He nodded over his younger brother’s shoulder, and Julius cringed. In the excitement of escaping his mother, he’d completely forgotten about her final “gift.” Sure enough, when he turned around, the F was right behind him, standing at attention with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Fight well,” Conrad said, walking into Bethesda’s rooms.
That was not a farewell that made Julius feel better, but Conrad was already gone, leaving him alone with the strange, stern dragon.
“I’m ready to begin whenever you are, Great Julius,” Fredrick said respectfully. “Great Bethesda has closed her door, but there’s a dressing room down the hall we can use.”
By the time he finished, Julius was seriously creeped out. He’dneverhad a dragon act this deferential to him before. Then again, though, he’d never been important before. Frieda acted like this toward Bethesda all the time, which, now that he thought about it, struck him as terrifyingly unnatural. He was proof that not all dragons were aggressive, but this kind of subservience was justwrong. What had Bethesda done to F-clutch to make them act this way? He was still wondering about it when he realized Fredrick was waiting for an answer.
“T-Thank you,” he stammered belatedly. “But, I think I’m good. Um, you can go.”
“With all respect, Great Julius, I cannot go,” the dragon replied in a clipped, dry voice. “The Great Bethesda has ordered me to instruct you in the workings of the clan so that you are not an embarrassment to her. She also asked that I make sure that you are properly dressed.”
From the look in his eyes, it was clear Fredrick thought that last part was going to be the real challenge, but Julius wasn’t interested. “Well, I’m technically equal to Bethesda now, and I say it’s fine,” he said, doing his best to sound authoritative. “And please don’t call me ‘Great Julius.’ It’s ridiculous.”
“It is the proper title with respect to your position.” the dragon said, arching a narrow eyebrow. “Do you not want to learn?”
“It’s not that,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just that I…”don’t want to learn about the clan from Bethesda’s spy. “I’m busy,” he said instead. “Would it be possible to just get a run-down of the stuff she wants me to know instead? Maybe a list of all the Heartstrikers and their important details? That way I could learn what I need while I do other things, and you could get on with your day. I’m sure you have lots of your own work waiting.”
Fredrick pulled himself even taller. “Until I receive orders to the contrary, youaremy work, Great Julius. You overthrew Bethesda the Heartstriker. That makes you the most important member of this clan, as well as its most obvious target. I cannot allow such a critical dragon to remain ignorant and vulnerable.”
Julius stared at him in bafflement. That was not the response he’d expected, and it raised a lot of questions he didn’t feel equal to sorting through right now. He was tired of dragon drama and caring about clans. He was just tired in general. All he wanted to do was go back downstairs to Marci, who should be getting out soon.
“Allow me to dress you properly, at least,” Fredrick said, his clipped voice tinged with the slightest hint of desperation. “This vote is a critical moment for our clan. Fang or no, if you show up looking likethat”—he gestured at Julius’s plain cotton shirt and jeans—“no one will respect you. If they do not respect you, they will not listen, and if they will not listen, none of your plans will work.” He shook his head. “I cannot permit the most pivotal event in Heartstriker history since the Great Bethesda killed her father to collapse into chaos simply because you are too young and too impatient to dress appropriately. Sir.”
The obviously appendedsircame out with a growl, making Julius step back in surprise. Either Fredrick was a very good actor, or he really, actually cared about the vote. Given his clutch’s closeness to Bethesda, the first was far more likely, but Julius latched on to the second possibility all the same, because it gave him hope. Before this moment, no one else seemed to care about the vote save for how they could use it to their own benefit. But if there was even the chance Fredrick actually wanted to change the clan, too, that made him an automatic ally in Julius’s mind. Not a trusted one, but still someone who deserved a chance.
“Okay,” Julius said, taking a deep breath. “What did you have in mind?”
The F flashed him a tight-lipped smile and motioned for Julius to follow him down one of the small halls that branched off the throne room. Not having spent much time at all in this part of the mountain due to his previous position as a failure, Julius had no idea where they were going until Fredrick opened a small, unassuming door hidden behind one of Bethesda’s tapestries to reveal a well-appointed dressing room complete with a couch, wall-to-wall mirrors, and a bathroom larger than Julius’s old bedroom.
“What’s this?”
“A complimentary suite for visiting dragons,” Fredrick said proudly. “Bethesda has found that her own prestige goes up when her visitors look their best.” He walked into the bathroom, which was covered in wall-to-wall gold and cerulean-glazed ceramic tiles. “I thought we’d start with a bath. I don’t wish to offend, sir, but you reek of human, and that is not wise. It projects weakness.”
Julius couldn’t help laughing at that. “You haven’t heard much about me, have you?”
“I’ve heard enough,” Fredrick replied as he started the bath. “Undress, please. We have much to do, and yousaidyou were in a hurry.”
“I did…” he agreed hesitantly. “But, um, I can bathe myself.”
“But I’ll do it better and faster,” Fredrick said. “I can also cut your hair at the same time, which you cannot. Now.” His eyes narrowed. “In.”
After Fredrick’s unnatural subservience in the throne room, hearing the typically draconic bossiness was almost a relief. Julius still didn’t like being ordered, or being naked around a strange dragon, but he was tired of fighting, so he just went along, hopping into the tub to let himself be scrubbed and trimmed and brushed until his skin turned red.
And in the pocket of his jeans, forgotten on the floor of the dressing room, his phone began to vibrate.
***
Marci slumped on the barstool, trying to find a position that wouldn’t aggravate her still-bruised ribs as she called Julius. Again. And got no answer. Again. After the third failure, she slammed her phone down on the marble bar in frustration, raising a snicker from the group of perfectly hard-bodied men and women sitting at the table behind her.
The sound made her shoulders tighten. When Julius had failed to answer her first call half an hour ago, the dragon in charge of the Heartstrikers’ human infirmary—Fernando or Frank or something starting with F—had told Marci she could wait for her dragon in the lounge. At the time, she’d jumped all over the idea. She’d waited her entire life for a chance to explore an honest-to-god dragon mountain, and anything that got her out of the infirmary was A-OK in her book. Once she’d actually arrived, though, it hadn’t taken more than five minutes for her to realize that something was off.
It wasn’t that the lounge wasn’t nice. It was lovely. A chic, modern space that looked more like a hotel than part of a dragon compound with its vaulted ceiling, tasteful earth tones, and giant windows overlooking the surrounding New Mexico desert. But for all the corporate class of architecture, the people inside were anything but. To start, none of them looked a day over twenty-two, and they all looked like models with their perfect hair and washboard stomachs that were constantly on display since no one here seemed to believe in wearing a shirt.
It was a huge change from the relatively normal human staff she’d met in the medical area, but the real kicker had been when a group of the beautiful people had come up to her at the bar, and the very first question out of their mouths was “Who’s your dragon?”
Not “Hello” or “Welcome to the mountain” or “Why is there a ghost cat sleeping in your arms?” Just “Who’s your dragon?” followed by instant disgust when she’d said Julius’s name. The moment the J at the start of his name had left her lips, she’d ceased to exist except as a target for the snickering gossip, and that was the moment when Marci had finally realized the truth. Despite its lovely views, comfy couches, and complimentary full bar, the “lounge” wasn’t a lounge at all. It was a holding pen for all the groupies whose dragons were otherwise engaged.
