Page 27 of King of Fire and Scales

He held out his hand in reverence, and Thalia took it. He gave her fingers a dainty kiss, then rose, his hands fixed behind his back. He grinned with a discreet knowledge that Thalia considered only dragons to be privy to.

“Shall I lead you to your private table, My King?”

“You shall,” Drake said, then knitted his brows playfully. “And you can stop calling me that. We are brothers in arms, Benedict.”

Benedict’s tongue slipped out from between his teeth, then turned to lead them through a narrow corridor.

“If that is what you desire, My King,” he teased.

They were guided back into the cool night, the sky twinkling with the emergence of pulsating stars. The moon was shy, gleaming in a thinly cut crescent behind slate clouds.

“The usual then, My King?” Benedict said.

“The finest of your vintage red, good sir,” Drake said, settling in the seat opposite Thalia. “Bring us a menu if you’d be so kind."

“Right away."

The tall man raced inside as Thalia tucked the hem of her skirt beneath the table. The furniture was ramshackle after years of use, but they were concealed under a dark green tarp that appeared as if it had been laid out that very same day.

Drake watched her, assessing with big round eyes.

“I hope that this establishment suits you,” he said, sounding a little terrified. “I have known Benedict since I was a lad. He used to visit the castle as the son of one of my father’s housekeepers. He had not been blessed with the exorbitant wealth and privilege as I have."

Thalia shook her head, unable to escape the joviality flooding through her body. She laid both arms on the table and held out her hands, palms open to the sky.

The king gazed down at them, sweetly shocked.

“I love it already,” she mused. “Come. I will not bite.”

He smirked, then placed his hands in hers. They were rough and warm.

“I am so glad to be here with you,” she murmured into the night. “What you’ve done for me, for my father…I cannot put into words how thankful I am.”

She felt her voice become gravelly with a wave of grief and grace, and Drake must have noticed. He lifted her hands up to his mouth and moved each finger along his lips with a mellow stare.

“I know you are. I care for you, dear Thalia. My words will not suffice.”

Benedict returned with two dark red glasses of wine. Drake did not take his eyes off her.

“When you are finished with your appetizer,” Benedict said, jesting with the king. “Would you like to have your supper?”

FOURTEEN

DRAKE

The king didn’t know how much more he could take. Thalia was lovely beyond measure, and his dragon had nearly burned a hole through his skull with longing.

Her touch was like lightning on his skin, her scent, a breeze of intoxication. He couldn’t stay composed in the way he truly wanted to because everything inside him was begging with the need to devour every inch of her arresting essence.

Sorcha had been right. She was luscious from top to bottom. And he didn’t merely crave her carnally. No, he was possessed by something far more fluid than the fleeting superfluousness of lust.

He meant it when he told her that he lacked sufficient vocabulary. He’d rather wax lyrical over her body and soul like a painter brushing over a canvas, or a musician feathering his fingers over his treasured instrument.

The king hadn’t ever thought of any other being in that manner before. The peculiar foreign feeling made him want to set an entire city ablaze and dance drunkenly, all at once.

Their conversation at The Claw was easy and smooth. Thalia was amazed by the full flavoring of Benedict’s cooking, expressing herself vividly. She was bubbly, not a trace of the somber protector he’d met that first day at the village hut in sight.

But he was drawn to her then just as he was drawn to her beneath the veneered canopy of stars. The moon peeked its head out irregularly, casting the Creation Witch in a glow that felt otherworldly. He sat there, his chin perched on his palm, indelibly captivated.

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