Page 12 of The Dragon Warlord

“D-Do you want my opinion, Warlord?”

I begin the trek back to my chambers. I shall sequester myself there until I get my head screwed on right. With River of course. He’s not going anywhere. “Always, Riv. I always want your opinion.”

I hear how ridiculous I sound. I’ve garnered his respect without having earned it and it looks like he’ll have the same for me. I just know that I’ve spent a week getting to know him and I can’t imagine tiring of it. He’s got the kind of ancient wisdom you only gain with having lived many years. I’m in my late twenties. What could I possibly offer him?

“It is optimal to be competent and dangerous.”

Didn’t expect that. “You think I should be a threat?”

“I think you should be capable of being a threat—competent and dangerous—but that doesn’t mean you should use that ability unless you need to. What’s the alternative to being dangerous, Warlord?”

“Being weak.”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to be harmless and simply not contain the capacity for violence in the first place?”

“If you’re not a formidable force, there’s no morality in your self-control. You’re not exercising self-control since you wouldn’t have the capacity to be a threat anyway. It’s having the capacity to be dangerous but choosing to exercise self-control that makes it a virtue. It takes strength to be good, Warlord. It’s difficult to tame our inner beast. It’s why there can be no weak dragons. A weak dragon might find it easy to be good when the circumstances are also easy, but when they’re hard? That would be a problem. I think the answer lies in making beasts like us, strong of mind and character.”

“The dragon lord doesn’t agree.” I’m referring to the collars of course. What is the need to collar us if we’re raised to be strong?

“He’s a bit more paranoid than I am, but he lived through a time when dragons nearly went extinct. This is his way of protecting us.”

“Keeping us in a gilded cage?” We’ve reached a busier hallway. People—dragons—stop to bow until I’ve carried on. Some spare glances at my bleeding omega and probably draw incorrect conclusions when they see that my hands are bloodied. Both things bother me, that they think I’ve beaten River with my fists and that they’re not doing anything to stop me from carrying him away.

Everything swirls as a giant mass of overwhelm and reaching my rooms is the escape I need. Setting River down, I hunt for a cloth to clean him off. “Sit on the bed. Please,” I add so that I don’t sound like a brute even though that’s exactly what I am.

He obeys and I take the cloth from the wash basin near the door to him, analyzing the damage. It was minimal so it’s already healing over.

“I’m pretty sure you suffered more damage from the wall, Warlord,” he says as if the wall attacked me.

“I don’t want to hear it, Riv. I need to heed your advice and learn to control the beast within, otherwise, I might be better off locked away with the key tossed into oblivion.”

“Can’t cage a dragon, Warlord. I suspect you’ll still want out of here.”

Isn’t that ironic? It would seem the dragon lord has a whole tower filled with caged dragons. I suppose the key is to have them believe they’re not caged. That you’re protecting them.

The “wound” on his neck is a couple of deep prick marks. I wipe away the blood and curse myself for getting so upset over something so small. Are these rages because of the bond, or because I’m a dragon?

“You might be right,” I agree and that reminds me. “I suppose the first step to controlling my animalistic urges is admitting how much biology plays a factor and forgiving myself for that much.”

“I might approach it like that myself, Warlord.”

“All right. All right. I get it now.” When I’m done with the cloth, I hold my hand out to him. “Mind healing this? It fucking hurts.”

“My pleasure, Warlord.”

I could probably do it myself, but I want to keep what strength I have for settling the bond. He seems to have a handle on himself whereas I do not. “My blood angered you,” I recall as he places a hand on either side of my damaged one. They’re warm.

“It did. Instinct. I was just as angry as you were, but I was more concerned than angry. The dragon lord has kept himself away from you, which can’t be easy. The scent of your blood might be enough to pull him to you.”

No, it can’t be easy for him and now I know as I experience what it’s like to be bonded to someone. I still don’t have any sympathy for him. I might have to begin weaning myself from River or we’ll both go mad. “Yet, you kept calm.”

“I’ve had more years of practice dealing with my dragon instincts.” He concentrates on my hand and a serene quality overwhelms his features. There’s a snap, pop, and a ridiculous amount of pain, and yet that pain is favorable to the unrelenting ache that I endure when I go without touching River for too long. I grit my teeth through it as he mends the bone back together.

Once he’s done with me, I collapse on my bed. One week in Dragon Land and I’m done. Technically, I’ve been here longer than that, but this week is all I remember and it’s enough. When the food arrives, it helps, but nothing calms the other agony that I’ve been avoiding.

Thoughts of Corrik and Alrik and Baya provoke a disquieting sorrow that I can’t deal with on top of everything else. I’d rather not think about them and focus on getting out of here instead. Occupying myself with that is better than missing them.