Page 38 of Dragons' Bride
“Stop,” Hauck says quickly.
I open my eyes to find Hauck’s arm blocking Tavias's path, both the princes’ scales standing up like hackles. On the other side of me, Cyril’s body continues to vibrate with a low growl, his pupils dilated and nearly filling his eyes. Wisps of magic seem to be rising behind him, like shadows of phantom wings.
“Tavias, back away. Slowly,” Hauck orders, his eyes locked on Cyril, who he addresses next. “It’s alright, Cy. He won’t touch her. No one will. Just you.”
What the hell?
I swallow my surprise as Tavias does what he is told. By Hauck. Which isn't something I'd ever thought I'd see. But whatever is happening, Hauck seems to get it.
As the violence in Cyril’s growl settles slightly, Hauck holds a placating hand out to him. "No one will touch Kit without your permission. But if we give you the salve, could you put it on her welts? She’s awake, and she might be getting scared.”
Despite acknowledging that I’m awake, Hauck doesn't look at me at all, and Tavias seems to be fighting the urge to let his gaze slide toward me as well.
"Cy?" Hauck says gently.
The menacing growl finally stops and I feel Cyril sigh behind me. “Sorry,” he says. "I don’t know what came over me."
"I do," replies Hauck. "Would it be alright if we said good morning to Kit?"
"Of course – " Cyril cuts off as another growl escapes him, his body and words clearly not in agreement on the plan.
"We'll hold off," Hauck says.
I struggle to sit up, a gasp of pain escaping me as I do. Cyril's growl strengthens, but his hands are there to steady me, his fingers never losing contact with my skin. Whatever is happening to him, I know he means me no harm. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Cyril is feeling a bit possessive this morning,” Hauck says. “It’s a primal reaction that… well, that sometimes happens.”
“It’s never happened to me,” says Cyril. I’m not sure, but I think I hear embarrassment mix with contrition in his tone. Clearing his throat, he turns toward me. "How are you feeling?" he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. His pupils are shirking to normal now, the shadowed outlines of wings nearly invisible.
“Sore.” My hands tighten around the edge of my blanket. It has slipped down to my waist and, despite the many various ways of nakedness all the princes have seen me in, I feel strangely self-conscious. I pull the blanket up to cover my breasts, wincing at the motion.
Cyril helps settle the blanket into place. "Can you bear for me to put more salve on your back? It will help."
I feel my face blanche at the thought. "Can you give me a bit?"
Cyril's mouth tightens in objection, but he nods. "A bit. But not too long."
I shudder despite myself and Cyril presses a kiss to my forehead. “I will be very gentle with it, I promise,” he whispers.
"Who blamed you for the attack in the rift, Kit?" Tavias demands, changing the course of the conversation as he paces the confines of the cabin. "I want names."
I glance at Cyril to see if he's likely to bite Tavias's head off if I look at him, but Cyril seems to be getting control of himself. Still, I'm careful not to look at Tavias too long.
Cyril notices and gives me a look that is a mix of gratitude and apology.
"I don't know.” I’m only half lying, but it’s for a good cause. Tavias looks homicidal. Or prone to setting something on fire. I’d rather not be an accomplice to either of those deeds. “There are lots of things people say when their superiors aren't –” I cut off as commotion sounds outside the cabin.
"You need to get back to your cot," Corvus is still insisting as Quinton shoves the door open without bothering to knock. His face is as pale as Corvus's is red. “Prince! Prince Quinton, please.”
Ignoring Corvus’s sputtering, Quinton stumbles inside. He moves with painful slowness, his hands gripping walls and overhead beams to keep himself upright. Wisely, Tavias and Hauck just move aside, making no move to aid their brother – though Quinton’s jaw tightens in pain each time he puts weight on his left leg.
Still, he is awake. And walking. Both of which seem impossible given his state just days ago. Yet he is here, and as delightful as ever.
With no explanation or greeting, Quinton stumbles through the now silent cabin to where I sit on Cyril's cot. If he'd done as much five minutes ago, I'm pretty sure we'd have had a deathmatch on our hands, but at least Cyril seems to have himself in check now. Which is good, since magic is crackling along Quinton's scales.
"You can't do this, my prince," Corvus insists, redoubling his effort to rush after Quinton. A pair of confused looking sailors who'd come with them stay at the door. Corvus huffs. "You shouldn't be walking yet. You certainly cannot be using your magic. This is preposterous."
Quinton's gaze meets mine. It isn't friendly. In fact, the silver dragon seems intent on murder, and is just looking for the right victim.
