“Fated flames.”
“That. No one will believe a word of it.”
It’s a bold move and likely foolhardy, but a realization struck me in the brief seconds between his threat and mine. Yes, I need him to pay Vasna’s debt and pull my people out of poverty. I need him desperately to do so.
But he needs me, too.
His land is dry as a bone, and I sense the little water that is near dwindling. My gift carries great value here.
The king doesn’t move. “Do you threaten me?” he whispers.
When I don’t answer, he pivots, and in two strides, he’s before me. My heart quickens. I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes, which no longer hold flames, yet somehow seem just as piercing.
“Do you,” he repeats, “threaten me, Princess?”
I want to say no. I want to crawl beneath the blankets behind me and hide away from this dragon king, from the bulk of him looming over me, but if I learned anything from my mother, it’s that giving in once is a slippery slope without end.
“I’m not threatening you,” I say, lowering my voice to match his. “I’m asking.”
“It didn’t sound like an ask.”
“Then I am asking now.” I resist the urge to bite my lip again. “Please stay, Your Majesty.”
All my courage is needed to hold his gaze in the seconds after. I’m reminded of what I was told when I was a little girl about wild dogs, to not meet their eyes lest they take that as a challenge. Now, I stare directly into the king’s, sure I’ll lose if I look away.
To my shock and infinite relief, the king draws a long breath through his nose and finally—finally—relents. He does this by whirling around, snatching up his pillow, and flinging it onto the rug beside my bed. Then he flops down with arms crossed and lies there, looking for all the world like a sullen little boy. Rolling over, he turns his back to me.
I puzzle over him another moment before padding to the over side of the bed and climbing in. My cat friend rises to come curl against my side, and I stroke him as I stare off into the dark.
Are all dragons like this? Raging one moment and sulking the next?
“Goodnight, princess,” the king grumbles.
“Goodnight, Your Majesty."
***
My eyes flutter open to the sound of a tap at the door. Blinking against a mid-morning sun, I strive to make sense of my surroundings.
Tirenth. I’m in my room in Tirenth.
My cat friend, apparently impervious to morning knocks, is nestled against my back. I can’t believe I actually fell asleep with the king lying right next to—
Someone lets out a groan just behind my ear.
“Tell them five more minutes,” a husky voice says, breath tickling my neck.
My eyes widen. It isn’t my cat friend nestled against me.
It’s the king.
13
I barely manage to swallow a shriek.
The king isin my bed.
Throwing the blankets off, I leap from the covers and gape down at him. A second knock, a hair louder this time, sounds at the servant’s door.
