Page 4 of A Witch and Her Dragon
I clench my teeth. I can’t tell him what the real problem is. He might have me thrown out of the castle, or worse—have my head on a chopping block. But I can’t let that happen. My family depends on me and on the king. They need me here.
And I’ll do whatever I have to if it means keeping my family safe.
I’ll even watch over Princess Alina Ravenscroft.
Fuck.
“There is no problem,” I say firmly. “I would be honored to accompany Her Highness to Coven Crest. It would be a great privilege.” Quickly, I bow my head, hoping the king doesn’t see the tension in my jaw.
My head is still bowed when a light knock sounds on the door.
“Grandfather?” Alina calls out. “May I come in?”
My body goes warm at the sound of her voice.
He bids her enter. And as soon as she steps foot into the room, filling it with her sweet scent, my beast thrashes inside me. Because it wants her. Itneedsher. But I refuse to give in. For three years, ever since she turned fifteen and the magic between us came alive, I’ve been fighting my instincts, going against everything natural in order to keep the truth locked deep, deep inside.
The truth is that Alina Ravenscroft is my fated mate, the only woman my beast truly hungers for. She’s the one I think of when I lie between other women’s thighs, the one I dream of while asleep in my bed in the barracks.
She also has very little awareness that I even exist.
I didn’t think I’d ever find my mate, so when the connection first flared to life, I thought I was dying, thought something was terribly wrong with me. When I told my mother of the symptoms I was having, she explained what it was—the mate bond—and warned me to keep it hidden lest the king discover the truth.
Somehow, I don’t think he’d much like the idea of a dragon claiming his granddaughter. If I were in his position, I can’t say I’d be too fond of the idea either.
Alina ignores me, like she always does. I could probably count the number of words we’ve exchanged on one hand. I’m a nobody to her, just another one of the palace guards, a knight who stands beside doorways and patrols hallways late at night.
No one.
The thought makes my heart twist, but I’m too busy fighting my dragon down to pay the hurt much attention.
If not for the chain of steelwrapped around my neck, I’d be bursting out of my skin, filling this entire study with glossy black scales and tearing clean through the bricks and mortar that hold this tower aloft in the spring sky.
I have the king to thank for that. One of his witches imbued the links with binding magic to keep my dragon from escaping. As a boy, I lived in constant fear of transforming on accident, of hurting those around me. Like my father. But now I have nothing to fear; my dragon is locked inside, incapable of pushing past the magic’s defenses.
Though that doesn’t mean the pain isn’t excruciating when it tries.
Usually, my dragon is quiet, used to being kept in chains. But when Alina comes around, everything changes.
Pain stabs through my chest, and I have to fight with everything I’ve got not to show the king and the princess how uncomfortable I am.
Stop!I snap at my beast. But it doesn’t help. Never does.
The dragon is ferocious. And it’slividat being kept from her.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. It’s taking all my focus to remain standing and not double over in pain.
“I brought your tea and cake,” Alina says. She moves toward the low table by the hearth, where King Jorvick is still standing. Every move she makes, every swish of her sky-blue hair, sends her scent swirling through the room. I’ve never been locked in so tight a space with her before, have never been subjected to torture such as this.
And if I have to accompany her to the academy, follow her around day and night...
I’m filled with dread at the very prospect.
But inside me, my dragon rejoices. It wants to be with her, wherever she is. It doesn’t understand why I have to stay away from her.
I remain standing near the door as Alina pours two cups of tea—we guards aren’t meant to be seen, aren’t meant to be offered tea or cake or anything else—and hands one to the king. They make small talk for a moment, but I can tell Alina is antsy to get to the point. She’s restless, fidgety. Her nails tap a rapid rhythm against the tea saucer in her hands. Finally, she’s out with it.
“Grandfather, I have to tell you something . . .”
