Page 4 of Dragons' Future

The humans have no such option, but I don’t think most of the packs care much about that.

Darren's jaw tightens and he exchanges a grim look with his brother, Broker.

“Geoffrey is promising them seats in the Massa’eve court,” Cyril guesses grimly.

Darren nods, his reluctance evident despite his smooth movements. “Geoffrey is spreading word that Ettienne and his line—your line—are not long for the throne.”

“That sounds like a solid offer,” Quinton calls from the back, speaking for the first time in hours. He doesn’t bother to even pretend friendliness. Unlike me, his breath escapes in controlled, measured puffs that blend seamlessly with the swirling white snow. “Why did you not take it?”

Darren snarls. “I’ll rot in the blight before following that piece of flying swine.”

“And?” Quinton says, nonplussed. He has his sword out despite the blizzard, and moves with a fluidity and grace that makes him seem like a part of the storm itself. Each step is calculated, deliberate, his footing never faltering on the slippery and treacherous descent. Hells, it’s as if the hail and cold are bending to his will, acknowledging the predator in their midst.

Darren doesn’t answer, but his hands tighten around Lee.

“Because Geoffrey would expect his followers to cull their humans,” Cyril guesses. “Am I right?”

“Not cull outright, but…” Darren's jaw tightens again. “A dead human disqualifies a pack. Geoffrey wants the numbers. He is demanding his allies turn their humans over to him. During the trial. And afterwards.”

I curse, then curse again as my foot slips on a rock I did not see beneath the snow.

Cyril scoops me into his arms. I open my mouth to demand he put me down but he shakes his head before I can utter a word. "Word of advice, Highness," he says, "don't give orders you know full well no one will listen to."

It’s another two hours before we find a place Tavias deems acceptable for shelter—a deep semicircular gouge in the mountain's side that provides a natural barrier against the piercing winds. The stone overhang is large and sturdy, providing protection from both falling snow and prying eyes.

Putting Lee down, Darren and Broker go to work shaping the rocks further while Cyril and Hauck haul several snow-covered boulders to the cave entrance to create an added barrier of protection. I’m assigned to collecting fern branches to use for floor covering.

I’m trying to pull a particularly stubborn piece from under the snow, when I see Lee coming up to me. Her first direct acknowledgement of my existence since she learned of my true nature. Stepping up beside me, Lee grabs onto the fern.

It comes loose with a vengeance, sending us both tumbling into a snowbank, feet and hands in the air. Ice cold snow slithers inside my shirt.

Lee squeals. I do too. Loudly.

“Some dragon you are,” she gasps, brushing a beard of snow off her face. With snow clumped to her hair she looks ridiculous.

I try to scramble up only to slip onto my backside again. It’s more embarrassing than painful. My scales flare as if trying to help me keep my balance.

“And very queenly, too,” Lee adds.

With a mature growl, I launch a snowball at her.

It misses, hitting Quinton on the back of the head instead.

The assassin spins around, his blade flashing before his gaze falls on me.

“In for a copper penny, in for a gold crown,” I mutter and grab another fistfull of snow, throwing it at Quinton’s chest. This time I hit my mark. A heartbeat later, a second snowball hits the male in the same place.

I look at Lee. She grins.

Quinton, looking equal parts confused and furious, bares his blades.

“What does he think he is going to do with swords against snow?” Lee asks me.

I look back at her and suddenly uncontrolled laughter spills from my chest. “Kill… The.. Ice?” I say between bouts of choking hilarity, that’s now infecting Lee with equal vigor.

“Slice the ice,” she croaks back, her face flushed with a mix of cold and mirth as she makes cutting gestures with her hand. “Swish. Swish?—”

“- Swish,” I end for her, just before doubling over. I don’t know why it's so funny exactly, but it is.

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