Page 201 of The Forbidden Dragon King
Daire regally holds out his hand to me, as he has all evening.
“Of course,” I mutter, taking out my purse and then passing the money directly to the stall holder.
“He has you well trained,” the slim, middle aged Beta behind the stall says, pocketing the money.
Freya smothers her laugh behind her palm.
“You should see the tricks he can do.” Daire leans in to the woman, conspiratorially. “One time, he?—
My eyes flash. “One more word, Kit, and I’ll…”
“Here, taste it.” Daire shoves the tart into my mouth.
I choke for a moment, before I bite into the sweetest tart that I’ve ever tasted.
The homemade crust is buttery and flaky in the best way. When I crunch into the pomegranate seeds, they burst with a bright, tangy flavor.
I moan, and the stallholder grins. I swallow, licking my lips.
“Very good.” I nod at the Beta woman.
“Thank you,” she replies, before she winks at Daire, who is finishing up his own sweet tart with relish. “But I’d still like to hear about those tricks.”
When I growl a warning at Daire, he laughs and spins away from the stall into the crowd like ash on the breeze.
Freya nuzzles into my side, taking small bites of her own tart.
“Anything else you want?” I ask, awkwardly, wishing that I was like War and could easily spoil my Omega. “Just say, and I’ll buy it.”
Freya pats her own pocket. “I’ve been saving. I have my own purse, and this is my first chance to spend my salary. I’m looking forward to buying myself something.”
I grit my teeth. Did I offer the gift wrong?
Daire is dancing between the stalls, examining the hair clips, brooches, and toys with fascination. There is something unusual about the way that he brushes his fingersacross the wares, feeling out the pieces by touch rather than sight. But then, fae are tactile.
Occasionally, he holds one up like a war trophy to Freya, but she only shakes her head.
At last, he traces over a wooden dragon, which has been painted gold, before holding it aloft.
Freya’s face lights up. “It’s you, Aurelius.”
She wriggles free of me to rush to the stall. Her hands brush across Daire’s, as they hold the small wooden dragon between them.
I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t you want something fancier? I’ll buy you one made of real gold. I want to court you properly.”
Freya shakes her head, and her fiery curls bounce. “This is perfect. I can keep it with the wooden shrine that you made me.”
“But I?—”
“The Omega wants to buy it herself.” Daire’s eyes are piercing in the dark. His wings rise in warning. “Let her.”
I nod, watching in admiration as Freya fiercely haggles the stallholder down to half the price. It hits me how proud she is, when she takes out the silk purse that I gave her and pays for the wooden dragon herself.
She hugs it to her chest.
“A miniature me,” I drawl. “I am not enough for you?”
“You’re not always with me.” Freya strokes over the wooden dragon. She slips it into her pocket. “Now, you’ll be with me all the time when I miss you.”
