Page 56 of The Dragon Warlord
“The last part doesn’t surprise me though it also doesn’t make any sense considering all the trouble he’s gone through to keep me. I’m more surprised he showed up.”
He nestles into my neck, scenting me like crazy. “I’m glad he did. I—” His words are cut off by a rib-racking sob.
“All right, we’re getting out of here.”
I don’t know how I have the strength left, but for him, I find it and lift him into my arms. I carry him bridal style for as long as I can, but eventually, I have to settle for tugging him along by his hand to my rooms. Sitting in a chair on the veranda, I pull him into my lap, placing his head into the crook of my neck where he can bury himself in my scent and my hair to calm down. When he’s settled there, I sing a soft Elvish tune that my first husband, Corrik, taught me.
I’ll have to tell him about Amira. I have to tell Ikara about Amira. There’s damage to the tower that must be fixed. There are other dragons who have suffered losses because of this.
So much for a Warlord to do, but I’m going to take care of him first.
Always him first.
* * *
The Tower suffered damage that apparently, I’m responsible for. I’m awarded twenty lashes with the dragon whip, otherwise known as the scale skinner, for allowing a Wasteland beast to breach and damage The Tower. I hate that whip and it’s totally unfair. Whining about it will only earn me more lashes so I accept my fate. I also earn five lashes for each of the dragons we lost on my watch. It’s custom for the Warlord to receive five lashes with the dragon whip for each dragon death lost during an attack to hold the Warlord accountable and to relay to all that no dragon is expendable. Being a dragon Warlord comes with far more responsibility than I ever could have imagined.
I don’t mind those so much. I hate the reason behind having earned them, but we lost four dragons on my watch, including Amira and a young dragon boy. The pain of the lashes doesn’t equal the pain of the loss, but it’s the least I can do.
Dragons don’t bury their dead. We burn them and spread their ashes into the wind. That’s what we do in a huge ceremony.
For some reason, the dragon lord decides that the week after Amira’s pyre is the same week that I’m getting a new tattoo. Being called to the dragon lord’s throne room in the middle of the day, well before discipline, sets me on edge. I haven’t given him cause to punish me since The Tower debacle, but the dragon lord is full of surprises.
River kneels before his father, and I take the kneeling position as his omega. “Good afternoon, Alpha. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“It’s a joyous day. I’m sure you’ll be very excited,” he says, pushing his long hair back, and removing the heavy white cape himself. Lux is to his right, dressed proper-like as always. He removes his cape too.
“What do you perceive as joyous, Alpha?”
“You are receiving the honor of my tattoo today.”
“Tattoo? No.”
He’s frozen, probably because he didn’t expect a flat no. Not with all our discipline sessions, surely? And yet here I stand. Maybe he’ll curse the day destiny brought me to his doorstep and finally bring me home.
Lux’s lips tug at the corners. He wants to smile, but he probably also wants to have sex with his husband later or something. It won’t benefit him to encourage me.
“You’re getting the damn tattoo, Tristan. It’s not up for negotiation. Is this going to be a fight?”
Beside me, still kneeling, River’s jubilation is clear. At least someone adores my antics.
“Yes. No permanent markings. I’ve already got one I didn’t ask for.” I’m referring to the lovely bite he gave me. “No more.”
I’m firm, glaring murder at him. If he does this, he’ll rue the day. He sighs and rubs his forehead as if I’m giving him a headache. Can dragons get headaches? “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, it’s getting done.”
I guess I’ve chosen the hard way because I go for my sword but am taken down immediately by the pain of the collar. He really isn’t fussing around today. The dragon lord leaves me in pain so that I can’t cause him any more trouble and probably because I caused him any trouble in the first place.
Getting the tattoo is a process involving magic performed by Lux and there’s a reason it’s called a fire tattoo. It burns. Fucking Gods, does it burn. My pants are yanked down so that the tattoo can be embossed into the flesh on my hip, and I swear it’s also etched into the bone. That’s what it feels like anyway.
Much like the Warlord’s insignia, it’s the dragon lord version. A dragon head in a circle, this one facing forward. It’s a nice tattoo. It’s cool even. I still don’t like it. The inky black thing is yet another sign of his ownership.
Seething with rage, I don’t wait to be dismissed. He can go fuck himself and with the mood I’m in, I’d rather be thrown in the dungeons than give him an ounce of respect. “Come along, Riv. We’re leaving.”
The dragon lord doesn’t stop me, sensing that I will find a way to rip his head off.
“The tattoo is bad arse, Warlord,” River says we’ve returned to my war room. I know he’s trying to console me, and I appreciate it.
His touch calms the rage inside me. I’ve noticed that he’s found organic ways to do it. I take his hand and press it inside my shirt over my tattoo, the Warlord’s tattoo I got at my coming-of-age ceremony when I turned eighteen. It hurt too, but it was one I wanted.
