Page 204 of The Forbidden Dragon King
This is the first time that I feel like I’m seeing a glimpse beneath Daire’s mask to how he might have acted with his featherglass.
How could they have lived in such a whirlwind of emotion and joy?
Why does it ache so much that I have boxed him in with rules and the bars of my court’s cage?
“By the Shadow Devils, will you look at this,” Daire shouts across the crowds.
“He’s more like a fae puppy than a kitten.” My lips twitch, as I hold Freya’s hand and pull her into the laughter and chatter of the thronging festivalgoers toward Daire.
“A deadly one with fangs,” Freya agrees.
Daire is standing in front of a stall of ornately carved and vibrantly painted wooden masks. He’s holding two of them up with a look of devilish delight.
“The seller says that these are traditional carnival half-masks. That side of the stall are the shadow villains, and this side are your heroes, all dragons of course, who dwell in the light. They’re bloody brilliant.” Daire holds up two masks. “I’ve found a mask of you amongst the heroes. And look, this handsome one from the opposing villain side…? Guess who this one is meant to be?”
Freya gasps. “It’s you.”
“They got the silver curls right. I’m not sure about the nose.”
Delighted, Freya lets go of my hand to rush toward Daire, examining the masks along with Daire. “You were amongst the shadow villains…?”
“I am one of this kingdom’s enemies.” He tilts up his chin, casting me a proud look. “Aurelius’ nemesis.”
I choke on a laugh. “Who loves stuffing his face with sweet cakes.”
“Even villains need to eat.”
Freya rushes between the masks, stroking over one that even has attached raven wings. “This is you too.”
Daire puffs out his chest; the rogue is enjoying his notoriety. “I am the Raven King.”
“More like the Bandit King,” I mutter.
“That too.”
I wander to the heroes, staring in amazement at the golden masks.
They’re clearly of me.
It makes me feel strange to see myself reflected back: stern, cold, and regal.
Is this how the citizens of my kingdom see me, rather than as a wicked beast?
Suddenly, however, Freya’s breath catches. She’s staring at a beautiful mask with painted on red-wine eyes and long black hair, which is otherwise wreathed in shadows.
“Lanlin,” I whisper.
Freya backs up, hitting my chest. I wrap my arms around her. Yet she’s not trembling. She’s flushed. She’s staring too long at the mask, as if she’s desperate to reach out and touch it.
I turn her sharply away to face me instead. “It’s only a mask. It’s not real.”
She nods. Seems to want to say more. But doesn’t.
I relax.
“People all around the carnival will be wearing your faces.” Freya bites her lip, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Fucking weird. Be careful that I don’t go home with one of them.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I snarl.
