Page 45 of The Dragon 2
Muscular.
Still.
He just stood where the road ended, one foot just over the edge of shadow, one shoulder bathed in moonlight.
Huge.
Towering.
Cloaked in black.
From what she could see in the limited moonlight, he wore no crest, no sigil. Nothing that identified him as royal or Nobel.
But what made her breath catch was the hair.
Dark.
Long.
Loose.
Black as obsidian silk.
That’s not possible.
No one in Hareef wore black hair but the Lowlys. However, his clothes said Royal Nobel.
He’s not from around here.
She took a step back.
He didn’t move.
She inhaled and still caught Korin’s scent in the air.
Maybe I’m wrong.
She blinked hard, eyes sweeping the man’s silhouette again; motionless, cloaked, massive. That hair. That impossible, long, black hair.
That scent was Korin’s.
Yet, this wasn’t Korin.
It couldn’t be.
Her thoughts whirled.
I’ve read the scrolls. The books Father hid beneath the floorboards. Every legend, every field report, every heretic’s tale about dragons. . .
Not one of them mentioned a dragon keeping a servant. Let alone a human man who reeked of a dragon’s godlike scent.
Korin flies alone. That’s what they always said. No kin. No court. No riders. No mage to guide him. Just death and fire.
The tales of other dragons had been written centuries ago when there had been tons of them. Something had happened, and now there was only one—Korin.
But. . .is this man connected to the dragon in some way?
Maybe he was just here.
