Page 4 of Thauglor
All I can do is roll my eyes and try not to let my fury ignite the room. The idea of coupling with any of these females makes me physically sick. My stomach churns with revulsion that has nothing to do with their appearance and everything to do with their fundamental weakness. They are not even close to the way Leviathan portrayed them in his negotiations. Everything about this room and den screams wrong on a level that makes my dragon claw at my insides, demanding release to melt this entire pathetic structure to a puddle of super-heated glass.
Several arguments later—each one more heated than the last—and at least three times I thought Klauth was going to set the world on fire, we finally prepare to leave. The female named Syrax is finally presented, and she’s even worse than I imagined. A mousy little creature who looks like she’d jump out of her skin if I sneezed near her. Her dragon form isn’t even half our size, making me wonder what’s going to happen when Klauth tries to breed with her without accidentally crushing her delicate bones.
The practical part of my mind notes that this is a tomorrow problem—for now, we need to get her home safely, assuming she can fly well enough to survive the journey. But then I remember with bitter irony that she can’t fight, has probably never faced real danger, and will probably panic at the first sign of trouble.
As we prepare for departure, I catch Syrax’s scent on the wind—fear mixed with something that might be resignation. She knows she’s about to enter a world far more dangerous than anything she’s ever imagined, and the knowledge terrifies her. For a moment, the romantic in me feels a stab of sympathy. She didn’t choose this any more than Klauth was desperate enough to accept such a weak mate.
But sympathy is a luxury we can’t afford in the hostile skies that await us. This journey home will test whether she has any hidden strength, any buried potential that might help her survive in Klauth’s world. Somehow, watching her tremble at every sound, I doubt we’ll find any pleasant surprises.
Chapter Four
Later that day.
We land in the courtyard of Klauth’s home with bone-jarring force, our massive forms sending tremors through the ancient stones that still radiate the fading warmth of a sun sinking behind craggy mountains. The dying light paints everything in shades of blood and shadow, a fitting backdrop for the disaster we’ve just witnessed. Dust kicked up by our wings swirls around us in choking clouds that taste like ash and disappointment on my tongue. I also detect a faint odor of scorched earth—evidence of Klauth’s barely contained rage during our flight home.
A lady’s maid scurries out to collect Syrax from us, her shoes clicking nervously against the flagstones like the frantic heartbeat of prey caught in a predator’s gaze. The woman keeps her eyes downcast, smart enough to recognize the danger radiating from two furious dragons barely maintaining their human form. Even the servants here understand that this homecoming is anything but celebratory.
I can’t help but shake my head at this entire disaster, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. I shift back to my human form withmore violence than necessary, bones cracking like explosions in the heavy air. Once I’m fully changed, I step closer to Klauth, my heavy boots striking the stone with deliberate force. Each step echoes like a challenge, reminding him I’m here as he stares out over his kingdom with the hollow eyes of a man who’s just made the worst mistake of his life.
“What are you going to do with her?” I ask, my voice reverberating beneath the vaulted arch with the resonance of distant thunder. I stare at the door where the trembling female disappeared like smoke, probably to hide in whatever pampered chamber they’ve prepared for her. The disgust churning in my gut is so intense I don’t even have words for it. My dragon claws at my insides, demanding release to cleanse this mistake with fire and fury.
“What have I done in my life to deserve this?” Klauth mutters, his voice cracking with an emotion that could be regret or rage—probably both. The scent of his distress mingles with the evening air, sharp and bitter like burnt metal.
I gesture toward the shadowy land where our academy is taking shape, hoping to redirect his thoughts toward something productive before his control snaps entirely. “We are ruthless conquerors who take territory on a whim,” I declare, letting pride ring in my voice like a war horn. “Look at what we accomplished this year alone.” I continue, trying to remind him of our triumphs, our worth, our strength. “We seized more land from the fire drakes and ambush drakes for the war academy training grounds. We also claimed that fertile valley for the memorial garden in your mother’s honor.”
The mention of his mother brings a flicker of something warmer to his eyes, a brief respite from the storm of self-loathing. Thatgarden will be a testament to strength and beauty combined—everything his new bride is not.
Klauth turns and follows where I’m pointing, his movements sharp with barely contained violence. He nods slowly, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his tactical mind. “We offered them a place at the academy once it’s finished,” he says, his voice gaining strength as he focuses on plans instead of regrets. “Lesser dragons and other species would attend and prove their worth.” His eyes glitter with dangerous possibility. “I say we create a gauntlet to separate the weak from the strong, and then send only the strong to the war campus.”
I watch the muscles in his jaw tense as he speaks, noting the predatory gleam that replaces his earlier despair. The gauntlets would test the male population and cull the weak from the gene pool. It’s brutal but a necessary process that will prevent future disasters like the one we just witnessed. No more crystal dragon weaklings polluting our bloodlines.
