Page 45 of Taloned Heart

That image wouldn’t get out of his head for a while. Abraxas had thought Goliath exaggerated when he claimed female dwarfs had beards, but they did. Long beards they had braided and twisted around their torsos to somehow intermingle with the clothing they wore. Like the bodice of a dress but made of beard hair.

No, he never would get that image out of his head.

Sighing, Abraxas trailed along behind the rest of them. He stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d tried to wash his travel clothes in the hot springs and had been horrified by the dark brown cloud that had spread around them. Had he been that dirty?

A single wash would not get enough out of these clothes so they could truly be worn in front of a king. But he’d seen his fair share of them in his lifetime, and Abraxas cared very little for their kind. This dwarven king might be better than Zander, or he might not. Either way, Abraxas wanted none of it.

He would be here for moral support. As the shadow behind Lore so she never had to fear what would happen while she stood before a group of people who were ready to judge her.

If it was his choice, they would never have left the dragon isles and their children. But alas, here they were. Saving the kingdom yet again.

Mirin paused in front of a giant opening that led out into a golden room that stretched much higher than Abraxas could see. “The king is just beyond. He’s been waiting for your arrival for quite some time, so please be patient with him.”

Abraxas narrowed his gaze on the young man and let Lore say what he was thinking.

She straightened her shoulders and asked, “Why should we need to be patient with him?”

“The king is a very exuberant person.” Mirin’s hands twisted in the bottom of his shirt. “I shouldn’t say anything at all, but I wished to warn you in case you were surprised. He has a lot more... energy? Yes, more energy than most kings.”

What in the world did that mean?

Abraxas was tired of surprises, and he wanted little more than to rest. Instead, they strode into a gilded room made out of gold that even he was impressed. A dragon, impressed with how much gold someone else had amassed. He stared up at the molten gold ceiling and felt something inside him click into place. The dragon knew how much this was worth. He knew how long it had taken to get every single coin that then melted down under temperatures that rivaled the breath inside him.

Oh, everything in this room eased a torment in his chest. He’d been so busy running around, trying to save the entire world, that he’d forgotten the simple pleasure of a hoard.

Being in this room forced him to remember. He had to feel the joy bursting in his heart at the wealth of it, and battle against the desire to take it.

The dwarves would stand no chance. They could try to beat him off, but they would never move his great bulk as he destroyed every entrance but one. He would take this gold, and it would be his forever.

Oh, it was an old desire. A need that came from being a dragon and living as he had for so many years. His thoughts danced back to when he’d had a hoard. All the gold in the kingdom had rested underneath his belly, and he had been so blissfully happy with that knowledge. Now? His hoard came in the form of people, and they were difficult to control or manipulate.

They did not understand a dragon had to see his hoard regularly. They did not understand his desire to keep them safe.

Blowing out a long breath, he shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind. They’d already walked past a majority of the golden pillars holding up the massive ceiling and approached a gilded throne that seemed to melt out of the ceiling and land in a thick drop where the dwarven king sat.

The man was young. His dark hair billowed around his shoulders. He wore his beard short, a strange choice for someone with so much power in this kingdom. But his bright blue eyes and hawkish nose gave him an air of aristocracy that commanded attention.

So, the king was young then.

“This is her?” the dwarven king asked. His eyes danced over Lore’s form. “Are you certain?”

“She mourned at the grave of the fallen.” Mirin dipped into a low bow. “She is who she says she is.”

What a strange way to convince themselves that Lore was their “Fallen Star”. Just because she had paid respects to Goliath, apparently that was enough? These creatures were far too young.

The king’s eyes strayed to Abraxas next, and he lit up like a child who was given a new toy. “So, you are the dragon?”

Abraxas inclined his head. “Indeed. I am.”

“Well.” With a burst of energy, the king surged from his seat and stalked toward them. His deep blue robes billowed around him, the golden edges flashing in the torchlight as he approached. “I’ve heard nightmarish stories about dragons from our people. We did not get along for many years.”

“That depends on who you ask.” Abraxas flashed him a toothy grin. “The dragons always liked the dwarves. You did most of the hard work for us.”

Lore gave him a look that was warning him to behave, but he didn’t have to be worried about what he’d said. The king tilted his head back and laughed with a gusto that would have made stalactites rain from the ceiling if they’d been in a normal cave.

“I’m sure we did!” he thundered, then clapped a hand hard to Abraxas’s bicep. “You may call me Algor, friend. You are welcome in this kingdom for as long as you can keep your hands to yourself. I’d ask you to show me your draconic form, but I fear you’d take the entire cavern down with you! To see a dragon in his true scales, however, that would be quite the sight.”

It was. Although he was certain half of the people in this kingdom would claim that he was a menace and a terror that should have been killed a long time ago.

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