Page 26 of King of Fire and Scales

And she couldn’t judge that. She had personally pined on lonesome nights for a hand, even a sweet mouth, to take her to the peaks of bliss. She was a full-bodied, hot-blooded woman after all, and yielded on a handful of occasions to the appetites of a few boys down at the tavern.

Each exchange of bodily fluids had fallen short of her expectations. She had done it when she was particularly downcast, longing for a distraction that would remove her from her earthly woes, even for a minute. But it only left her feeling even more disheartened.

Thalia knew that the king would be different in every way imaginable. She’d felt the heat between them before and even more after the kiss. She had felt giddy for him, feeling a bit like a vapid little girl as she selected an outfit that was slightly scandalous, yet, royally genteel at the same time.

She washed the grit out of her hair, her natural waves bouncing and buoyant from the soap she applied. She pulled on the gorgeous, noble beaded dress, sewn together with the finest midnight flax linen and blue pomegranate trim.

The lengthy bell sleeves and form-fitting silhouette enhanced the witch’s already fetching features, along with a wide scoop neckline that teased a short plunge of her tasty cleavage. The skirt ran along the floor in merriment, giving her the sensation of flying.

Thalia felt elegant and alluring. And for the first time, inescapably powerful.

As she applied the final touches of the plum lip color, she mused on everything Drake had done for her that could have been otherwise. Zendel had not asked for her consent when he crashed through the inn window and captured her in his claws. If Drake really wanted to, he could have done just that.

She didn’t enjoy the idea that he had murdered the enemy dragon on her behalf. But she accepted that in wartime, drastic measures had to be taken.

It was also abundantly clear to her that Drake, despite his initial sullen countenance, had her best intentions in mind. He had brought Sorcha to her, as well as Nerin, aware of how her father’s vitality was quickly diminishing. And he was actively fighting an animalistic sexual hunger that was intrinsic to his kind.

He had done all of that in the middle of a war. Not to mention his inherent beauty, striking blue eyes, and marble-carved physique obscured by the thick layering of traditional garb.

Thalia clenched her legs together at the thought of the kiss. She was going to give him a chance, though she knew in the attic of her mind there had been no man she was as eager to open her legs for as the great Dragon King.

Hold the reins, but celebrate, she thought to herself unscrupulously.

They met at dusk, surreal streaks of vermillion leading their way to a horse-drawn carriage. Drake somehow looked even more handsome in the light, soft and delicate as a dove.

The blue of his eyes was torrid with anticipation. Wearing a sable black tunic and accompanying cape, he smiled at her as he climbed into the carriage.

“You look divine,” he whispered.

Thalia donned a light shawl over her dress and felt like tossing it into the air and letting the heat that stitched along her chest and neck roam free. She was as light as a feather.

“You are rather celestial yourself, My King,” she responded.

They trotted into town, following the sunset. Drake offered her his arm as they strolled through the township. A calmness had washed over the settlement as dusk faded, with shops and homes settling into a tranquil doze.

They received a handful of looks and nosy leers, but it wasn’t anything Thalia wasn’t used to. They were all well-mannered and addressed the king with a gracious aura.

“They are all struck by you,” Drake said, hushed in the cool air. “They are starting to wonder who the goddess is linked on the king’s arms.”

Thalia felt faint at the thought of being inundated with Drake’s charms on a daily basis. She squeezed his bicep, as stout as a tree trunk, and leaned her head against him.

He had a woodsy, vanilla-soaked bouquet to him. It was sensual and made the witch’s knees nearly buckle.

“Won’t your establishment be closed soon?” she asked, diverting the attention she wasn’t accustomed to.

The king shook his head smugly.

“My darling, when you are the king, you control when eateries close. Also, the owner is a close friend of mine. He is very anxious to meet you.”

They ambled toward a small building with torchlight flickering at its front doors and gold-plated lettering reflecting in the flames. It read The Claw’s Inn.

When they walked inside, Thalia was struck by the sheer quaintness and cozy ambiance. Handcrafted cherry oak tables and chairs sat empty, the spectral of dinners emanating through the scuffs along the floorboards and stains dotting the surface. The witch was impressed by the simplicity.

“My King.”

A man with long dark hair held his arms out to greet them. As he grew closer, he reminded Thalia of a crow, but one with an aristocratic cheerfulness. He embraced Drake as if he were embracing a loyal customer, then bowed his head when addressing her.

“My Gods,” he said with a gasp. “This must be the renowned Creation Sorceress, great Thalia Hafeld. I am beyond honored to make your acquaintance. My name is Benedict Meridian.”

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