A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania 2)

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Right? Such a fucking idiot.”

“Seriously! Who does that? He literally waited until you were getting married to confess his undying love and admiration for me.”

“I would have believed that more if you hadn’t gotten that sappy look on your face.”

I shrugged. “It’s a by-product. Of the love and admiration.”

“It’s an affliction. A symptom of a festering disease that must be eradicated.”

“Or one that we need to infect you with, which is why we’re here. Gods, I love it when conversations come full circle. Don’t you just love that? I do.”

He stared at me with an expression on his face that suggested he did not love that.

“Anyway,” I said hastily. “Let me get a good look at you before we proceed. I have to know what I’m working with.”

“Working with? Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re making me do?”

“To be fair, you don’t like anything I make you do, so. Now hush. Let me gaze upon you.”

“Is this some freakish wizard thing?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t. “That’s exactly it.” That wasn’t it at all.

I suppose if one liked frigid bitches hiding hearts laced with gold, one could reasonably say that Grand Prince Justin of Verania was an attractive man. Sure, he often looked like he’d bitten into the most bitter of lemons (something I’d tried to cure him of but only seemed to make worse), but men and women alike fawned over his porcelain skin, waxing poetically over his chocolate-brown curls. How regal he was, they exclaimed. How beautiful. It was as if the gods themselves had a hand in his making.

Even after I’d essentially princenapped him, he looked well put together. He was statuesque, broad shouldered with a narrow waist. He had elegant fingers and callused palms, a testament to how well-versed of a swordsman he was. His expensively embroidered tunic was stretched tightly across his arms and chest. His trousers had the right amount of pull along his thighs and—

“Holy crap,” I breathed. “You’re dreamy.”

He said, “What.” No inflection whatsoever.

“Like, no, just… give me a moment. My worldview just shifted and I’m struggling to go along with it.”

“So… pretty much a normal day, then, for you.”

“When did you get attractive?” I demanded.

“Are you hitting on me?” he asked incredulously.

“What! No! Of course not. At least, I don’t think I am. Am I? I really need to sit down and think about this. What am I doing? With this? With my life? Oh my gods, what am I doing with my—”

Justin scoffed. “It wasn’t enough that you swooped in and stole my fiancé right out from under me, but now you’ve taken me to a dark and dank alley to have your way with me? For shame, Sam of Wilds. For shame.”

“I would never have my way with you in a dark and dank alley,” I retorted. “I’m a gentleman. I would woo the shit out of you, wine and dine, the whole nine yards. And then we’d make sweet passionate love on a bed covered in roses and I would just go to town on your butt because apparently I’m a power top and—what the fuck are we talking about?”

He looked horrified. “I have no idea! You’re the one that stole me away to try and power top me! I don’t even know what that means!”

“That’s not—” I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Okay. Somehow, you’ve gotten us all off track. As usual.”

“Me? Why you little—”

“We’re here because we’re going on a date.”

“I don’t want to date you! In fact, I would rather do anything else—”

“Not me. I found you a date with an awesome dude!”