Page 11 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

A disbelieving laugh bursts from me before I can stop it. “Oh, please,” I murmur, beyond certain he is teasing me. I can hardly believe I ever dreaded marrying this man. He is so terribly easy to talk to; I can see why Papa always adored him so.

But when I glance back His Majesty’s way, I see that Reggie is right.

My eyes again lock with the king’s. He is staring at me.

Yet again, I forget how to breathe, especially when King Friedemar suddenly jolts to his feet and strides straight past the line of ladies waiting to meet him, walking directly toward us.

Toward me .

“What should we do?” I ask, hating the way my voice nearly raises a full octave with the question.

What is happening?

Why is the king coming this way?

I suddenly wish I had a folding fan like some of the other ladies do. Or just… something—anything—to fidget with. I tug at the sleeves of my gown, no longer knowing what to do with my hands.

“Well, don’t panic,” Reggie drawls out of the side of his mouth while extracting a small golden box from his pocket. The sort of box most men would use to store their pipe tobacco.

He flips open the lid and extracts a red-and-white-striped candy instead. “Peppermint?” When I merely stare at him, he shrugs and pops the mint into his mouth before snapping the box shut and returning it to his pocket.

I track the king’s approach out of the corner of my eye. He is still coming this way, striding with purpose. A servant accompanies him, hurriedly whispering something into his ear.

I force a smile to my lips and look away. After a strained beat of silence, I pretend to laugh at something Lord Reggie just said, though he hasn’t said anything at all.

Reggie purses his lips. “Or perhaps you should panic. Some men seem to like that sort of thing.” He narrows his eyes, considering me all over again. “Can you swoon on command?”

I blink. “What? Of course not.”

Reggie tsks, looking disappointed.

Before he can say another word, a new voice suddenly cuts through our conversation. A voice like the most luxurious swath of velvet—smooth and rich.

“Miss Aurelia Weaver, daughter of Giles and Mira Weaver, I presume?”

My heart hammers wildly against my ribs as I turn to find King Friedemar now looming over me, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. I open my mouth, but no sound emerges.

Just breathe , I will myself.

I must remain calm. I dare not shine. Not here. Not now.

Bene’s amulet is still in my pocket.

Dare I slip it on now?

“In the flesh,” Reggie answers for me with a bright smile, revealing the peppermint couched between his gold-capped teeth.

He waves with a flourish, as if he is a shop clerk trying to interest the king in a new fur cloak.

“Is she not exquisite? And here I was just saying that she is the most beautiful woman in the room. How glad I am to know I was clearly right.”

Struck mute, rendered dumb, I gaze up into the king’s eyes. Frozen. Trapped.

Time stops. The ballroom falls away. Reggie’s voice fades.

In silence, I marvel at how even the threads of magic weaving through the air seem to gravitate toward King Friedemar’s person. It is subtle—only noticeable here in these close quarters. But strands of Fire most assuredly wreathe his form.

The crimson glow complements his dusky complexion well.

Slowly—ever so slowly—as if there is an invisible cord binding his gaze to mine, the king finally drags his attention away from me to fix Reggie with a look instead. The moment that connection snaps, sound floods my senses once more. Time resumes. The ballroom returns.

I draw in a ragged breath and take a single step backward as I find hundreds of eyes now seeking to pierce me straight through, as nearly every courtier in the room watches this interlude with King Friedemar unfold.

Curious, sharp, dismissive, offended. Their stares come in many varieties.

Murmurs ripple all around. Whispers. My stomach clenches as I try to ignore them all, to drown them out. I do not care what they say about me. I do not care what they think.

But there is one whisper I cannot ignore. A strange whisper that crowds in close, as if carried on the Aether itself. A whisper that burrows straight into my thoughts.

Into my soul.

? Run. ?

“What?” I whisper back as I turn in a circle, desperately seeking out the speaker. But there is no one there.

No one beyond Reggie and the king.

The latter frowns at me. “I was simply inquiring after the identity of your companion here, Miss Weaver.”

“Oh,” I breathe, offering King Friedemar an apologetic smile. “Of course, Your Majesty. Please forgive me.” Great Weaver, what is wrong with me now?

For twelve years, I’ve been able to see the threads. But hearing voices?

That is certainly new .

My hands fall to Reggie’s elbow and squeeze, trying to steady my racing heart, to root myself back in the moment.

Reggie takes it all in stride. “Lord Reginald Lockhart, Your Majesty, at your service,” he introduces himself with a bow.

King Friedemar’s lips twitch. “The clockwork man, yes.” But then he glances downward, his eyes pointedly fixating on the sight of my hands clenching Lord Reggie’s arm.

Something seems to pass between the two men.

Something that urges Reggie to say, “I am a friend of the family, Your Majesty, chaperoning Miss Weaver tonight in the absence of her father. He is unwell.”

The king’s demeanor shifts at once. Expression gentling, voice softening, he takes a single step closer. “I am so very sorry to hear that, Miss Weaver. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I…” I start to say but promptly trail off. What can I possibly say to a question like that?

Surely, I am dreaming.

A small smile appears at the corner of King Friedemar’s mouth. “Perhaps we might discuss it further over a dance? I had hoped you might honor me by taking my first.”

Now I know this isn’t truly happening. There is no possible way that the King of all Briarhold is standing here, asking me to dance.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.

Reggie pries my hand from the crook of his elbow and holds it out for the king to take. “She would be delighted, Your Majesty.”

Finally, I find my voice again. “But… your other guests,” I protest, flashing a look toward the long line of women still choking the ballroom. The long line of women now glaring daggers in my general direction. “The ladies waiting to meet you.”

King Friedemar gently wraps his hand around mine and lifts my fingers toward his lips. “They can wait,” he exhales, caressing my skin with his warm breath.

His breath .

I am suddenly thirteen years old again and back in the garden with Bene as my dragon prince breathes healing magic against my wounded finger.

My dragon prince.

The king kisses my knuckles, but I hardly feel it. My mind is elsewhere, winging through the heavens, racing all the way to the Door, to Drakara.

To the only man I truly wish to dance with tonight.