Again that single spark of amusement before it’s ruthlessly crushed. And I find myself smiling for reasons that don’t have anything to do with teasing him some more.
I mean, yeah, he’s still a sociopath bent on avenging his father’s death by annihilating my family. But now I know he’s secretly laughing at my jokes.
Also, I meant what I said before we flew out the window. And again on the drone. I want to make this work. We’ve got to make this work.
So even though Bazzi is heavy as hell, I drop one arm to take my dragon’s hand in mine. “Ready?” I ask, nodding toward the open door.
A ripple of surprise makes it out before his side of our mate bond goes mute. Other than that, he doesn’t respond to my affectionate gesture.
But he also doesn’t shake my hand off as I escort him toward the hallway.
I could never be him, he’d told me on the plane.
Yeah…maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s not. Either way, this definitely feels like progress.
Chapter Fourteen
Damianos and I walk into the downstairs kitchen hand and hand. It’s pretty modern in comparison to the rest of the house. I mean, given the lack of crown molding, painted ceilings, and other baroque flourishes, I can only assume it was designed back when the masters of such grand estates never set foot in their kitchens. And there’s a crapload of wide arches throughout the room as if the original architect was trying to figure out airflow in a time before the invention of air conditioning. But the counters are made of the same touchscreen material that could be found in most smart kitchens. And there are a ton of smart appliances, many of them slightly bigger versions of what I have at home.
I appreciate the low-key design. It’s the first place I’ve seen in this castle that doesn’t make me feel like I got dropped into a Shakespearean play.
However, I stop short when I get my first whiff of the little lady bustling around the kitchen. No, she couldn’t be…
But a few more hard sniffs confirm it. She isn’t a human, like Colby, but a wolf like me.
She doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see me here as I am her. “There you are, the new Queen Drákon! So nice to meet the woman who finally make this one want take wife. I thought he would be like all the Drákons before him. A widower. But now here you are…” she exclaims, rushing over to me as soon as I come into the kitchen. She has a heavy accent, and I’m guessing by her broken English, she doesn’t have a biosystem doing any translating work in the background.
Her name is Agda. She’s like two feet shorter than me and I’m guessing old. Really, really old. She has steel gray hair with only a few black lines running through it, and she pinches me like we’re in a 20th-century movie made before any kind of political correctness became a thing.
First my cheek, then a big chunk of my waist as she says, “Look at you, so tall and fat and brown with the curly red hair. And you’re a wolf like the rest of us!”
“Like the rest…” I repeat, still reeling from the fact that she really just grabbed my stomach fat.
“Mr. Drákon didn’t tell you?” She hits Damianos with an injured look. “The island neighboring this one is the wolf kingdom village for Greece. It’s called Lukos and filled with wolves just like you. Mr. Drákon is our king.”
Total shocked face emoji. “You’re the king of the Greek wolves?” I ask Damianos. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never came up,” he answers with one of those boreder-than-bored shrugs only Europeans can pull off.
Agda pats my shoulder. “Don’t be angry, Queen Drákon. I think you will be very happy here with the new king. And obviously, fat tummy like yours, you’re hungry for some breakfast, yes?”
I mean, the answer to that question is yes, but… “Is she serious?” I ask into my mate’s mind. “How many times is she going to call me fat to my face?”
“Yes, apparently, this is her true personality. I was not aware of it before as all my god spoken are commanded into silence unless spoken to,” he answers, before adding in a sly tone, “If you like, I could return her to her previous state.”
Can’t lie. I’m kind of tempted. But in the end, I grit my teeth and say out loud, “Yes, I’d love some breakfast, Agda. Thanks.”
“Sit! Sit! I will make you breakfast for your fat tummy!”
