Page 12 of Dragon Prince of New York

Jeslyn is really committing to keeping Finley in the dark. She knows full well I have a place here. It’s clear this is all because she doesn’t want to tell Finley what we are, or how much danger she might be in.

“Fine.” Finley pulls away from her sister and points her forefinger at me. “But don’t you get any ideas. Like I told that dude last night, I’m not interested.”

Fire lights in my veins. “What dude?”

“Jethro or something.”

My jaw clenches, remembering the two of them talking.

“Jethro hit on you?” Jeslyn asks with a hopeful note in her voice. Why would she be hopeful about that? She and Midas share a look, and Midas subtly shakes his head. Her face falls slightly, but then she pulls her sister into another hug. “Be good, okay? Take care of yourself. Don’t do anything reckless.”

“Have you fucking met me?” Finley laughs.

Jeslyn smiles fondly. “Language.”

“Yes, mom.”

Both of the women laugh together, and I catch a soft smile on my stoic brother’s face.

I know Jeslyn raised Finley, but I haven’t really seen their dynamic in person before. It’s clear they care about each other a great deal. My chest tightens. Midas and I used to be close enough to tease and joke around like that. Then we lost half our horde, and he became king. His eyes meet mine, and I wonder if he’s also remembering how we were when we were young.

My brother places a hand on his wife’s back. “We should go.”

She pulls away from Finley, and to my surprise, throws her arms around me next, nearly toppling me over. “Take care of her, Cyrus. Please.”

There are tears in her eyes when she breaks our hug, and I realize what this goodbye could mean for her if everything doesn’t go smoothly with this birth.

I give Jeslyn the same promise I gave Midas. “By the goddess and the gold, I’ll protect her.” Squeezing Jeslyn a little closer, I whisper so low I know even Midas won’t hear. “I’d give my life for her.”

Jeslyn pulls back and gives me a careful assessment. We both nod, then she steps away. She doesn’t make it two steps before she’s turning around and hugging Finley again, no longer trying to hide the tears.

“Get off me, you weirdo,” Finley says. “You’re going to be back in a few weeks. I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Jeslyn sniffles, wipes her eyes, and tries to smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

By the goddess, I hope that’s true.

Chapter 8

Finley

Cyrus and I havespent the last few days skirting around each other. We’re friendly, occasionally flirty, but mostly, I try to avoid him. And I think he’s avoiding me, too. He spends most of his time in Midas’s office, dealing with whatever it is Midas does. I spend most of mine searching for jobs until I get overwhelmed and then waste countless hours scrolling social media watching paint mixing videos and people making Japanese pottery.

But today is going to be different. Because, today, all of my things arrive from Prague. My sculptures. My paintings. My art supplies. My books. All the big, heavy things I had to leave behind.

Sora is coming over for brunch, and then we’re going to unpack everything together. Midas let me pick out a room for my studio and said I can use it as long as I'm here. Ipicked the small sitting room next to his office.

It’s got massive windows that open to a rooftop patio and lots of natural light. He used to use it as a sort of greenhouse space. Or, I guess, Yeva used it because she didn’t have as much light in her apartment downstairs. But she said she wasn’t growing things as much anymore and didn’t mind moving to another smaller room.

It’s gonna be incredible to paint again, to have a space that’s my own. I’ve been going stir crazy without something to do with my hands.

Bounding down the stairs earlier than normal, I check my phone for when the boxes should arrive. One more hour. Perfect. That gives me plenty of time to make the French toast casserole I saw a video for on social media last night. Sora will get here just before the boxes, and by the time they arrive, we’ll be a mimosa in and ready to go.

I can’t wait to show her the revenge portraits I painted of Tim. And that abstract replica of the David I made in Sculpting 102. She’s gonna get a kick out of that one. I sent her pics after I made it, but it’s not the same as seeing it in real life.

Looking up just as I come into the kitchen, I skid to a stop so quickly my socked feet nearly slide out from under me, and I have to grab the counter for balance.

Cyrus is standing in front of the stove, wearing only greysweat pants that hang low on his hips, revealing gold tattoos that swirl up from his waistline over his muscular back. A piece of pure art. The urge to trace each of those swirls with my tongue almost has me stepping forward.

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