Page 33 of Crowned By the Fae King

I didn't even get to have a single real conversation with Cass, let alone try to figure out what the fuck to do about being his soulmate. His stress vibrated across my skin every time he had to converse with someone politely for more than thirty seconds, which didn't help. By the time I flopped into bed I was a horrible combination of wired and tense, with a pressing desire to go find somewhere private and scream myself hoarse. I hadn't realized that the palace being barred to outsiders for six days for the celebration of the glorious ascension of His Splendor, Xarcassah Marys, had actually meant six days of nonstop, hateful events.

Our last event before the formal dinner on the fifth day was a series of gifts from various foreign dignitaries—though, of course, the word "gift" wasn't used. They were tokens of respect, or friendship, or honor. It varied from Court to Court, and while I was certain the exact words chosen mattered a lot in faery diplomacy, I was champing at the bit to be done. At least there was an hour between this and dinner where I could sit and stare at the fucking wall.

Most of the gifts weren't particularly impressive, at least to my eye, and none of them were for me, even though they were presented to the both of us. But when people had been choosing presents five or six weeks ago, nobody had known I existed. Five days wasn't nearly enough time to find and transport something selected for the mortal soulmate of the Merciful King.

Last in line was Serpent Court. We had to actually leave the formal receiving room for their gift presentation, which piqued my interest. The Royal Seneschal led us through the hallways, all the nobles trooping along after us in a procession, and took us out of the palace to a wide stone courtyard overlooking the valley.

In the late afternoon light, the sprawling valley was a golden splendor, the late-season grain ripe in the fields and the prairie grasses gone to seed. A pair of hawks wheeled in the sky below us, floating on thermals from the rocky mountain slope. One shot up along the edge of the cliff with a mournful cry.

Movement drew my eye away from the landscape, to the dark archways carved into the mountainside. Two men in livery with black-on-black scale patterns stepped out of the shadows.

A fucking dragon emerged behind them.

I stared, boggled, at the creature. It looked exactly like a storybook dragon, with deep green lacquered scales along a serpentine body, enormous membranous wings folded along its back, and a pair of horns jutting back from an armored face. Delicate chimes dangled from those horns, the sweet sound ringing across the open courtyard as its motion made them swing.

Another decoration of some kind caught the sunlight for a moment, a sharp glint of metal embedded in the soft spot just behind its jaw. Or maybe that's for steering it, I thought, too stunned to be intimidated.

Dragons were real.

While the handlers walked it in a circle, the Royal Seneschal straightened, her expression calm, and pulled out a scroll. "From His Majesty Laekhen Varla, the Serpent King, a token of respect. This war-dragon is one of the finest of my mews, with flame to rival the great drakes of the Shifting Lands. On the maternal side, the pedigree includes—"

I tuned the recitation out. The war-dragon was far more interesting. It didn't look particularly intelligent; unlike a cat or dog, who would be attentive to its environment, the great beast had a glassy-eyed look. It moved almost like it had been programmed, its movements smooth and precise, exactly the same each step. The silkiness of the motion gave it an unreal look, like something in a video game.

The handlers brought it to a halt in front of Cass while the Royal Seneschal was still reading from the lengthy scroll. It lowered its head—inhaled—opened its crocodilian jaws—

I didn't even have time to fear before Cass reacted. He threw one hand back and whipped his wing up in the fraction of a second before the dragon's flame hit him, burning so hot it shone blue. The entire fucking courtyard flung backwards from Cass' gesture, the structure tearing in half and skidding along the side of the mountain. The force of it threw people to the ground and off the fucking cliff—hit worse than any earthquake I'd ever experienced, the stone tiles buckling and the roar of the stone making my ears ring.

Pain screamed through me for less time than it took to process it, like an electric shock. The wash of heat struck with physical force. My lips cracked. Little plants in the stones turned into shriveled scraps. Blistering burns raised on people's skin and vanished in the same heartbeat.

Terrified, I yanked my eyes away from the stone tiles falling into the abyss and back to the dragon.

Back to what was left of the dragon.

The entire other side of the courtyard had turned into a field of twelve-foot-high curved stone knives. Blood and gore dripped down. Recognizable bits of the war-dragon hung like giblets. Every one of those massive blades had sprung up into the dragon and torn it apart in the reverse of a predator's bite, leaving mangled meat where a monster had stood.

He'd done it in seconds. In less time than it took for someone to scream.

Cass stood in front of the carnage like a fallen angel on a battlefield, whole body moving as he panted. His wings glowed red-hot. Blood tracked down his bare, soot-black skin where the feathers met his flesh. Only scraps of his clothing remained.

He wasn't immune to fire, I realized with horror, as the scent of cooking flesh wafted across the chasm between us. His wings were burning him, searing muscle and skin, and he was healing the damage as fast as it occurred.

It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. My heart beat with regimented calm and my ribs moved slowly as I breathed. Every cell of my body answered to my soulmate's steely control.

Cass reached up and took off his half-melted crown. Black hair came with it, charred to the gold. Black hair grew to replace it before the crown hit the ground.

He took off his earrings. His torc. Dropped them to the stone, the ringing of the metal hitting the slate cutting through the sobs and whimpers of the huddle of courtiers. The cracks at the edges of the courtyard spread, slates and pebbles crumbling into the abyss.

"Hierarch," he said, his voice devoid of emotion and every syllable spoken with careful restraint. "Are you well?"

The Royal Seneschal. Paloma. My eyes darted over to where she'd stood and found her still standing there, staring at Cass with a fixed expression. Her clothing was charred and fragmenting, but I couldn't see any evidence of burns.

He healed her when it flamed, too, I realized, staring. He'd healed all of us.

"I await your instruction, your majesty," she said, pitching her voice to carry.

"Have Yllavar select a token of my appreciation for the Serpent King, and set a team to searching the dragon's remains for the geas-talisman that controlled it," he said with deathly calm. "Find Vaduin, and have him assist with extracting the courtiers entangled in the roots along the cliff. None of them hit the ground, but some fell rather far before I caught them. They'll surely need to be pulled up on ropes." Cass took a deep breath. He spread his wings and crouched. "Delay dinner by an hour. I need a shower."

Paloma put a hand over her heart and bowed, a precise movement. "As you will it."

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