I glare at Damianos as he leads me to a room off the kitchen. I’d call it a breakfast nook. But this nook is bigger than the North Dakota kingdom house’s formal dining room. The ornate crown molding is back and covered in gold leaf. There are silk drapes in here too, and the walls are painted cerulean blue, maybe to match the sea beyond the arched windows. I also notice a dazzling chandelier overhead as I drop into one of the white quilted chairs, surrounding the room’s main piece of furniture—a huge marble table.
“Ah…” I sigh, suddenly understanding the true meaning of take a load off when I shift Bazzi to my lap. It’s like the end of an arms workout. My belly may be big but I’m going to put on some serious biceps muscles carrying this boy around.
Speaking of which. I frown at Damianos, who’s taken the seat right next to me at the circular table. “How did you explain your flying kid to the she-wolf in the kitchen?”
I knew all about “the serpents” thanks to growing up with two dads, still traumatized by their attack on their village. But as Rafes was always reminding me, only a select few wolves were aware of the dragon threat or even that they existed at all.
Damianos shifts uncomfortably. “I acquired the neighboring kingdom island a long time ago by your species’ short standards. It was after your industrial age but prior to the technological one before the concept of magical beings had been regulated to myth. While I doubt the younger wolves believe the old stories of who I am, they exist. And as for Agda…”
He glances toward the door that leads to the kitchen. “She is ungodspoken, but it was necessary to leave a few instructions in place. She believes in the old stories. To a certain extent, she understands what I am, even if she does not understand that I am the same drakkon she believed to be my father in her younger days. However, like Colby, she is not allowed to speak of what she knows. That is safer, for both them and us.”
“So they’re free, but with, like, the strictest non-disclosure agreement ever.”
There goes that ripple of amusement and instant squash again before Damianos answers, “Yes.”
“And that’s what Other You meant about Bazzi being the Prince of both wolves and dragons. He wasn’t referring to my North Dakota original title. He was talking about this other island you own. Because here he’s the Prince of both. And I’m the queen of both.” The idea of more responsibilities sinks in my bones, but I do not shy away from the challenge. I peer at my mate. “Damianos, what are my powers here? What do you want me to do for this kingdom? For you?”
I can tell I’ve strayed into dangerous territory by the way our mate bond suddenly goes numb. Like he’s ruthlessly suppressing an emotion before he can even start to feel it.
“Basileios requires much tutoring in the way of drakkon.” Damianos rises from his seat.
Huh, what? So, he’s just going to ignore my questions?
“We will begin now and leave you to your breakfast.”
“Oh, he can stay here with—”
Damianos makes a scratching sound in the back of his throat, and Bazzi flies out of my arms to his father before I can finish that sentence.
And then they’re leaving me to feel some kind of way about all the supposed progress we’ve made. My dads are still alive. We escaped without anybody getting harmed—at least physically. I’m here in his castle because we chose each other. But for reasons I still don’t understand, he’s shutting me out.
This has to work. Everything…my family’s lives, our future happiness—it all hinges on this relationship.
But doubt overwhelms me as I watch them leave the room. Father and son in a way that I could never replicate as Bazzi’s mother.
&nbs
p; Will we pull this family stuff off? Can we, considering where both of us come from?
Those questions ring in my head as Agda comes in with a tray filled with food for my fat tummy. And I guess she has a point. Because my tummy declares every unnecessary pinch and word forgiven when I see the spread. A basket filled with breads and pastries, a tray filled with fruit and various cheeses, and thank the Fenrir wolf, a porcelain carafe filled with coffee.
I tuck right on in, but abruptly stop when the tiny old woman says, “Yes, yes, eat up. You have a big, busy day ahead of you. So many appointments before the big day.”
Confused face emoji, “What big day?” I ask with my mouth full.
Chapter Fifteen
I never get a completely clear answer on what this big day is all about, but Agda isn’t lying about all the appointments I’m in for.
Just as Agda’s clearing my breakfast dishes, a young she-wolf rushes into the huge breakfast nook. She’s short and willowy and rocking the princess Leia side buns and unibrow look that’s trending hard right now.
