was going to say stunning, buthungryhas the right ring to it. I too find myself suddenly famished.”
A few quiet laughs move through the room at his innuendo. I have to work not to roll my eyes or glare at any of the other drakes grouped around the table.And we’re off, I declare in my mind like some commentator reporting on a race. The commander is out of the starting gate first, but he won’t claim victory that easily. Let him think he can keep me under his thumb because I’m too moon-eyed and lovesick to see what’s really happening, but I’ve got my own tricks up my sleeve.
Aeson moves to an empty chair on his right and pulls it out. “Have a seat. I’ll introduce you to everyone, and then we can eat before we get started.”
I debate for a second if I should be a good girl and go sit by him, but I don’t want to give in too soon and start mooning over him. That would be too obvious. I need to time my shift fromcautious and distrustfultofalling for his shitjust right. That way, he won’t see that I’m pulling the rug out from under him until he’s on his ass.
“Started with what?” I ask as I cross the room to a different empty chair before pointedly pulling it out for myself and sitting in it.
The big male next to me tries to stifle his chortle as I make myself comfortable, but Aeson’s smile doesn’t drop from his face. He pats the back of the rejected chair once and then reclaims his seat at the head of the table before looking over at me.
“Ogdan didn’t tell you?” he questions, his focus drifting from me to the redhead in the black scale armor, who’s now standing at attention in the far corner.
“Your Wing isn’t currently talking to me,” I inform the commander before eyeing the spread of steaming dishes before me and plotting a war path of which ones I want to conquer first.
That statement lures the attention of Commander Ventis, the older female with salt-and-pepper hair, smooth skin, and light blue eyes, who’s sitting on my other side. The Syphons don’t have as much information about her as some of the other commanders. It’s tempting to try to fill in some of the blanks our spies couldn’t, but asking for her life story and then quizzing her about battle strategy is a bad move to make right now.
“And why is the scion’s Wing not talking to you?” she asks.
I shrug. “They think I’m some bobble-headed princess who doesn’t respect them.”
“And are you?” Commander Drazyn asks from across the table, his striking bronze stare assessing.
“A bobble-headed princess? No. But they’re right about me not fully respecting them,” I confess.
Tove snorts and shakes her head. The other drakes around the table clock it but don’t say anything. I can’t tell if they’re bothered by her departure from typical guard decorum or if this kind of thing is normal here. Aeson’s relationship with his Wing so far has been very lax and unpretentious. I’m a little surprised to see the other drakes embrace that kind of leadership too.
“Why don’t you respect them? They’re Wing, Royal Wing to boot; that alone should earn some level of esteem and deference,” Commander Zeir presses, leaning back in his chair so he can get a better look at me even though I’m sitting right next to him. He sets his burly hands in his lap, and I note the dragon mark on both of his forearms, a honeycomb pattern of black, gray, and skin-tone hexagons covering every exposed inch of his limbs.
I blow out an exasperated breath. I guess we’re not going to eat before moving on to whatever it is we’re here to do. Taking into account that I’m sitting at a table with five of The Horde’s top commanders, I’m pretty sure I’m here to be interrogated. They’d probably phrase it asanswering a few questions over dinner, but it is what it is, regardless of their attempts to make things appear more casual by opting out of wearing their scale armor.
Like I wouldn’t know who they were without it.
“For starters, I don’t trust them because they don’t trust me,” I answer, looking from Commander Zeir to Ogdan. “That, and their loyalties lie with someone else. They’ve been assigned to protect me, and that’s all well and good, but none of them knows me well enough to do the job right, and not one of them has taken the time to figure that out. They’ve made a fair number of assumptions about me, probably based on conversations they’ve been privy to that I haven’t.”
I look pointedly at Aeson for a beat and then level all of my attention on Tove. Her scowl deepens.
“A protective detail is more than just babysitting. Does your Charge freeze, fight, or flee when faced with danger? Do they cry? Do they scream? What’s their experience with high-pressure, volatile situations? Can they throw a punch? Handle a weapon? Do they possess any other skills that could help or hinder a life-or-death situation? Will they listen to you? The better you know your Charge, the better you can protect them. Guards who show zero interest in knowing who you are as a person, are guards who aren’t truly invested in your survival.”
“You sound like you have some experience with that,” Commander Galerus—the youngest leader out of the group—observes.
I nod and study Aeson for a moment. He and Lorn were careful not to speak to me about anything sensitive until we were in Aeson’s rookery. I assume that the presence of these commanders here means they are trusted by the scion, but better to be safe than sorry.
“What do they know?” I ask the commander bluntly.
“They’ve been brought up to speed, and this room is secure,” Aeson answers without missing a beat.
I nod and turn back to Galerus. “For my first visit to Four Tiers, my father assigned a protective detail. They were members of the Wing that watched over my brothers. The night we were attacked, those guards sought out the boys they’d been protecting for well over a decade, and they did everything they could to whisk them to safety. However, in all the madness and chaos, those guards forgot all about me. So, yes, I’d say I’m speaking from experience. Knowing your Charge, caring about them, makes you a more effective line of defense, and that’s the only kind of protection anyone should ever trust.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ogdan’s head drop a little, and the room grows quiet with introspection.
