Page 20 of Dragons' Mate
“Yes,” Cyril said slowly.
“And that Ettienne’s hold on the throne is the only defense the human realm has from becoming the fae’s personal slave pen? Did you tell me that?”
“I did.”
Kit’s upper lip pulled back into a snarl as she threw Cyril’s own words back at him. “So you tell me then,has that changed?”
The heartbeat of silence that followed Kit’s demand rang like the priests’ gong through Cyril’s body, the others in the room all freezing as well. Even Tavias.
Stars.Tavias’s mental curse echoed Cyril’s own thoughts.
Shame, acidic burning shame, spread slowly through Cyril’s chest. The human realm. With everything going on, he’d barely considered the effects of Massa’eve’s political strife on it. Sure, he’d discussed the politics of it all during the weeks they spent sailing on the Phoenix, but he’d thought it had all been just that—a discussion of politics. He never thought Kit would take the words as a call to action and responsibility. She’d been a mistreated human slave after all. Her obligation to her kind was non-existent in the eyes of law or custom or justice. She owed the humans nothing.
But this was Kitterny. The human who’d pulled a spike from a dragon’s hide, ignoring the biting jaws and equally biting orders from dragon princes, all because she thought it was the right thing to do. And then, when Cyril took her to task for it, she thrust the rope into his hand. Taking the punishment rather than backing down.
Cyril had been a fool to underestimate her. They’d all been fools.
Of course Kitterny would fight for the humans, when she didn’t have to. Because she was Kit. Because she was better than the rest of them.
The four of them—the bloody dragon princes of Massa’eve—were entering the Equinox Trials from simple necessity. Because it was expected of the dragon princes, because Ettienne had made any alternative impossible, because they couldn’t find a way out. Meanwhile, Kit—who had every reason in the world to worry about nothing beyond her own hide—she had risen beyond that. She saw the map of the future she wanted and seized it.
Cyril’s scales pressed tight against his body, the weight of shame pressing on his shoulders. At the ceremony, he’d dismissed Geoffrey’s taunt, but now the words stung anew. Cyril had failed again. That his brothers had failed alongside him, didn’t make the situation better.
The pack didn’t deserve Kit. Cyril knew it at that moment. Just as he knew that Tavias and Hauck were coming to the same realization, for their scales too were tucking in tight, their heads lowering in mute disgrace.
Kit looked from one male to another, her face hard. “Well?” she demanded. “Has that changed? Are humans no longer in danger from what Salazar’s ascending the throne would bring?”
“No,” Cyril said quietly. “It hasn’t.”
“You just didn’t think the humans’ plight was something I should bother with then, is that it?” She flinched at her own words and shook her head.
“Kit,” Cyril started to say then stopped, unable to find the words. There really were none. His chest squeezed, the shame burning its way through his flesh more fiercely than the mark had. Though it was too little too late, Cyril dropped to his knees instead, his head bowed and tilted slightly to the side to expose the vulnerable part of his neck to Kit.
Cyril heard rather than saw Tavias do the same a few paces away, Hauck following suit a heartbeat later. None of them spoke. There was nothing to say.
“What are you doing?” Kit demanded. Her breaths were still quick and Cyril could hear the too rapid beat of her heart.
“Groveling, by the looks of it.” The answer came from Ettienne, the king having opened the door without knocking and strode inside. Quinton walked stiffly behind their father, covertly touching the wall for balance.
Cyril drew in a short breath but didn’t move.
Ettienne cleared his throat. “We are short on time. I’d appreciate it if you let them rise.”
Kit made a surprised sound in the back of her throat. Though Cyril’s gaze remained on the floor, he could clearly imagine the naïve confusion that colored her face just then.
“You are their king, your majesty,” Kit said with a small stutter. “I imagine it’s your command they await.”
“That’s because you’ve more common sense than the lot of them put together,” Ettienne said curtly. “But I assure you, my offspring are currently begging your forgiveness for reasons I will not begin to try and fathom, but will accept for reasons of expediency. If you would not mind, Kitterny.”
“Um, get up, please,” Kit said.
Cyril rose from his knees, taking a careful step back from Kit. He could smell the blood on Quinton and caught the wet patches on the back of his brother’s black shirt before the male turned his back to the wall. Quinton was in pain and had been separated from his new mate. Cyril knew better than to stand too close to Kit just now.
Kit studied Quinton for several heartbeats, then twisted to Ettienne. "What did you do to him?" She demanded with a great deal less concern for her continued existence than Cyril wished she had.
"The least that he deserved," Ettienne replied with no trace of remorse. “And the least that I could.” Ignoring the furious flare of Kit’s nostrils, Ettienne surveyed the entire pack. Despite his schooled face, Ettienne looked more worried than Cyril ever remembered seeing his father.
"I cannot stay more than a few moments,” Ettienne said with his usual expedience. “From the logistics, I suspect the carriages transporting the packs to the trial grounds will be here in two hours. Take all the food that will keep with you—the more time you are forced to hunt, the more exposed your human is. Food at the trials will be unpredictable. Feast and famine. I’ve little more to offer since the trials change every year, but expect to be separated at least once. Do not let your guard down, and do not let Geoffrey provoke you into a fight you are not ready to have. The mating bond,” Ettienne’s lips tighten for a moment but he doesn’t bother glaring at Quinton, “is common knowledge now. It will be used against you. Be prepared.”
