Page 13 of Dark Dragon’s Wolf

At that moment, Mason came in to speak to Emon. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” he said in a low voice, leaning in close to speak in Emon’s ear. Emon had told him not to use the title, but Mason paid no attention. “It seems that someone has…ahem. Altered the décor in the dining room.”

Emon heaved a sigh. “What has Zakerek done now?” he asked. “More pornographic pinups? Balloon animals made of condoms? Another army of rubber duckies battling Lego soldiers on the dining-room table?”

Mayah suppressed a snort. Even though Zakerek had accepted Emon’s offer to be part of the clan, he still had a ginormous chip on his shoulder, and he resented Emon’s authority.

Privately, she thought he was probably just here for the food. And his own room.

Whatever his reasons were, he spent half his time thinking up creative ways to fuck with Emon. He hated the formal Sunday night dinners (he wasn’t alone there), but he vented his feelings by stealth redecorating the oppressively formal dining room.

Mayah wouldn’t have said it out loud, but she actually looked forward every week to seeing what Zakerek would come up with.

“No, Your Majesty,” Mason said with a straight face. “He seems to have replaced the landscape over the mantel with an… original painting.”

Emon sighed. “Do I want to know what of?”

“It seems to be a life-sized portrait of Your Majesty.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trish said hopefully. “Is it at least a decent likeness of him? I guess it must be if you recognized it.”

“The face is quite a good likeness,” Mason replied. “Otherwise, I really couldn’t say.” His gaze flicked down to Emon’s crotch ever so briefly.

Emon closed his eyes and shook his head.

Mayah said, “I do believe I’ll just wander across to the dining room and take a look.”

“I’ll go with you,” Trish said.

They walked sedately to the door, and then ran for the dining room, jostling each other in their rush to get there first.

The painting of Emon was actually bigger than life-size, in an ornate gold frame.

Mason was correct. The face was extremely accurate. The rest of it, though…

He was totally naked. And Zakerek had painted in the teeniest, tiniest penis and balls you could imagine. Best of all, portrait-Emon was looking down at himself with a tragic and woeful expression.

Trish and Mayah dropped into the nearest chairs and dissolved into giggles.

“Bet you a hundred Earth dollars Emon flames this thing the second he sees it,” Mayah said.

“Bet he won’t,” Trish said, between giggles. “He won’t want to give Zakerek the satisfaction.”

“You’re on.”

The two of them slapped hands to seal the bet.

“Oh, shit, they’re coming,” Trish whispered. “Stop giggling. You know how guys are about their dicks. I can’t let Emon see me laughing at his. Even if it’s an extremely unrealistic rendering.”

“Says you.” Mayah bit her lips, but she couldn’t stop. She just snorted when she tried, which set Trish off again.

“You suck!” Trish hissed, pinching herself to stop laughing.

Mayah slapped her own cheeks. “I’m stopping.” She snorted again.

“You’re not!”

Emon walked in, leading the others, and they both stood up and straightened their faces as best they could. Emon stopped dead when he saw the portrait, gazed at it for a long moment, and then walked to his place at the head of the table.

Tristan seated Mayah, his eyes dancing, his face red with suppressed laughter. Zakerek sat down and unfolded his napkin, a smirk on his face. “I’m not sure about the new décor,” he said. “It’s a little… uninspiring, don’t you think?”