I rub my jaw, pondering Klauth’s suggestion while the leather of my gauntlet creaks ominously in the growing darkness. The sound reminds me of bones breaking, of challenges accepted and enemies defeated. “We might as well have a second gauntlet to further separate the strongest and smartest from the merely strong-but-stupid,” I suggest, then shrug as if designing death traps is casual conversation. My gaze moves between the two proposed locations, already envisioning the obstacles and trials that will forge loyal warriors. “The strong, smart ones can be your generals, officers, and tacticians. The rest will serve as soldiers under their command.”
“That’s a sound idea,” Klauth concedes, and I hear the first genuine approval in his voice since we left the crystal dragon den. He taps the hilt of his sword with metallic clicks that ringlike a funeral dirge in the evening air. It’s a habit of his when he’s seriously considering something, usually something violent. “I’ll implement it as soon as the construction is complete.” A low growl resonates deep in his chest, vibrating through the stone beneath our feet. “A crystal dragon... what was I thinking?”
I shake my head and don’t even bother to answer that question directly. My honest response would end with us in this courtyard fighting until one of us yields, and between the two of us, that could be hours from now. The stones would run red with blood before either of us backed down, and I’m not ready to lose my oldest friend over his moment of weakness.
Instead, I follow him inside to his private office, where strategic maps cover every surface like battle plans for conquering the world. The room smells of ink and parchment, leather, and steel—the scents of planning and preparation that I find infinitely more appealing than crystal dragon perfume. He makes quick notes with sharp, aggressive strokes, and pins my ideas to the map with the precision of someone marking targets for destruction.
Two gauntlets for the males to run, each one designed to test different aspects of strength and cunning. One on the main campus, challenging but survivable for those with basic competence. The other at what will be called Shadowcarve—a name that makes my lips curl in a predatory smile. The brutal war academy is my personal project, my gift to future generations of warriors. I’ve been helping to write the curriculum, designing trials that will forge weapons of living steel from raw potential.
When it’s complete, Klauth has already promised me dominion over it, and the thought fills me with savage anticipation. Oh, the fun I’ll have with the next generation of warriors. No coddling,no gentle encouragement—just the harsh truth that only the strong deserve to survive.
I head home through skies that grow more dangerous with each passing hour, my thoughts churning like storm clouds. The poor bastard has made the most monumental mistake of his life, and I can’t shake the image of that trembling female who’ll probably faint at the first sign of genuine conflict. That crystal dragon—where do I even begin cataloging her inadequacies?
It’s almost as comical as the blue dragoness who landed near my mating display the other day, attracted by the trophies but completely unprepared for what they represented. She was tiny and frail-looking, her scales the pale blue of shallow water rather than the deep sapphire of true strength. When I emerged from my hidden observation den, she took off like someone had set her scales on fire, disappearing into the clouds with panicked wingbeats that screamed of weakness.
To be honest, it was probably for the best. Another disappointment would have sent me into a rage that might have leveled half the mountain range.
I’ve visited the temple of Bahamut and the temple of Tiamat, making offerings to both great gods and asking for a worthy mate. The priests took my gold and gems with reverent hands, promising to carry my prayers to divine ears. I’d wait a thousand years for her if I have to. Time means nothing when you’re damn close to immortal. For me, settling for less than perfection would be a betrayal of everything I believe about true partnership.
Shaking my head, I scan the horizon as I fly through air that tastes of coming storms and distant smoke. Maybe it’s as simple as my mate not being born yet? Or perhaps she hasn’t flown to this side of the continent yet, still growing into her strengthin some distant land? Both possibilities soothe my dragon’s ire, offering hope instead of the crushing despair that threatens to consume me during my darkest moments.
Blackhaven comes into view like a beacon of strength rising from the wilderness, its stone walls gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. I roar, letting my nest and progeny know I have returned safely from yet another perilous journey. The sound echoes off the mountain peaks, a declaration of power that sends smaller creatures scurrying for cover and reminds any potential enemies that this territory is claimed and defended.
Answering roars drift up from below—my hatchlings welcoming me home with voices that grow stronger each year. Pride swells in my chest at the sound, even as loneliness gnaws at my soul like a persistent wound.
Shaking my head, I think about the two females currently living in my territory, the ones I chose to produce my progeny. They are strong black dragonesses, powerful in their own right and worthy of respect, but still not my mate. They hail from the northern continent, their scales as dark as midnight and their claws sharp enough to carve stone. Their king gifted them to me as payment for helping defeat the shadowblades that had invaded his territory and tried to assassinate his progeny.
