Page 98 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
By the time we finally reach the dragon in question, my muscles burn from dragging the heavy chains behind me. The skin of my ankles stings—chafing beneath the shackles meant to keep me grounded.
But they are unnecessary. I cannot leave. Not without Bene and his aunties.
“Where is Velda?” I ask as Malice turns to face me, his arms clasped behind his back, his tall frame wrapped in black velvet.
At the question, he arches a single dark eyebrow. “Good evening to you, too,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from each word. “The pixie is safe. For now.”
He inspects me with a quick head-to-toe sweep of his gaze, taking in my emerald-encrusted diadem, bejeweled choker, and spangled silk gown. A faint smile catches at the corner of his mouth.
“Leave us,” he barks at Ghoul and Rowan, sending the goblins away. Leaving me alone. With him. When next he looks my way, he plainly observes, “You match my eyes.”
My heart skips a beat. It never occurred to me that he would think I had dressed to please him. I hold my tongue, refusing to correct him. Perhaps it will be in my favor to keep him in a good mood for the moment.
But whatever good mood my appearance might have sparked within my captor dissipates in the next moment when he extends his hand toward me, as if in an attempt to capture mine, and then stops—kept at bay by the invisible wall still standing between us.
Fury flashes within his eyes like green fire. “Still you keep me from touching you?” he hisses, twitching away from me.
My throat tightens around the apology I feel beholden to utter. Not that I am upset by the prospect of Bene’s uncle never touching me again. But I wish I at least understood what I did to put us in such a predicament in the first place.
“I do not trust you,” I answer after a moment’s pause. It is not quite the truth, but certainly not a lie.
Malice’s expression shifts. It smooths. I can’t possibly begin to decipher the unreadable mask he wears now. “You wish for me to gain your trust?” he quietly asks, his eyes searching mine. “Like a man seeking to court hisdrakira?”
I rack my mind for whatdrakiramight mean, but my rudimentary Draconic fails me again. The only time I can even remember hearing that word was back in Spindleton when Bene snarled it at Friedemar.Na’drakira.
Mydrakira.
“I am Bene’sdrakira—” I start to say.
But Malice cuts me off with his sharp laughter. “No, you’re not,” he corrects me, taking a single step closer.
I retreat in response, my chains clinking against stone.
His eyes burn against mine, smoldering with a heat I dare not name when he asks, “Are you my nephew’s betrothed?”
“No—”
“Are you his wife?”
“No, I—”
“You are not even his mistress.”
Blessedly, that one is not a question. But still my cheeks burn in the wake of his latest observation.
He huffs out a breath through his nose, nodding to himself. “You are not hisdrakira, then, my dear. Adrakirais a bonded mate. Awife. You are beholden to no dragon… which means you are perfectly free to be courted by another.”
I wet my lips, my mind scrambling to make sense of the sudden turn our conversation has taken. Why did Bene tell Friedemar I was hisdrakira? To protect me?
Why is Malice speaking of me being free to be courted by another dragon now?
I already know the answer to that question, of course.
But I don’t like it.
Delicately, I suggest, “I am no longer sure this is an appropriate topic of discussion for us to be having together, Lord Malice.”
His eyebrows knit together. Slowly, he takes a step backward, his eyes skimming across me again. Searching for something. “Why are you suddenly acting like a lady?” he asks.
