Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
It’s all too much. My brain feels fuzzy and slow. “Thank you,” I manage.
It’s hard to tell, but Aldis gives me what seems to be a kind expression. “We have some adjustments ahead of us. Please try to give Sol a bit of grace, and I’m sure he’ll do the same for you.” She’s gone before I can come up with a response to that.
It’s just as well. I’m exhausted and fresh out of grace.
Sol doesn’t come to see me the next morning. Or the one after that. By the third day, I tell myself I’m relieved and not disappointed. Yes, that must be the source of the sinking sensation in my stomach. Relief.
Or maybe it’s boredom.
I’m nearly certain the rooms he gave me are actually his. It’s more than the large bed situated low on the floor, the mattress made of some material I don’t recognize. No, the thing that makes me certain these rooms are Sol’s are the little mementos tucked about.
The high table is scattered with books and papers written in a language I don’t understand. There are more books stacked haphazardly on shelves about the room, enough that I can’t help thinking about the old legends in my world about dragons and their hoards. I bet he has a proper library somewhere in this place. Not that it will do me any good. Apparently my new tattoo—a strange symbol inked in a deep red on my right shoulder blade—doesn’t extend its translation magic to the written word.
There is clothing as well, all Sol-sized and tailored for someone with, well, a tail. On the second day, Aldis returns to deliver a chest full of human clothing. She doesn’t linger this time, though. She ducks out of the room so fast, I’m still deciding if I want to try to strike up a conversation. I’m not sure where they got the clothing, but it fits perfectly.
On the third day, I tell myself I’m only wearing in the white dress with its empire waist and low neckline because it’s comfortable and makes me feel pretty. Not because of the way Sol stared at my breasts in the spring.
A knock on the door has my heartbeat picking up. In fear, not excitement. Surely. I cross my arms and say, “Come in.”
The person who walks through the door is not Sol. They’re not even a dragon. I stare at the crimson skin and the horns sprouting from their eye socket. A second set curls back from their temples. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?”
“Ramanu.” They press a black-clawed hand to their wide chest. They’re dressed much the same as Azazel was during the auction—black pants and a black tunic-type shirt that’s belted about the waist, all made of obviously expensive materials. “Azazel sent me to…take stock of the situation.”
They appear to be looking around the room, and I barely manage to stop from blurting out a question asking how when they don’t have eyes. Obviously some magic is involved. Still, I don’t like the mocking little smile pulling at the edges of their almost-human mouth. I draw myself up. “There’s no situation to take stock of.”
“Hmmm.” They step into the room and utter a soft laugh when I tense further. “You have nothing to fear from me. Even if Azazel wouldn’t skin me alive for touching one of his precious contracted humans, I like my playmates with a bit more…” Their smile turns into a full grin. “Spice.”
I don’t know if they mean that figuratively or literally, and I’m not about to ask. If this is who Azazel is sending to check up on people… I shudder. “As I said, there’s no situation to take stock of.”
“Now, that’s interesting.” They meander about the room, taking up too much space. They’re shorter than Sol by a good six inches even with the horns, but I keep expecting their horns to scrape on the ceiling. “Fascinating that the blessed dragon leader has already managed to scare off his human bride.”
I just met this demon, and I barely know Sol at all, but that doesn’t stop me from firing back, “He’s a gentleman. He hasn’t done a single thing wrong.” I don’t know why I’m defending him. Maybe he eats puppies in his free time. Do they even have puppies in this realm?
“A gentleman.” They laugh. “He is, that.” They move to the door and cast a look over their shoulder. Or at least I think they do. “Come along, little bride. Let’s find your wayward dragon husband.”
Nothing good can come of this. Obviously Ramanu wants to stir the pot; they haven’t exactly been a sympathetic ear in the short time they’ve been in my presence, and, beyond that, there is obviously tension between Azazel and the other leaders.
Still, I’m curious, and I’ve been cooped up for days. Sol never came to see me. Wandering the keep with a demon at my side isn’t exactly peaceful, but surely it’s better than wandering about alone?