Page 92 of Courting the Dragon King

“I suppose it is,” Wraith said. That night had not been a good one. That was when he’d realised Konrad hated him.

But as they danced together, standing far closer than was necessary for this particular dance, Wraith could see their future taking shape. Konrad, no doubt, would be busy as king. But Wraith knew they would find time to be together. They would be happy.

This would be Wraith’s fresh start.

Wraith did not know if Konrad could ever love him. But maybe in time, Konrad could. Wraith hoped so. Because Wraith was falling for Konrad.

The dance came to an end. They applauded the musicians. But then Konrad held out his hand once more. They danced the next song. And the next. And the one after that. Wraith lost himself in the dance and Konrad.

Then, after one song finished, Konrad leaned towards him. “Shall we take a break and get something to drink?”

Wraith nodded. Sweat beaded on his flushed skin. “That would be good.” They walked to the edge of the dance floor as the musicians played once more.

“I’ll grab us some punch.” And Konrad strode off.

Wraith drifted through the ballroom. He’d only ever danced at his betrothal ball here at the White Monastery. And only the one dance. But tonight he’d danced for several songs. He might even dance more after they drank their punch.

“Wraith.”

Immediately, Wraith straightened his spine, cleared the smile from his face, and turned to face his mother. She wore a long black gown with billowing sleeves. A veil fell over her eyes. She wore a platinum chest plate over her dress that had been shaped to look like a human ribcage.

“Mother, you are looking well this evening.” He bowed.

She looked him up and down with her cool grey eyes. “I saw you dancing. You and the dragon king appear very close.”

Wraith held his breath. Was that a rebuke? Even after all these years, he still couldn’t read his mother.

She looked up to the second floor. The shadow king stood, staring out over the dance floor.

“I know the shadow king has not been easy on you,” she said. “But the fact he did not kill you at birth was a mercy. You should be grateful for that.”

“I know,” Wraith said, not quite sure why she was bringing this up now. “And I am.”

His mother did not speak for several long moments. Then her gaze met his. “You have done well.”

Wraith blinked, taken aback by the sudden praise.

She stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his shoulders, on either side of his neck. Wraith tensed. This was the second time his mother had touched him at this assembly when she’d never touched him before, at least in his remembrance.

“I am pleased with you, son,” she said.

“Really?” Wraith’s heart spasmed in his chest. “I’m glad my actions have satisfied you.”

What is going on? He’d never seen his mother be so positive and affectionate. She dropped her hands. Wraith hesitated.

He shouldn’t ask. Nothing good would come from that. But when would he have another chance? Wraith would be relocating to Draconia after the assembly. He wouldn’t see much of his mother after that. In fact, he may never see her again. And even if he did, he doubted he’d have such a good opportunity.

Still, he knew he should keep his mouth shut. Let the treaty be finalised, and then they could go their separate ways. He’d leave his relationship with his mother on a high note.

But he couldn’t let this chance pass. He couldn’t not ask. And perhaps the wine even gave him some courage.

“Mother, I was wondering …” Wraith dropped his gaze. “Who was my father?” He had only asked once before. At about the age of ten. She’d slapped him.

Silence followed his question. Wraith lacked the bravery to lift his head. He tensed, preparing for another slap.

Finally she spoke, “Your father was from a powerful family of necromancers. He was a reaper. Like you. He was visiting the Temple of the Veil.”

A million questions rose up in his throat.