Drogan’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps it’s that you have less important ones on yours. The moths say you now have two pet humans in your nest.”
Lucan guffawed, and even Rikard snorted. “Since when do you listen to moths?”
“Since they warned me of your depravity so I could avoid it.”
“You are the only one too high-tier to meet my mate.”
“You’re the only one low-tier enough to take a human to your bed,” Drogan shot back.
Rikard laughed, the wine loosening his tongue. “Look again at Lucan. Those aren’t a gargoyle’s teeth marking his neck.”
Lucan tugged his collar aside, laughing when Drogan’s eyes bugged out. “Fallen gods, I didn’t mate her. It’s just a bit of fun. I don’t know if it’s all human women or if I’m simply that talented, but Carlijn is insatiable. She has twice the stamina of a gargoyle. She’s relentless. I don’t think she sleeps. I think she naps between rounds the way guards nap between watches.”
Drogan looked ready to erupt, and frankly, Rikard was not too happy to hear Lucan speak so freely about Carlijn, either. He was supposed to keep his hands off her, let alone his cock.
Lucan, mistaking their silence for interest, set down his cup with theatrical gravity. “Last night, she—”
“Stop,” Rikard said. “Don’t say another word.”
Lucan blinked. “I hadn’t reached the good part.”
“Jealous that he seduced your plaything?” Drogan drawled viciously.
Rikard stared at the ceiling to keep his anger in check. A few months ago, he’d have let Lucan’s boasting and Drogan’s jibe wash over him the way tavern noise washed over him. Predictable performances by old friends. But a few months ago, he hadn’t seen his wife’s face crumple when she talked about what had been taken from her so casually by one of their kind.
“There is no good part. Carlijn is a guest in my eyrie, and she is not a plaything,” he said evenly. “She moved to the Tower to help my mate through her pregnancy, and she did it at a cost to her own standing. If you only see her as a diversion, end it now, before she invests more in you than you’re willing to repay.”
The table went very quiet. Lucan’s theatrical posture dropped. “I didn’t realize you felt this strongly about her.”
“The moths were right,” Drogan muttered into his cup, fingers tightening around the goblet stem. His shoulders bunched like he was coiling to spring. Bastien clapped a hand on his shoulder to stop him, shooting Rikard a warning look.
“Now you know,” Rikard said to Lucan, aiming to smooth things over before their friendly reunion devolved into a tavern brawl. “We don’t need to discuss it further.”
“Thank the fallen gods,” Bastien muttered. “I’m not in the mood to break up a fight.”
Lucan shot him a cheeky grin. “Too bad. I had a whole monologue prepared about the weird human sounds she makes when—”
Drogan stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a sound that silenced the nearest tables. “I came tonight because I wanted to see if my friends were still in there somewhere. But clearly, they’re not.”
“Sit down, Drogan,” Bastien said, sighing heavily.
“Why? So I can hear more about Lucan’s plaything and Rikard’s precious little brood mare? Dragons burn the lot of them.”
It was Bastien, predictably, who steered them toward safer ground. “If you dislike the conversation, maybe you should provide a new topic. Are there any pleasant thoughts in that granite skull of yours, or should we order another round and brace for more bad humor?”
Drogan’s head jerked in a nod. “I’m leaving Solvantis for a fortnight,” he said. “Élowen of the eighth tier has invited me to join in the hunting lands.”
Rikard remembered the name. Élowen was the female his mother had paraded before him months ago.
“Élowen.” Lucan whistled, low and appreciative. “The wing commander’s daughter? She’s from a good line. Her family’s hunting rights cover the best thermal corridors.”
“It will be a good hunt.”
Lucan grinned wickedly. “Tell me, Drogan. Is this a courtship, or are you going to pretend it’s about the deer?”
“It’s about the deer.”
Bastien grunted. “You could use a mate. It might improve your temperament.”
