Page 85 of Wrath of the Never Queen

“Yes. Exactly. You and I.” I step forward, reach up on my tiptoes, and place my hand on his scaly stomach.

“Saints…” one of the guards mutters behind me. “The thing can speak?”

“He is not a thing,” I say firmly, not turning or taking my eyes off his. “He is still Theo.”

“Shiv…ani,” he says again and this time, it is not a painful groan but closer to a voice, gravelly and deep.

“Theo.” I smile at him, feeling the warmth beneath his scales.

He leans forward, stretching out a gnarled finger. I grasp it gently with both hands.

“Do you know why dragon text is so hard to read?” I ask the room, not expecting an answer. “Because they did not need to write often. Dragons spoke to each other, passing down their tales and their histories orally. But important things—things they wanted to preserve—they would not write them on paper but on themselves. They tattooed patterns and stories in ink on their wings.”

Theo’s stomach rises and falls as hebreathes steadily, his golden eyes aglow. I watch them as grey swirls like smoke in his irises until the angry yellow is gone. Until all I see are his eyes, soft and sweet. The guards are silent, watching.

“You are not cursed, Theo,” I tell him. “You are a dragon.”

Chapter 34

Theo does not turn back immediately. He sits quietly, cramped against the walls and ceiling of his chambers, his breathing quiet but rumbling. I sit with him after ordering the guards out. With Theo behind me, eyeing them hungrily, they make no argument and flee quickly. I contemplate the possibility of one or more of them informing the king, but by the time a raven reaches him, it will be too late for him to do anything.

Because I finally have a plan.

Theo does not ask questions straight away, and I do not force information on him. I rest my head against one of his large forearms, and I let him have his peace.

???

After an hour or two, I hear the familiarwet snapping sounds of his body turning back. But instead of his skin splitting and tearing, his scales and spikes start to drop off softly. He groans and winces, but it is nothing compared to his usual screams. I watch him slowly shrink to his regular size, and when he is finished, he is not bloody but clean. The scaly skin he has left behind sits innocently like a coat he has taken off, dry and husk-like.

“Are…are you well?” I ask tentatively. He flexes his fingers, staring at them.

“Yes,” he replies, his tone surprised, before turning to look at me. “But I have questions.”

I hold back a smile.

“It would be strange if you did not. I cannot promise I can answer everything, but…” I slot my hand into his, weaving his fingers between mine. “I think I finally understand what happened to you. And your mother.”

Theo swallows hard and squeezes my hand. I breathe deep and begin.

30 Years Ago

Honora watches him from the Mossgarde town square with stars in her eyes.

The prince is handsome indeed, grinning and waving to the crowd. Honora is just anotherface amongst many but there is a moment, however brief, where he looks at her. Their eyes meet, and the prince’s smile widens ever so slightly. Her closest friend, Ruya, squeezes her hand.

“He looked at me,” Honora whispers to her. “Me.”

The girls, only seven and ten, giggle and clutch each other. Honora’s cheeks ache from smiling, but she cannot help it. Her quiet town has never been so alive.

They watch with giddy glee as the prince dips his head, accepting his father’s crown. The crowd cheers, long and loud, for their new king. Despite the fragile health of his father, the king turns his back to him, facing the adoration of the crowd. His eyes meet Honora’s again, and this time, he does not look away.

27 Years Ago

Honora smooths the fabric of her gown, turning this way and that to inspect her stitching. It is the grandest dress she has ever made, and she worked until her fingers bled. But it is worth it. She will bleed as much as she must for love.

Ruya buzzes around her,adjusting Honora’s hairpins and adding more blush to her cheeks. Several items hover in the air, tinged with a purple hue. Ruya plucks at them, pulling them from the air as she needs them and letting them float away when she does not.

“Are you nervous?” she asks Honora.

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