Page 35 of King of Fire and Scales

Seeing him blossom eased some of her misery. Then it all came swarming back when she left the room, finding the guard lingering by.

“You don’t have to stay so close,” she barked at him, then grunted. “Where is the dungeon?”

The guard gave her a look of indignation. She rolled her eyes and sprinted away.

Thalia left the poor man in the dust. The guard yelled after her as she attempted to depart from the private wing.

“I’m afraid you are not permitted, miss.”

She tried the door and found it was locked from the outside. She spun around and found the guard standing closer and spat out her demands with venom.

“Let me see her. I want to see Sorcha.”

The guard shook his head silently. Thalia felt like bristles were teeming out of her skin.

“Some help you are,” she said bitterly, then ducked under his arm.

Thalia had no idea what else to do. She was in shock that it only took one night of pure pleasure for the king to show his true colors. The sadness was starting to show its face, but the Creation Sorceress would not allow it to anchor her down.

She raced toward the library, intent on lambasting Pyralis on where he retrieved his information. But when she arrived, the insect-like bastard had shirked away. She searched each aisle multiple times, her bare feet padding against the cool wood while the guard continued to haunt her with his heavy, webbed-footed lumbering.

Thalia was in the section dedicated to wolf shifters when she reeled around, swiping her hand in the air as if to strike him.

“Please give me some space,” she implored. “We are in the library. I need some privacy.”

The big-headed man shook his head. The steel of his armor traced the dim light in dancing shapes.

“I am to stay close by at all times. King’s orders.”

Thalia gnashed her teeth together and tangled her fingers through her hair. She just needed some time to think. She wasn’t going to get that with the moron pasted to her like a shadow.

She squeezed her fingers against her skull and strained her eyes closed. She visualized her own secluded haven, void of guards and curmudgeonly kings. All of the muscles in her body went as rigid as stone, and that was when she heard the shelves begin to move.

“What the…”

A torrent of books cascaded to the floor as the heavy bookshelves began to shake, then turned themselves inward toward Thalia. She watched in amazement as they enfolded her like a shrine. They halted their spellbound movements when the guard was successfully jutted out of the way, surrounding the witch like a flock of robins protecting their young.

“Undo this at once!” he demanded.

Thalia let out an incensed snicker, then leaned against the shelf behind her. “Okay, I will do just that,” she said, laughing maniacally.

Thalia was starting to calm down when the shelf behind her made a loud fraying sound. She jumped back when the shelf started to move, parting open at a leisurely pace. Her heart was racing when she spotted a bewilderingly bright green door.

Bravely, she stepped toward it as the guard continued his incessant plea.

EIGHTEEN

DRAKE

The king allowed his mate to stomp out of the room. He was unfazed by her intense emotion, at least on the surface level. He trusted that once she saw the error of her ways, she would come running back, gracious that he placed her well-being above the brevity of shock.

He ruminated as he flitted through his various garments, pretending only to himself that his mate’s upset wasn’t a trifle tormenting to observe. Her scathing remark about finally seeing the true him had cut through, but only surface level. Drake assured himself as he dressed for the day, fitted in his traditional military wear and accompanying golden tassel-meshwork cloak.

The king anticipated that he was going to be imbued with some tricky and hostile attitudes that day. He swept out of the room, intending to be on his best royal behavior.

The second he departed from his private chambers, a swarm of guards rushed him. One held a scroll where someone had quickly scribbled upon it in thin black ink.

“My King, My King,” his head guard said, taking a bow before revealing his overwrought expression. “We have received word from Lucien.”

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