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Taking a cautious step toward the table, my eyes never leaving the dragon, I slowly reach for what looks like a piece of fruit from the tray. “Okay, little...dragon. Let’s see if you’re as friendly as you seem.”
I extend my hand, offering it the fruit. A first, it just stares at me, and I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Then, quick as lightning, it darts forward and snatches the fruit from my fingers.
I jerk my hand back with a startled yelp, then immediately feel foolish. The dragon didn’t hurt me and hasn’t made any aggressive moves; it’s just munching contentedly on the fruit.
A nervous laugh bubbles up from my chest. “Sorry about that,” I tell the dragon, feeling silly for talking to it like it understands me. “Don’t be offended if I seem a little jumpy. It’s not every day I meet a miniature dragon in an alien palace.”
The dragon pauses in its chewing, looking up at me with those seemingly intelligent eyes. It gives a little chirp that sounds almost reassuring.
“This is insane,” I mutter, but a smile spreads across my face. “I’m having a conversation with a dragon. A dragon that apparently understands English. A dragon who needs a name. I think I’ll call you Zephyr, which means a gentle breeze. What do you think?”
The dragon finishes its fruit, and lets out what can only be described as a satisfied burp followed by a small puff of smoke. Then it settles down on the table, folding its wings neatly against its body, and fixes me with an expectant stare.
“I’m going to assume you like the name and want more to eat.” I place several more pieces of fruit in front of Zephyr, then sitacross from him and fill a plate for myself. “If there’s anything else on the tray that looks good to you, feel free to help yourself.”
We eat in companionable silence. The only reason I’m not babbling is because my mouth is full of food. My dragon friend finishes eating before me, and when I’m done, I push my plate away.
“So, Zephyr, got any tips on how to escape from the third story of an orc palace?”
He cocks his head, then spreads his wings and takes flight, zooming out the window as quickly as he came in.
“Hey, wait!” I call out, scrambling up from the table and running over to the window. I look around, but Zephyr is gone. I’m surprised by the pang of loneliness that hits me. “Great. The dragon ditched me.”
Sighing, I strip off my clothes and turn back to the wardrobe. Might as well get this over with. I rifle through the clothing, grumbling when I realize there’s no clean underwear to be found. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
I do find what looks like a simple slip or chemise, so I put that on before wrapping one of the robes around my body and securing it with the tie. As the silky fabric settles around me, I laugh out loud at how ridiculous I must look. But if wearing the fancy bathrobe helps placate the king, I’ll suffer through it until I can escape.
Just as I’m about to close the window, a familiar whoosh of wings zips inside. Zephyr is back, and he’s hovering over the living area just beneath the chandelier. Before I can say or do anything, he drops something small on the table and darts back out the window.
“What the—” I start, but the dragon is already gone.
Curious, I pick up the small object Zephyr left behind. As I examine it, realization dawns on me. My eyes widen, and a grin spreads across my face. “Holy shit!” I exclaim.
Looks like opportunity might have just knocked.
Chapter 7
Dexari
I stridethrough the palace halls with purpose, yet my mind is a battlefield, torn between thoughts of Sloane and the intricate plan I am about to set in motion. Toward this end, there is a matter demanding my attention.
Guards nod as they open the infirmary doors to let me pass, and I make my way to the med suite where my second-in-command has been recovering. There, I find Gorlag dressing. His movements are stiff, each action betraying the pain that lingers in his body, yet his jaw is set with determination.
My eyes narrow as I take in his condition. He has several stab wounds on his torso, one that is dangerously close to his heart. “Vagan has cleared you to leave the infirmary?”
Gorlag grunts in affirmation, the sound more beast than man. “The healer says I am well enough, though I cannot return to full duty yet.”
“You are fortunate to be alive,” I conclude. “A few centimeters either way, and the female’s blade would have pierced something vital.”
Gorlag’s eyes darken at the mention of Sloane. “I am aware of that,” he says, the words thick with barely restrained fury. He meets my eyes, and the burning hatred I see there gives me pause. “If the punishment for her crimes is death, sire, I request the honor of ending her sorry life.”
The vehemence in his voice surprises me. Gorlag has always been fierce, yet this…this is personal. I find myself caught between understanding his desire for vengeance and fulfilling my growing need to protect my mate. The very thought of Gorlag’s hands on Sloane—of him harming her in any way—unsettles me in ways I cannot yet comprehend.
I take a deep breath, knowing what I am about to say will not sit well with my trusted second. “There will be no punishment of the human female, Gorlag.”
His jaw clenches and his hands close into fists as he struggles to process what I have said. “You cannot be serious, sire. She is a murderer.”
I am not yet ready to reveal the entire truth and doubt Gorlag is ready to hear it. “She is also a universal breeder, and I need an heir.”
