Page 18 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
The second guard cants his head curiously at me. I lock eyes with him and startle. It’s Briar—the guard who was kind to me when I arrived in Avorlorna. The last I saw him, he sent me up and away on a Dandelion Drift.
“Briar?” My lips stretch into a warm smile.
He does a double-take and hesitates.
That gnawing and grinding wet sound grows louder again, coming from the same direction as before. I glance that way again, still seeing nothing unusual.
Confusion pinches Briar’s brows. I guess he would see so many people passing through those gates that he wouldn’t recognize me. Still, I’m so excited to see a friendly face that I rush toward him, heedless of his growing alarm, grab his shoulders, and grin stupidly in his face.
He laughs nervously. “Um . . . have we met?”
“It’s me, Willow O’Leary Nightstalk.” I squeeze his shoulders. “I was the last exhibitor through the gates before it closed for the Gentle Interlude.”
“Willow?” Shock splashes over his features, and he cups my elbows, holding me at arm’s length so he can inspect me with rapt attention. “Ah, ’tis a joy to see you again. Alive and no longer afflicted by your unfortunate countenance. I must say, you are even more remarkable . . .” Appreciation darkens his eyes as they dart over my face. “How? Wha—wait. Was I correct in assuming you are of the Folk? Captain Sorrel, did I not tell you?”
The captain rounds on me and gasps. “By the Holly King’s horn! So you were indeed a trixie-pixie, after all. What a cracking jest—almost as good as when he turned the entire Court purple for a week!” He then nods knowingly to Briar. “Glen has truly outdone himself this Interlude. I am eager to see what the crafty lad comes up with for the Solstice Ball.”
Briar gives his captain a mollifying look before turning to me and rolling his eyes. It seems the captain thinks everyone is having a jest. I almost want to meet this Glen fellow.
I smile back. “I’m still mortal, sorry. Just no longer cursed.”
“It was a curse?” Briar’s eyes widen, then soften as he grazes his knuckles on my cheek. “’Tis a travesty to hide such beauty.”
His touch lasts a second, and then Bodin shoves him away from me and snarls, “You overstep, guard.”
“Ill-mannered swine,” Emrys sneers as Briar stumbles into the desk, knocking a report from Legion’s hands.
The temperature drops as if the fire has been doused, yet it crackles and burns brightly as before. No one dares breathe. That scratching, gnawing sound has even stopped. The captain’s lips flatten at his soldier. Briar’s panicked eyes shutter, and he slips on a practiced mask of forced politeness.
“I should not have touched her. You have my deepest regrets.” His apology does not affect Bodin’s temperament or his fist, which slowly tightens at his side until his knuckles crack.
“Bodin,” I whisper harshly. “I touched him first. The fault is mine.”
His dark, angry eyes simmer. Fear flips my stomach. That look is unhinged. Primal. What’s worse, as I glance around the room, it seems no one will stop him from hurting Briar. The House of Stone Radiant watches it all with amusement from his seat by the fire. Just when I think Bodin will ignore me, he warns Briar through his teeth, “Do not presume such familiarity within our house again.”
A small shadow breaks loose from the bookcases—the baby Wild Hunt streaks toward Briar, his fangs out in a snarl. I glimpse blood on his skull muzzle and realize the little dragon must have been eating meat—that was the gnawing sound. And he’s still hungry.
“No!”
I tackle the tiny monster as he launches into the air, wrapping myself around his slippery-scaled body. Curved, bony horns almost hit my face, but I dodge. We tumble to the ground. Razor-sharp fangs snap at my face, testing my dominance.
This triggers an alpha urge within me, and I slam him to the ground, growling darkly in his face, “Stop it now.” Black, wideeyes roll my way, and I reinforce my command: “He isnotyum-yums. Do you hear me?”
The baby Hunt whines and thrashes beneath my solid grip. My muscles strain under the weight of his resistance. I almost lose control. Has he grown another inch overnight? He is no longer the size of Tinger but more the size of my sisters in cub form. And just like them, he is strong-willed and mischievous. Unlucky for him, I have four years of practice corralling those little monkeys into obedience.
“So help me, Baby Hunt. If you don’t submit, I won’t feed you scraps under the table. Do you understand?”
The coiled tension relaxes beneath my fingertips. The dragon twists his slippery body. Before I can stop him, he’s upon me, licking my face and whimpering apologies. The smell of raw meat on his breath is pungent. I cast a nervous glance around and wipe drool from my face with the back of my hand. The House of Stone Radiant watches with avid curiosity. Briar’s jaw has dropped. Bodin’s nostrils flare, and his eyes flick to Legion, whose expression has gone cold.
I guess I shouldn’t have done that. Manhandling a dragon isn’t something an ordinary “mortal” exhibitor—even an esteemed Shadow—would do. This faerie society has laws and codes about acceptable behavior and etiquette according to societal classes. They even have rules about handling dragons. Not only have I arrived in attire decidedly not presentable, but I’ve behaved out of line amongst superiors. Peablossom would be horrified. Heat floods my cheeks. At least I didn’t flash my naked ass at anyone this time.
I don’t think so. Shit. Did I?
“Out,” Legion clips, his eyes on me.
Biting my lip, I collect the spectacles I dropped sometime during the tackle. Who knows what punishment I’ll receive forthis? But as I straighten, I frown. It’s not me being kicked out. Bodin already ushers the others outside.
“You don’t understand, Commander,” the House of Stone Radiant protests. “Goodfellow already has Titania’s vote by proxy.”
