Page 13 of Dragons' Mate
I open my mouth to correct Autumn’s misunderstanding of my meaning, but decide against it. She’s done so much, she doesn’t need to hear me whine.
Forcing my attention away from Tavias and Fionna, who are now rotating around each other like vines in deference to the violins’ rolling melody, I look for the others. I spot Hauck easily, busy with a chalice of wine and find Cyril a few moments later. The water dragon stands near his father’s throne, his hands behind his back as he watches everyone and everything with a commander's competent eye. The aura of quiet power coming from Cyril is almost as strong as it had been on the Phoenix and seeing him like that fills me with pride.
What strikes me as odd though, is that none of them seem to be looking for me. Not even Hauck. Not even Cyril, after spotting Autumn on the mezzanine and giving her a respectful bow.
Something isn’t right. My pulse skips. "Where is Quinton?" I ask.
"Behind you."
I startle at the sound of Quinton's low voice as he steps out of the shadows. He is dressed in black, the patterns of silver scales sewn along his coat looking more like armor than embellishment. Unlike the winged masks of most of the attendees, Quinton wears a tight band around his eyes—eyes that hold a promise of violence that no concealment can conquer. I don’t immediately see weapons on him, but I'm sure he's armed. Not that the assassin needs steel to end life—and every particle of air around him seems to know as much.
Every particle except those belonging to Autumn, that is. The princess’s eyes sparkle as she gives Quinton a formal curtsy that he returns with an equally proper bow. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. The bite mark on my breast is a whole other story. That flares, sending pulses of awareness through all my nerves. Especially ones low down in my belly.
"There are stairs beyond the privy doors," Quinton says quietly. He is speaking to Autumn, though the instructions are plainly intended for me. “Wait another half hour, then descend. You will see a door at the bottom of the stairs. It will appear to be locked. The handle is a decoy, as the door opens by a foot lever. Go inside and wait. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, though the sudden unwelcome onslaught of desire is making it annoyingly difficult to concentrate on the instructions. I wish I was wearing a lighter gown, one that didn’t run the risk of sizzling me alive in my own damn heat.
“Repeat the instructions back to me,” Quinton orders. He gives no sign of feeling anything unusual, but the tips of his scales are changing color every few seconds. When I finish reciting the orders to his satisfaction, he gives a small grunt of approval. “Good,” he says. “Once you get inside, just wait. I will bring Fionna there when it’s time.”
I clear my throat. "No disrespect Quinton, but perhaps the job of luring a woman into a dark corner might be better accomplished by Hauck or—"
"None of the others know the plan.”
My face flies toward Quinton, forgetting that I’m supposed to be background decoration while my betters are speaking. "Please tell me that my hearing is off, because I thought you just said that none of the pack knows I’m here.”
"I did."
Not my hearing then. Just Quinton’s mind. I stare at him. “Are you rutting insane?"
“Tavias would not have gone along.”
A wave of hurt races along my spine.
"They’ve realized that putting you into the very center of danger is the last thing any of them want,” Quinton continues, pausing meaningfully. "And they aren't wrong, human.”
In other words, I still have a chance to back out. I’ve had this conversation with Quinton and myself enough times to know that I don’t want another round. I’m doing this. To Quinton’s credit, he doesn’t push. I dislike many things about him, but he respects my choices.
Quinton inclines his head toward the dais with the priests. “In a little while the priests will start calling up packs to pledge themselves and accept the mark. You cannot be recognized until then. Once the runes are painted on your skin, you will be magically bound to the trials.”
“The pack will scent me before that,” I point out. “On our way to the dais if nothing else.”
“At that point, you all will be in the public eye,” Autumn says shrewdly. “They won’t dare expose the truth lest they wish you executed outright. And once you are on the dais, Ettienne will have no sway.”
“Correct,” says Quinton.
I blow out a breath. Talk about a ruthless plan. I know Ettienne and Tavias will be furious—and rightfully so. All of them will be. When I imagined all this in my head, the welcome from the pack was a great deal warmer.
Quinton’s gaze narrows on movement near the dais. I glance over to see that Ettienne has taken the throne and a dark haired male who bears a resemblance to the king is now kneeling before it.
“Salazar is here,” Quinton says.
Ettienne rises to offer his brother a hand up, the pair looking like the best of allies. Except I know better. Salazar is plotting to take Ettienne’s throne, and if his son Geoffrey’s pack wins the trials, he’ll likely have enough support from the people to start open rebellion. Behind Salazar, a pack that I presume to be Geoffrey’s stands tall and proud in masquerade costumes made in imitation of rising serpents.
“Salazar is making little secret of his alliance with Nagaia and her Serpent Court, isn’t he?” Autumn says.
“No, he isn’t.” Quinton’s jaw tightens. “I need to go.”
Despite his words, Quinton hesitates for a second, his gaze meeting mine and reigniting everything inside me. It truly is unfair for the stars to have made Quinton so damn beautiful, his every movement filled with a panther’s grace and a dragon’s power. His lips part slightly and my treacherous body tightens at the sight of the sharp canines. I swallow.
