Page 21 of King of Fire and Scales

“We should let your father rest. He is safe under Nerin’s supervision, I promise you. You must be hungry.”

On cue, Thalia’s stomach growled. Her cheeks ran crimson, and she stepped out of the doorway and back into the hall.

“You’re right. I’m famished.”

The king gave his mate a brief tour of the castle as they ambled their way toward the private royal kitchen. He watched her the entire time with the ferocity of an archer or a predator stalking its prey.

She was fascinated by the affluence and lavishness, but there was still that doubt lodged in the crux of their interplay. Drake was willing to do anything to gain her trust and fondness, even if it meant following her limited human lead.

As much as it made him surly.

When they arrived at the kitchen, his private chef demanded curtly what Thalia’s favorite meals were. She was hesitant, answering with a meek tone.

“I have never been waited on before,” she confessed to the king. “I have been caring for my father for so long that this feels unnatural.”

They sat at their own dining table while the chef served them over-easy eggs and the most robust and moist loaf of sourdough bread Thalia had ever eaten. The king spoke to her pensively as he pulled the loaf apart, steam rising between them.

“You are never going to have to cook or clean again, my sweet,” he mused. “Unless you enjoy the act. In which case, I will get rid of my staff so you can cook and clean to your heart’s content.”

She let out a gentle, melodious laugh. But Drake went on soberly.

“I meant every word I uttered earlier, Thalia. You are my mate which means whatever your heart desires, you will get. I will make all of your dreams come true. I promise you.”

Thalia’s jovial gaze melted away like ice under a stifling sun. She returned her glance to the eggs, lifted a utensil, and began to eat.

“These are lovely,” she said quietly.

The king scolded himself as he dipped a chunk of sourdough into the slather of butter on his plate. He had to pull back the reins, just a bit. He had to resist the impulse to shower her with gifts and posh promises. Though he was capable of giving her, quite literally, anything she wanted, he could overwhelm her as well.

She wanted her father to heal. His abilities could not help her there, but her education with Sorcha could. He had to wait and let her grow comfortable enough to come to him.

His dragon wanted her. He wanted her. But he had to earn her desire first.

ELEVEN

THALIA

Thalia stared into the vivid yellow yolk of the eggs the royal chef had cooked for her as if scrying. She had just been flooded with the knowledge that she was not only preordained as a savior to dragon shifters unbeknownst to her, but also, tied to their leader by an invisible string.

It was a lot to ingest. Despite the ravenousness from the trauma of the kidnapping, her stomach churned with foreboding. She tried to be gentle with herself as her thoughts shot off like a dazzling acrobatic performance. It was only a mere seventy-two hours since she was plucked from the obscurity of her human village.

Thalia’s body was rigid in defense of the two life-altering concepts that had been hoisted upon her shoulders. She could tell that Drake was doing everything he could to get to know her while holding back something that was as instinctual to him as breathing.

So she evaded the topics completely, steering it toward something a little more pressing.

“Tell me about this enemy that you are at war with,” Thalia said once she’d consumed the entirety of her breakfast.

The king was munching on bread when his eyes rolled back briefly, then fixed on the high ceilings overhead. There was something enchanting about the way he looked when he was ruminating. It was the most evocative she’d ever seen him.

Beyond the kiss, of course.

“Lucien Dastow,” he said with a sigh, his mouth full of bread. “He has eluded me for nearly a decade now. He has gathered followers with his contrite claims of overthrowing the throne.”

The chef carried over two steaming cups of coffee. Thalia smelled the fragrant richness of roasted beans from a mile away.

“Why has he been so difficult to locate?” she asked, taking the mug from the chef’s hand.

“He wasn’t always troublesome,” Drake said, thanking the chef with a nod. “It’s also recently that he began spreading his campaign of treachery against me. You see, he longs for the power of the crown, but does not possess the intelligence nor the wisdom to rule peacefully."

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