Page 37

ALICE

F enrother is sprawled beneath me, his eyes closed, his long lashes sweeping the iridescent scales on his cheeks, and his chest rising and falling as he slumbers.

I guess I must have virtually passed out at some point after discovering I couldn’t move from Fenrother’s cock.

It was trapped inside me and every movement tugged on my insides.

We were locked together somehow.

I can’t imagine Fenrother knew how either, although he seemed fine with it.

Even if it quite clearly isn’t an everyday occurrence to him.

While I was out, Fenrother cleaned me up.

I feel dry and not even slightly sticky down below.

Maybe that’s the reason for the smile on his face.

His gorgeous unguarded smile, not his strange hitched fang-revealing one, not a grimace.

His entire face looks different in sleep, softer, more handsome in an ethereal way.

Definitely not dinosaur.

Definitely not Wyrm.

Of all the things there are in the Yeavering, I just slept with a Wyrm.

A monster who is one because of the way he was raised.

Fenrother snorts, bats his hand at his nose, and his eyes flicker open.

“Hi,” I say.

“,” he replies.

“You are not a dream.” His voice rasps with sleep.

“I’m very real.”

The smile on his face broadens as he stretches beneath me.

“I know.”

He didn’t know.

He expected to wake alone.

My heart patters in my chest, drumming as if it wants to soothe my great Wyrm.

To reassure him he is not alone, not anymore.

Does this mean…I want to stay?

I can’t make any decisions right now, or any decisions at all.

The Yeavering has taken me, the queen wants me here.

I don’t have a choice.

“I’m pleased you’re real,” Fenrother says.

“I know you are,” I respond.

“My lady parts know you are.”

I thought I might feel more uncomfortable this morning, given Fenrother’s size, but other than knowing I’ve had something big in me, there’s no real pain.

“Lady parts?” Fenrother queries.

“Your slit?”

“If you want to call it that,” I huff.

“Cunt?”

“Where did you hear that word?” I gasp.

“My text provides me with a number of terms for your slit. I like that one the most.” Fenrother grins.

“And I expect to be in your cunt often, mate. It was better than I expected.”

“It was better than you expected ?” I grind.

He looks smug.

I want to punch the Wyrm.

Instead I throw myself off him and march into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind me.

It was better than he expected.

I’m pretty sure Fenrother is probably unkillable, but I’d very much like to strike him dead.

He might not know much…

anything…about relationships, but some level of effusiveness would have been nice.

“Better than expected,” I mutter to myself, sliding into the bath and quickly washing.

I don’t want to linger.

I don’t want Fenrother to get the wrong idea or to think he can join me.

I don’t want anything from him.

I’ve given the Wyrm enough, and all I get is better than expected .

Has he learnt nothing?

Opening the bathroom door, having completed my ablutions, I march out, ignoring the bed and the huge monster sitting there.

Instead I jerk open the wardrobe, pull out some underwear and a gown, both of which I wrestle on before, without a backward glance, I leave the bedroom.

I leave the Wyrm to his own devices.

Fenrother will do what he will do, and I want a good look at that book Meg of Maldon gave him.

I need to find out what it has been teaching him.

Perhaps make some notes in the margins.

In the great hall, the table is laid for breakfast. Unlike the previous mornings, rather than the stodgy porridge offerings, today there is bread, pastries, and…

coffee!

The sharp, dark scent reaches me, and I pull up my skirts in order to practically run to the far end of the vast hall to confirm if my nose is telling the truth.

There’s a large pot, and as I flip the lid, the smell of coffee confirms it is absolutely what I think it is.

I pour out the fragrant liquid into a flagon and add some milk.

The first sip tells me this is good coffee.

“Thank you,” I say out loud to the invisible Duegar.

“This is really appreciated.”

If they hear me, if they even care, they don’t respond.

“What is that smell ?” Fenrother is wrinkling his nose and lifting his lips like a cat.

I am not going to let him spoil my enjoyment.

I take another sip of the drink and savour it.

“Coffee.”

Fenrother’s chest rumbles as he swipes up the jug, flips the lid, and sniffs at the liquid.

He lifts it as if he’s going to drink directly from the pitcher.

“NO!” I say, pulling it from his hands.

He releases it in surprise.

“You do not drink coffee like that,” I admonish, pouring him out some into a tankard and adding milk, plenty of milk.

“Coff- ii ?” Fenrother queries, confirming what I already thought—this drink is not for him.

“It’s a hot drink made from roasted beans which humans, like me, enjoy.”

He snorts, glaring at me as if I’ve introduced a rodent infestation into his castle.

“Try it.”

I hold out the tankard.

Fenrother stares at it like it’s an unexploded bomb.

It’s my turn to make a frustrated noise.

He takes it, and I can return to mine, sinking down into the chair and doing my best to block him out as I swallow down the beautiful nectar.

Of course, I can’t ignore the Wyrm in the room.

He dominates it. And, of course, I’m invested in what he makes of the coffee, even though I shouldn’t be.

It’ll probably be better than expected .

Fenrother sniffs at the coffee and lifts the tankard to his lips, taking in what can only be the tiniest of sips.

He’s a very careful Wyrm.

He doesn’t wince but instead raises his eyebrows, and his wings open and close a little before he takes a larger mouthful.

I find I have a coffee convert. Who knew?