Page 141 of The Dragon Warlord
“I want that, Bay, but—”
“You have to get the dragon lord’s permission. So, get it then.” He pats me on the shoulder as if I can snap my fingers and have the dragon lord’s permission.
I can’t deny him though, not with him looking at me like I’m his whole world. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good, now look over there.”
River has come out of the bedroom dressed in a long white overcoat, his trousers and boots peek out from the bottom. There’s a large silver belt around his waist that complements the gleaming metallic collar around his neck. He’s left his hair as wild on top as usual, full, and thick. He’s left his sword strapped to his back, indicating that the warrior hasn’t left him, but he’s embodying something I’d call princely.
Bayaden plucks Denny from my lap, and they stand by, smiling as I glide to River, slide a hand onto his cheek and press a kiss to his lips. “You’re stunning.”
“Thank you, Tristan, but, um, what’s this all about?” He tugs at the leather throng holding my hair back.
“We’ll be dancing, honeycake,” I complain. “Do any of you have any idea how difficult it is to do things with all this hair?”
Originally, I’d thought about cutting off for the night, but knowing how well it would go over, I came to this compromise.
I think I look dashing.
“This only ends one way, Warlord,” River warns me.
Fuck. I sigh and recall Phari telling me how omega whipped I am. He wasn’t wrong and I don’t even care. Tugging the leather throng from my hair, I shake it out and send a little burst of fire into the thing that I’m apparently never allowed to use. It sets aflame and crumbles to ash. There.
“How is it that I, the Warlord of Warlords, have lost so much dominion over my own styling preferences?”
“Because you’re a smart man,” Bayaden says. “Get out of here, you two. We’ll have the kids taken care of when you get back so if you should want to take your omega to bed, Tristan, just head that way.”
River flushes pink. I growl at the thought of taking him to bed as it’s exactly what I intend on.
* * *
Past the market square, in the tall home of one of Corrik and Alrik’s sisters, is a ballroom. Sirtira likes to party and so she throws parties. Frequently. Elves travel from all of the eight realms to attend her parties.
I reserved a private table for River and me where we’ll get special service and where I can keep him to myself. Corrik thinks I’m crazy for doing this and nearly forbade it. In Dragon Land, everyone understood not to touch my omega. Elves don’t have the same customs. Sure, they’re not going to paw at him, but anything could happen. They have different boundaries than we do and are a carnal race. Someone might simply want to shake his hand in greeting. It’s conventional to hug. He wasn’t convinced that I wouldn’t turn murderous if something were to happen. Though in my defense, I have gotten better about this kind of thing. I believe River hugged his fathers and a bunch of his siblings goodbye. My warriors haven’t had to wear gloves in years. I don’t want a bunch of people pawing at him, but I’m sure I can be reasonable.
He was outvoted by my other husbands and while he, as my head of house, can override them, he prefers to play nice. His words.
We all agreed that I should take precautions and send Sirtira a note to explain the situation. She sent me this reply:
I am not as pessimistic as my little brother and there will be many warriors here. If anything, our home is the perfect place for you to acclimate to Elves with your omega.
P.S. Tell Corrik to piss off!
Ha! I value my arse to some degree, so I didn’t say it to him, but I did show him the parchment.
“That little fucking brat,” he’d said, but her note appeased him and me. Unless I plan to remain sequestered to the palace and the training fields, I need to take us out and get used to more. Luken’s Mother of Earth ceremony is upcoming, a ceremony in which Alrik and I introduce our son, the next crown prince heir, to all the realms. I want to attempt to let Corrik dance with River. Our bond has settled in a big way since I let go of all doubts about us and I’m ready to try these things.
Am I a tad on edge? Yeah, I am, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, and I won’t lob someone’s head off with my sword. To appear less foreboding, I’ve taken the baldric off and set my sword against the table. However, I don’t think less foreboding is a look I can pull off any longer. Some Elves don’t even bother to hide their stares. Thankfully, the stares are mostly for me, but they are also fascinated with my omega. I mentally pat myself on the back for not growling at them.
I put my focus on River who’s in awe of everything. His blues eyes sparkle. He grabs my hand and points at the floating lights and various trays of floating hors d’oeuvres. I grab us glasses of elderberry mead from one of the trays to the tune of supernal Elvish music playing sweetly in the background.
“I love this,” he says. “But I miss sitting in your lap, Warlord.”
He’s hinting because he’s noticed, since it would be awfully hard not to, that Elves aren’t shy about displaying their bodies and their kinks. I was assured that we could wear what we like, but I’m certain some consider us overdressed.
There are many Elves at the feet of their mistresses and masters. Some are on leashes. Many wear leather collars. Cocks are being sucked under tables. There’s a plethora of sexual activity going on and I think my once-innocent omega likes it.
“Take this off,” I tell him, tugging on his beautiful overcoat.