“I’m so sorry I’m late for my first day,” she tells me with thickly-accented but technically perfect English. “It will never happen again!”
I notice she has the same set of GoGen titanium comm rings that I used to have when she ells her fingers to make a tablet size screen in front of her.
“I’ve never been to the kingdom castle before,” she explains as she scrolls and swipes one index finger over her tablet screen. “I thought I would be able to ride my bike across the bridge connecting the two islands. Agda did not tell me there is a wall surrounding the back of the estate and that the only way to get here is to take a boat from the village, then hike up. But do not worry, I will make sure everyone else scheduled to come here today knows.”
“Thanks,” I answer, feeling bad for Agda. Technically, it’s not her fault that she didn’t give her daughter all the deets. I’m pretty sure she’s been hypnotized out of being able to say anything about her dragon boss. But another question occurs to me before I can come to her defense. “Who are you?”
“Sorry, sorry, I was so flustered by my late arrival, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Thalia, your new assistant. Agda is my grandmother.” She cuts her eyes to the little old lady who’s just put the last of my breakfast dishes onto a wooden tray. “The grandmother who should have told you I was coming today and who should have told me how to get here, since this castle doesn’t show up on the island’s biomap.”
“You young people get so angry about every little thing that is not on those head computers of yours,” Agda answers. “It is alright. You are here now.”
“Totally all right,” I assure Thalia before she can argue anymore with her grandmother. “And what exactly are these appointments for again?”
The answer to that question is clothes. Lots and lots of clothes. I spend most of the morning talking to human representatives for different designer brands.
Outfit after outfit is projected onto an exact proportion hologram of me dressed in nanite shapewear. I’m shown ensembles for about every scenario that has ever been scenarioed: business meetings, workouts, clubbing, dinner dates, tennis lessons, castle loungewear—which by the way looks like everybody else’s Ladies Who Lunch.
I’m confused but game, and before I know it, I’ve picked out a closet full of clothes for anything a queen could possibly do. And it’s a relief of sorts.
True, I’d bought a super trendy nanite wardrobe before I was crowned Queen of North Dakota, but I’d been wearing mostly sweats around the house since my return to the kingdom house. Those clothes just didn’t feel like me anymore three months later when I finally got a chance to wear them. Even with nanite reshaping, all the outfits I’d chosen before my time with Damianos seemed too silly and impractical for a new queen and mom.
I didn’t realize how awesome it would feel to pick out a new wardrobe that fits both my new title and post-pregnancy body.
And that’s not all. After we’re finished with the basic wardrobe, a new rep shows up, even sleeker than all the others. She smoothly introduces herself as Zoe before announcing that she’s here on behalf of a couture conglomerate. If you’re wondering what that is, don’t worry, I asked.
It’s basically a bunch of super exclusive brands for the ultra-rich, only a few of which I’d actually heard of. And those I only knew because my cousin Sarah was really into Academy Award holo experiences growing up.
“All of our designers are very excited for the chance to outfit you for your special day,” she tells me before launching into the design backstory of the first dress, a floor-length blue gown with a sweetheart neckline and a silk organza skirt. I’d never wear it myself. Pretty dove details like organza definitely aren’t my thing. But damn would it look amazing on somebody else. Like a million bucks, which I suspect might be near how much it cost.
“And this day is special because why exactly?” I lean over to ask Thalia as I eye the expensive gown.
“I…” Thalia frowns, then seems to discover. “Can’t say.”
Okay, well obviously Damianos is being very liberal with the gag orders even if he’s not technically enthralling folks. But maybe there’s someone he hasn’t gotten to…
“Hey, Zoe. Do you know why I need a straight-up ballgown, like a black princess reboot of Beauty and the Beast?” I call out, interrupting the rep.
The rep stops, clears her throat, and answers, “Actually no. My only instructions were to ensure you were outfitted appropriately.”
“So I’m supposed to pick an appropriate dress or whatever, but I don’t even know what it’s for?”
