Page 22 of Sanctuary with Kings

His name recalled the minotaur's weight above me, between my thighs, and I savored the warmth that spiraled through me.

Laszlo's head tipped. "I suppose, should you wish to keep the sanctuary of the castle, you had better stay within the border walls. Beyond that…" He shrugged, one massive and elegant golden wing rustling with the act.

I wanted to touch those feathers, let their blade edges stroke against my fingers, but I wasn't sure my granted freedom extended that far. The temptation of the terrace was strong, but Laszlo sat at his desk with a forceful air of solitude. I would come back when the room wasn't occupied, but for now, there was another kernel of information that intrigued me.

Hywel sleeps below the castle.

From the first short set of stairs that led down, I found a kitchen, with several blurry shadow figures darting out of corners, and a fragrant loaf steaming fresh on the counter. I watched them work for a moment, the way the figures vanished as they crossed beams of sunlight from the narrow high windows and then reappeared on the other side. Their hands stirring pots were the most detailed part of them, almost solid, while they faded to nothing at their backs and faces.

The next set of stairs led down to a well-stocked cellar. I remembered the fields of grains and vegetables we passed where sheep and goats grazed, and I wondered if the shadows also tended those, if Laszlo really knew how many there were, working in quiet gaps of shade to keep the castle running.

A narrow corridor faced me at the opposite end of the cellar, and I grabbed one of the torches lit along the walls and approached slowly. There was no sign of light or life inside, and the walls were bare. I hesitated at the threshold, a queasy chill circling low in my gut. The wall was cool and rough against my palm, but the light of the torch made the space appear endless.

I can turn back, I promised myself. And Laszlo had said the only risk was outside of the castle. My slippers provided a soft, reassuring whisper as I ventured in, and the floor was slightly tilted, making every step heavier.

I haven't been this alone in centuries. The thought thrilled me. The corridor was dark and bare, but there were no growls in the distance, no pacing footsteps from a cell nearby, no whimpering cries through the walls. I was alone, in a strange castle, with harmless shadows and a reticent gryphon. I was free—to leave, to stay, to explore.

At last, I reached a branch in the corridor, a glimmer of soft blue light from the left, a glow of more torches from the right. I stopped at the left branch where the floor continued to slope gently downward, and a ripple of bright water shone. A bathing pool, possibly even with a hot spring source, based on the mineral whiff in the air.

The right branch was a steeper, twisting staircase. A warmer, deeper fragrance rose from those steps, earth and smoke and sharp metal.

I turned right, holding my torch in a slightly trembling hand, steadying my swooping nerves with my hand on the wall. The walls cracked open near the bottom, dropping back, and the cavern I walked into was grander and greater than the main hall of the castle and filled with even more curious objects. More than the whole castle combined, I suspected. At the far end, a crack in the stone broke open to the sea and sky, the same view as the terrace.

And there, in the heart of the cavern, surrounded by treasures, I found Hywel, King of Dreams. My heart soared at the sight of the enormous sleeping dragon, his long, curled red body reminiscent of a cat, broad jaw resting on taloned feet and piles of velvet. He sucked in a breath and his back, taller than me or even Asterion, rose and fell with a heavy sigh. His breath warmed the room, a fresh scorch in the air. He rumbled with a drowsy purr, and the stone floor, layered with heavy carpets and littered with pillows, shook with the sound. His nostrils flared and his scales rippled, and I thought—hoped, anticipated giddily—that he might wake.

He continued to slumber. And with his sleep, the air thickened and my eyes fell shut, lips parting and curling up.

He was having a good dream. Something sweet and simple, but he was powerful and massive. A dragon's version of "sweet and simple" offered meso much. I moaned at the waynéktarcurled through the air, licked at my skin. My steps stumbled forward and I scrambled, finding a vase to hold the torch I'd been carrying, before I followed the siren call to the dragon.

His scales appeared matte and dull at first, until I reached him and found that they were only dusty. I brushed my sleeve over one palm-sized scale high on his shoulder, as high as I could reach, and it came away gleaming and clean, ruby red with a little crack of opalescent white.

His enormous face was right by my hip. If he opened his jaw, I could climb inside. I would be a morsel to him. I would have to climb him, tucking my toes between his heavy, leathery lips in order to sit atop his snout. His head was ridged along the center, and protective horns sprouted over his skull. He was exquisite, and his dreams made my body heavy and loose. I found a silk skirt in the pile he used as a pillow, and pulled it free with only a little struggle.

"You're beautiful," I murmured to the sleeping dragon. "But you need a little tidying up."

I used the silk to wipe away the dust on the part of his snout by my hip, worked my way over to the ridge, and circled it around one of the smaller horns.

Hywel rumbled again, and the sound shook through me, deep into my bones, a stunning vibration that drew a gasp from my lips. Heat pooled in my core, and I gripped the horn to keep from swooning asnéktarflooded through my blood like a fire eating through a room with a freshly opened window. I sat down heavily on the thick leg behind me, marveling as I stared up at the enormous jeweled head.

A sigh of pleasure from the dragon, and it was as if I'd feasted on flesh for a week. My head was clearer, my body warmer, and my hearthurtfrom what a relief it was.

"Thank you for that. In exchange, I will clean you up," I whispered. "You deserve to shine again, dreaming or not."

CHAPTER8

OVERDUE NIGHTMARE

Ipaused on the threshold of the large room, glancing at the table where Laszlo sat alone, one chair and one setting for his dinner. I looked away, thinking hard, and then back again, and found him staring at the sudden addition of another seat and setting.

His head turned to me and he blinked, but he said nothing. No protest. No hello.

I'd spent the better part of three days climbing over a sleeping dragon, dusting off scales and sucking upnéktar. I knew now how much strength I'd lost, how much of my own mind, because it was returning to me one deep, sleeping sigh at a time.

If Laszlo knew or cared where I spent my days, he'd said nothing, and I'd scavenged my meals from the ever-occupied kitchens.

Three days of a one-sided conversation with a slumbering beast the size of a modest house had been soothing, but also hollow. I'd been raw and empty when Asterion found me, and Lillian's company was a balm I hadn't understood how to value, but I missed it now.

"I thought Asterion and Conall would've returned by now," I said, not risking asking for an invitation to dine when I thought there was a small chance he would refuse. I needed to hear another person's voice in my ear, regardless if it was welcoming or not.

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