Defender Dragon (Protection, Inc 2)

“He is a dragon,” added the king. “We are hard to kill.”

Lucas’s eyes fluttered open, and he took Journey’s hand in icy fingers. “I won’t leave you, Journey. I swear it on my honor.”

She blinked back tears as she said, “I’ll hold you to that.”

The king and queen kept the promise they had made in the throne room. They treated Journey with courtesy, never questioned her relationship with Lucas, and had a smaller bed moved into his room so she could stay by his side.

The doctor came several times a day, each time consulting his witchy book as if he hoped something new had been written in it when he wasn’t looking. When Journey peeked over his shoulder, she read what she had already guessed: the dose Lucas had been given should have killed him outright, and heartsease was the only real treatment.

Other than that, it said that patients should be kept warm and well-nourished. If they survived long enough, the dragonsbane would eventually work its way out of their bodies. It concluded by saying that most victims of small doses lived and most victims of large doses died. After she read that part, Journey wished she hadn’t looked.

The poison affected Lucas’s throat, making him unable to swallow any solid food. Though the palace cooks provided everything from broth to milkshakes, he lost weight at an alarming rate. And though he never complained when he was awake, he often cried out in pain in his sleep.

Sometimes Lucas was weak but clear-headed. He couldn’t speak easily, so Journey would sit by his side and tell him stories about her travels. Sometimes he slipped into delirium, shouting hoarsely that he’d been shot and calling on his friends at Protection, Inc. for backup. Journey was sure tha

t if he was in his right mind, he wouldn’t want her to tell him any lies, however comforting. But she had to say something. She settled on telling him that his friends would do whatever they could to help him. That had to be true, and he always relaxed when he heard it.

Journey too did whatever she could to help him, talking to him, rubbing his back, stroking his hair, and holding him in her arms. When he was dazed or delirious, he wouldn’t allow anyone but her to give him anything to drink. It made her wonder how deeply he’d been scarred, entirely apart from the physical damage, by his time in the dungeon. She felt utterly helpless. But her touch seemed to comfort him, and he knew her even when he recognized no one else.

King Andrei and Queen Livia visited Lucas often. Journey suspected them of feeling guilty over sticking him with the arranged marriage and letting Grand Duke Vaclav bully him when he was a boy, but she said nothing about that. They were certainly kind to him now.

Better late than never, she thought.

Once when Lucas was having a bad night, tossing to and fro and muttering that he was burning and freezing, Queen Livia left, then returned with a gold nugget as big as her open hand.

“From my own hoard,” she said to Journey, as if that was an explanation.

The queen pressed it into his hand. Lucas clutched it to his chest, then curled into it, relaxed, and went to sleep.

“I’ll have to let him keep it now.” The queen sounded as if she regretted it already. “It’s difficult— painful, even— for dragons to give up gold once they’ve slept on it.”

Definitely guilty, Journey thought. But it fascinated her to learn more about dragons. She realized now why the doctor had only pushed Lucas’s jewelry around when he’d cleaned his wounds, rather than attempting to remove it.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t wear jewelry,” Queen Livia remarked. “I hope you don’t dislike it. He’ll want to give you some once he’s better.”

“I love jewelry,” Journey replied. “I’ve just never been able to afford the good stuff, and I don’t like plastic.”

The queen glanced at the glint of gold showing through Lucas’s fingers. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

One morning Journey woke to find Lucas’s bed empty and the shower running. She sat bolt upright, her heart lifting. It was the first time since been poisoned that he’d been strong enough to do more than walk the few paces to and from the bathroom, leaning heavily on someone’s arm.

The sound of the shower stopped. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Lucas stepped out, his hair wet and his gold chains gleaming, walking by himself for the first time in a week.

“Lucas,” Journey began. Her voice caught, and she was unable to go on.

“I was tired of sponge baths,” he said.

She ran up and threw her arms around him. He bent down and kissed her. His lips were hot again, the touch of his skin like a midsummer day. She hadn’t cried once in the entire time he’d been so ill. She’d wanted to be strong for him. But as if his heat had melted something in her, she abruptly dissolved into a flood of tears. He held her tight, standing steady as a pillar of steel, while she sobbed on his shoulder.

“I was so afraid you’d die,” she gasped. “And it was because of me. You let yourself be poisoned to protect me. I wish it had been me instead.”

“Journey...” Lucas stroked her back and shoulders. “You must not feel guilty about that. I am glad it happened as it did. If it had been you who had come so close to death, I could not have borne it. I think this time has been harder for you than it has been for me.”

Journey wiped her face, trying to get control of herself. “I don’t know about that.”

“I have the benefit of not recalling much of it,” Lucas admitted, then hastily added, “And you needn’t recount it for me. From what I do remember, I would be embarrassed. Though I am very curious how I seem to have acquired the prize nugget from my aunt’s hoard.”

“You were in pain and you couldn’t sleep,” Journey said. “She gave it to you to make you feel better.”