Both my new assistant and the rep just shift from foot to foot looking uncomfortable.
“Tell you what, I don’t need all the back story,” I say to Zoe. “Just do a flip through all of them and I’ll stop you when there’s one I like.”
“A flip? You want me to flip through these exquisite gowns?” the rep repeats, her face looking like I’ve asked her to pick up a pile of dog shit and smear it all over herself.
“If that’s not cool, I could always just go in a tracksuit and be comfortable like my cousin, Tu Wulfkonig.”
I’m not even kidding. Aunt Tu and her fam are on the list of the richest wolf families in America, but they wear tracksuits almost exclusively, even to fundraising dinners.
Another uncomfortable pause. But this sleek sales rep must have heard about how super casual the super-rich in America can be. After a few moments to readjust, she starts flipping through the dresses without any further ado.
I know which dress I’ll be wearing as soon as I see it on my avatar. “Stop,” I say, holding up a hand like Damianos would.
Then I step closer to get a better look at the one-of-a-kind ballgown. It has a sweetheart neckline like so many of the others. But instead of some soft material, the bodice appears to be made of chrome, and that bad-ass corset has leather sleeves extending from it covered in equally shiny spikes. The top of the dress would have sold me alone, but when I get a look at the long ball skirt, my heart just about stops. It features a moving picture of an icy fjord at nighttime…framed by an electric purple sky. I immediately recognize the effect as what my mother referred to as aurora borealis. But what my fathers and their people used to call Freya’s lights.
“The Northern lights,” I whisper. And my breath catches as I take in the only dress in history that could be described as motorcycle gang up top and Viking on the bottom. “This one,” I say without a doubt.
I still don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I know I’ll be wearing this dress when I get there.
The rep frowns. “Actually, this one is by a newcomer who only released her first collection this year. She isn’t very well-known yet. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather—”
“Totally sure,” I answer. “I like standing out. And I don’t care who the designer is. I’ll take it.”
So that’s done, quicker than any of us thought. Agda bustle
s in with a tray of late afternoon sandwiches and tea to make up for the lunch Thalia and I skipped due to the back-to-back appointments. Then next up, the Swiss-Italian jewelry rep, a guy name Henri—but with the H-sound aggressively missing. After a fussy greeting, he ells his fingers to show us everything “available to us” on his comm ring tablet. The pieces he swipes us through feature gems so dramatic and large, Thalia ends up asking, “Are you sure these aren’t costume jewelry?”
“Of course not, all of these pieces are examined and certified every year to ensure their authenticity,” the rep assures us with his sharp nose up in the air.
We end up choosing a large black onyx pendant shaped like a dragon with two sapphires for eyes on a white gold chain. But I can’t decide between the huge black diamond stud or the amethyst cuffs for my ears.
“That huge dragon necklace is one thing, but I’m worried they’ll be so heavy, my ears won’t be able to take it,” I tell the rep. “My mom once tried to wear some old jewelry of her grandma’s to a fundraiser once, and the earrings were so heavy she couldn’t even wear them for 10 minutes. She had to swap them out before she and my dads left the house.”
I remember being teased when I was a kid about my parents’ very public and very unorthodox arrangement. But either this Swiss human is too progressive to care that I’m the product of an MFM or he’s getting paid way too much to react.
“If you wish, we can have Mr. Drákon’s vault opened and both pieces brought over so that you might try them on.”
I turn my head at an angle to blink at him. “Wait, all this jewelry belongs to Damianos? This isn’t stuff we’re planning to buy?”
The rep laughs as if I’ve told a delightful joke. “Of course not. Mr. Drákon has the most extensive collection of jewelry in all the world as far as I know. Some of the pieces in his vault date all the way back to the Minoan Bronze age, but don’t worry every item has been catalogued. You’ll never have trouble finding an appropriate piece to match any outfit again.
Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet Book 2): 50 Loving States, North Dakota Pt. 2 Page 10
