Page 24 of King of Fire and Scales

Mads stroked his beard but stayed silent. Drake retorted back to Olaf.

“I killed one of his closest confidants and companions, the yellow dragon, Zendel. Do you not think that sufficient enough of an excuse to retaliate? Retaliate twofold, upon impulse?”

Olaf peered around the room thoughtfully, then shrugged again.

“Perhaps, his army is not as grand as we first anticipated. And he could be deterred by the fact that you have the Creation Sorceress within your grasp.”

Drake combed through the war council’s advice rigorously. They ended with the agreement to stay on high alert but were calmed by the prospect of Lucien’s submission.

The king wasn’t ready to feel completely safe but let go of the tenseness that came with his own persnickety nature. He left the meeting feeling reborn, elated by the amorous presence of his fated mate.

He floated along the castle, thinking of nothing but Thalia’s virtuous scent. He arrived at the library where the royal scholar said he would be sharing the history of the mountain dragon community with her. But he found only Pyralis, droning along the vast passages of book stacks.

“Pyralis,” Drake said.

The old man turned as if jolted out of a dream. He smiled heedlessly and gave the king a quick bow.

“My King, how was your meeting?”

“It went well,” Drake said, distractedly. “Tell me, where has Thalia gone?”

“Oh! That sorceress, the tall one with the large…”

The elderly man held his arms out in front of his chest in a vulgar gesture. In another circumstance, the king would have given him a dour lashing. But he was an older gentleman, which granted him a pass on offensive, but eccentric behavior.

“Yes, with Sorcha?” Drake said, unblinking.

“Yes, that’s it! She’s gone to learn some magic. She is eager to learn, that one.”

The king swept his cloak and dashed away. Sorcha’s room was outside the king’s private wing close to Nerin’s and a good handful of staff and housekeepers. He arrived quickly, his cloak hovering through the hallways like an apparition.

But when Drake knocked on the door, no one answered. He did it a second time and projected his voice.

“Sorcha? Thalia? It’s your king.”

More silence. He tried the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.

A sensation of unsettledness crawled along the king’s skin. He had been so glib leaving the war council, assured of his mate’s welfare without attentive consideration. The thought ran through his mind of her capture, her mutilation, the lifeless way her body dangled between the claws of that scoundrel of a beast…

The king scoured the entirety of the castle in a quiet panic. He returned back to his private wing and inquired with a few of his men as to their whereabouts, but all pointed in opposing directions. He gave them a cantankerous growl, stunned that no one was marked by the memory of two astoundingly attractive women.

Eventually, Drake gathered his logical thoughts, abandoning the terror likely fueled by his newfound attachment. He went to Evanth’s room and could not resist pounding on the door.

“It’s me, Your King,” he said in a raspy, inpatient tone.

“Yes, My King!”

When Sorcha responded, Drake grew weary with relief. When she opened the door and found her charming smile, along with Thalia sitting with her father propped up in the enormous bed, he had to resist the urge to fall to his knees.

Sorcha, a shifter with the clairvoyance of a low-level witch, twitched her nose back and forth at him, then stepped aside. She winked subtly as he passed by, headed straight for his mate like the onslaught of an avalanche.

“I hope your meeting was advantageous,” Sorcha said.

He barely heard her. Thalia sat on the bed, immersed in a glittering stream of light that streamed in from the glossy window pane. Though her complexion was often kissed with small rosy buds, there appeared to be more, like the bursting of starlight on a clear night sky. And her eyes cast the king into a bewildering stupor.

When he caught her eye, she smiled, and the king had the thought that drowning in her splendor would be such a lovely death.

“You’re back,” she said mystifyingly. “Look what I did, My King. Look at my father.”

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