Another dragon whips past us, and just like with all the others, I turn my head toward the sky, close my eyes, and wait to see if my dragon will react to the other’s presence. I search my depths for the shattered pieces of what I am, hoping against hope that they’ll magically awaken and I can be one step closer to being whole…but nothing happens.
My eyes flash open and I exhale an annoyed breath. I wanted to see if all of the roaring, trumpeting, and revealing might have an effect on me. If it might call to my dormant other half the way Aeson’s been able to since I got here. It was worth exploring, but so far, there’s been nary a stir or a peep of anything in me other than frustration and a growing headache. A fact that’s really killing my theory that my reactions could be a proximity-to-dragons thing and not specifically an Aeson thing.
Unfortunately, it seems like that fucker is special. I just wish I knew how and why.
“Scion Noctis approaching,” someone declares loudly, like an ancient herald demanding everyone rise to pay respects to the incoming royal.
“Think of the devil and he shall appear,” I mumble peevishly, ignoring the flutter that starts in my stomach.
I don’t turn around to greet the commander, still not quite ready to see or speak to him after what happened yesterday. I’m not even sure what to say. It’s just my luck that the only instincts that seem to be waking up from their long cursed sleep are the insatiable horny dragon ones and not the big, scary, scaled kind.
Part of me is tempted to call Aeson out for setting me up, for wanting to use me. And another part of me is tempted to let him…to see if riding his cock will release my dragon.
I snort out a laugh.
What if the key to breaking the curse isn’t based on blood and bloodlines like we thought? Maybe the solution is of the fairy-tale variety—only it isn’t true love’s kiss that sets us free, it’s dragon dick.
I shake my head at myself. I really need some sleep. At least one night free of any nightmares or jolting awake in a panic until I realize that I’m not in a cell anymore. Maybe then I’d be able to get my head on straight and stop thinking about Aeson…and his lips, his voice, that possessive way he looks at me, his body…
“My brother will be glad to hear that you’re taking the selection of your Wing so seriously.”
I jolt in surprise and turn to find Lorn Noctis standing over my shoulder. My lurid thoughts hastily skitter away at the sight of the heir, and I bat at the irritating buzz of disappointment that tries to dive-bomb me.
“He was worried you’d still be difficult even though you lost your…little agreement,” Lorn continues, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Me, difficult?” I chirp. “That doesn’t sound right at all.”
Lorn tilts his head like he’s conceding to my point, but his grin is cheeky. “You’ve certainly been quiet since you got here. I expected at least one escape attempt by now.”
I don’t bristle at the implication that he’s had eyes on me. I knew I was being watched—hence the being quiet—but it’s still vexing as fuck that he’s so comfortable with brazenly pointing it out. What’s worse is that I can’t tell if he’s simply being factual or reminding me not to step out of line.
I wave off his comment. “I considered it, but then the royal chef introduced me to her boysenberry cheesecake, and I decided it might be worth sticking around for a bit.”
Lorn chuckles. “That’s Aeson’s favorite dessert too,” he tells me, and I likethateven less than the reminder that I’m always being watched.
“I never said it was my favorite; I just said it was worth delaying my plans for a day or two,” I correct while casually examining my nail beds.
Lorn’s eyes glitter with amusement, but it’s not the same kind of gleam that tells me he’s into this kind of back-and-forth. It’s the look of a predator that thinks it’s diverting to watch its prey put up a fight. The cat is happy to let the mouse struggle. It might even let it go a few times for the entertainment of watching the mouse frantically try to scurry away before being caught again. But eventually the cat’s going to get bored and bite the little mouse’s head off, and that will be that. I wonder when Lorn will flash his teeth at me?
“I’ll have the cooks send up their almond tart next, or maybe their chocolate fudge cake. See if we can convince you to give us a few more weeks of your time,” Lorn teases, moving to the end of the bench I’m sitting on, but he doesn’t sit down.
I think he likes the height advantage it gives him, not that I’m any closer to bridging the gap even when I’m standing. Both Noctis brothers are huge.
“Not a lot of cheesecake down in The Scorch?” Lorn asks evenly, like it’s a throwaway question meant to keep the conversation going and nothing more.
I know better.
“Not a lot of cake or indulgences of any kind, outside of the brothels,” I answer, content to stick to inane subjects instead of broaching any of the more important topics I’m sure he’s here to press me about.
“What do you get, then? Food-wise, not in the brothels,” he clarifies with a smirk.
“Snake meat and dune boar,” I answer, not missing the desert cuisine even a little.
I’m careful to select two things that won’t point to a specific region or help Lorn glean any other details about where exactly I grew up. I know The Horde is actively searching The Scorch for wyverns and anything else they can find. Last I heard, they were still coming up empty, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Lorn winces. “Sounds…gamey.”
I huff out a hollow laugh. “Accurate description.”
