Page 81 of A Story of Sinners

I glared at the mage who’d knocked her off her feet, then threatened Redmond by way of mere proximity. If any others had chosen to venture across our path, I would have threatened them too.

I dragged my hand down my face and groaned as I entered Lord August’s throne room. The nightmares I’d been having, the waking in strange places and resulting lack of sleep, weren’t helping either.

The herald announced my presence before I could even step over the threshold, and I shot him a scathing glare. Gods, I needed to get it together before tonight.

Right now, there were more pressing matters to attend to than worrying. I could only hope the hours before nightfall gave me the opportunity to ease my temperament. The last thing Dahlia needed tonight was a brooding male.

My feet echoed against the marble flooring as I drew to a stop in front of Lord August’s throne.

“Well, you look like you’ve been smacked around with a barrel of sand. Your meeting with Dahlia didn’t go as planned, I presume?” He chuckled. When he noticed the crazed look in my eye, he held his hands up. “My apologies, High King.”

“You know why I’m here,” I answered. To ask a favor, as usual. In ten years’ time, the male would have a stockpile of favors, large enough to ask for my crown, but that would never happen. He knew the request would result in his death, Fin’s father or not.

He rose from his throne, and stepped off the dais, meeting me at my level, an offering of respect.

“War is coming,” he stated simply, already knowing what I came to speak of.

“Yes. I can feel it.”

Lord August nodded. “I can taste death on the air, hanging heavy over the land. It will only be a matter of time. I assume you want the dragons to patrol the barrier and ensure nothing slips through.”

“It’s in the best interest of all of Faerie. If the cracks are discovered, and the Otherworld creatures manage to slip through, it’s over for all of us,” I answered. “We won’t be able to maintain the same way of life. Faerie and the mortal continent would officially merge, and chaos would follow.”

“Your brother never asked for support.”

My eyes rolled at the comment. He was aware that his help was necessary, and he would offer it no matter what, but the old male was tired of aiding for free. My body tensed as I awaited his demands, hoping he didn’t overstep.

Lord August sighed and waived his hand. “So the dragons will be forced to miss a few nights of revelry. I suppose protecting Faerie is worth it. For a price.”

I shot him a wary glance. “Name your price.”

“Gold and gemstones,” he blurted out nearly immediately. “I’ve given your mate a few too many, and my hoard is running lower than I prefer.”

He probably still had multiple caves filled with jewels, but a dragon could never have enough. I was always sure to give Fin a gem nearly every day, just to keep him happy. I snorted then froze. He’d been givingmy mategemstones.

“Have you given her chains or settings with those gems?” I asked, my tone filled with warning.

If he answered yes, Fin would be the new Lord of the Dragon lands.

“Of course not,” he waived me away. “I know which boundaries can be overstepped and which would be a death sentence. She’s gotten a few rubies and a few golden bricks as a token of my appreciation, but never a piece of jewelry.” He shrugged. “She reminds me of my Ariel.”

His deceased daughter. My body instantly relaxed. After the war, the old dragon had struggled with her loss most of all, and Dahlia was the epitome of a female with father issues. It made sense the two would grow close.

“It’s a deal. I’ll have a ship of gemstones and gold sent over first thing in the morning.”

Lord August nodded, and I whirled away. I had seven hours until sunset; seven hours to plan the perfect night, but before I reached the threshold, he spoke.

“Her favorite foods are fruits and an assortment of cheeses with bread and crackers, and she loves fairy wine, the pink kind. Her favorite flowers are black dahlias. She chose her name based on her love for them, though she’s never seen them in real life, only in sketches. I heard they grow in New Hazel.”

I didn’t turn to look at him, only grunted in confirmation as I sifted away.

Seven hours to sift to New Hazel.

Seven hours to gather a staple cheese from each nation.

Seven hours to figure out what I wanted to say, needed to say.

This would be it. It had to be.

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