Page 160 of The Forbidden Dragon King
“Do you love my dance?” He jumps hard on Tiberius’ back.
Tiberius grunts.
Daire gives a sharp smile. “You do?”
He leaps again, and this time, I hear a rib snap.
When Daire’s gaze fixes on the final guard with thebundle of fur still locked around his ankle, the dragon backs away with a whimper.
I meet Daire’s gaze, before strolling to join him, as he springs off Tiberius’ back and prowls toward the guard.
It’s thrilling to be walking at the side of an Alpha like this.
“I was only following orders,” the guard whines.
Daire’s expression becomes icier. “What an obedient soldier you are. Would you follow them to march into hell? Aye, you would. I can see it in your eyes. I saw it in the eyes of the dragon warriors who were trained in your academy. I saw it in their eyes on the day that they burned every civilian in my Winter Court or ambushed my army during our sacred rite. But you’d only befollowing orders, aye?”
The guard nods, more cautiously.
“How about following your fucking conscience?” Daire hisses.
“I d-d-don’t know about anything like t-t-that,” the guard stutters. “This is only my f-f-first week. Please don’t kill me, sir.”
“Sir,” Daire chuckles. “Wasn’t I yourtoybefore?”
“Five,” I coax, “good girl. You can let go now.”
Reluctantly, Five releases the guard’s ankle, getting in a final swipe with her claws.
She winds around Daire’s ankles, asking for petting as a reward.
Daire smiles fondly, crouching down. Then he strokes along Five’s back, and she arches up into his hand. She purrs, bumping his leg with her head.
Daire scoops her up, settling her on his shoulder, before standing. Still loudly purring, Five balances herself around his neck like a furry scarf.
Trust Daire to enjoy having such a dangerous cat, who still has blood on her teeth and claws, close to his throat.
Daire’s gaze meets the trembling guard’s. “This is the part where you take us to Aurelius for punishment.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Aurelius’ Study, Shadow Court
Freya
“You hadto choose this morning to stage a rebellion,” Aurelius says wearily.
He’s slumped behind the large, oak desk in his study. He looks immaculate in his leather tunic, which is lined with metallic thread, tan breeches, and crimson cloak.
He’s washed out, however, and dark shadows hollow his blood-shot eyes.
Hangovers are a bitch.
To my relief, he doesn’t look anything like Hadrian any longer, but is onceagain my Aurelius.
Golden drapes have been pulled over the large, columned windows at the back, which look out over the manicured rose garden, probably to help his hangover. Despite being morning, the room is in shadows.
Aurelius massages his throbbing temples, reaching for a goblet of water that sits to the side of the desk. He takes a long drink, as if needing the strength to talk to us.
