Page 51 of I Dream of Dragons

“Don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s like a spell. Warmth spreads through me, making me drowsy. Of course I want to be with Mars. How is that even in question?

“Now we need to talk about Phaethon,” he says, and I blink again, losing the thread of the conversation, of my thoughts.

“What about Phaethon?”

He leans over me, placing his hands on the armrests beside mine. His are long and white. His face is bowed overmine, suddenly way too close, and it seems made of marble and precious gems. White stone cheeks. Gray opal eyes. Pink tourmaline lips. Pale gold hair.

He smells of roses, but underneath the scent, there is a bitter whiff of something I can’t place. He’s crowding me and I press my back into the soft cushions of the armchair.

I think he’s going to kiss me, especially when he lifts a hand to grip my chin, his gaze dropping to my mouth. I hope for it, want it and yet I don’t. I don’t know what I want.

“Phaethon,” he says, “is a fascinating creature, don’t you agree?”

It takes me a long moment to realize he’s not kissing me, and to remember what he’s talking about.

“Phaethon?” I frown. “Yes.”

“And you. Just as fascinating. Your voice…”

Oh hells.My voice. The magic. Panic slithers down my spine, curling around my bones.

“Tell me more,” I blurt out, to buy myself time, for what, I don’t know. I don’t want to poke at that bad feeling curling in the pit of my stomach, but I know that he can recognize magic and my voice is a clue.

It’s his turn to frown. “More?”

“About our time together that long ago. Tell me what we did together, what we talked about.”

He goes very still, in that way so particular to the fae and dragons. That reptile-like immobility while they wait for their guileless prey to approach. Funny, since the fae seem to have little affinity for dragons, except perhaps for the wyrm, the legless, earth-burrowing variety. They may have air magic, but the dragons belong to the element of fire and as the king said, the fire doesn’t like him.

Just like it doesn’t like water.

“A bright star fell,” says the king, pulling away from me and straightening. “It fell across the sky. And it wasn’t an Eosphor or a great dragon, and yet it was both.”

I start. I had seen a bright star fall when I was little. The bards had sung about it, made up stories about its significance. Said it heralded the rise of a great king or queen. Said it portended good fortune.

But it was the contrary. Everything went to ruin afterward. At least for me.

“That’s not…” I clear my throat. “Not what I asked you. I asked about?—”

“Our time together. It was a long, long time ago, Rae.”

“Still—”

“I loved a girl once,” he says, “with hair like ebony.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. My eyes burn. I know those words. Mars spoke them and I’ve kept them in my heart like talismans.

“A dark thorn she was, yet lovely and…”

“And?”

He turns away from me, but not before I see his pale brows knitting. “And there’s no need to dwell on the past. We’re here now.”

I stare at his back, reining in my shock at yet another dismissal. I’m still delirious about finding him, finding out he’s still alive and well, while he… he doesn’t seem to care that I’m here, except for that mark he used to claim me as his.

“Yes, we are here,” I say slowly, gathering my thoughts, digging my nails into the velvet armrests. “Aren’t you surprised? I know I am.”