Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet 2)

“Yes, apparently, this is her true personality. I was not aware of it before as all my god spoken are commanded into silence unless spoken to,” he answers, before adding in a sly tone, “If you like, I could return her to her previous state.”

Can’t lie. I’m kind of tempted. But in the end, I grit my teeth and say out loud, “Yes, I’d love some breakfast, Agda. Thanks.”

“Sit! Sit! I will make you breakfast for your fat tummy!”

I glare at Damianos as he leads me to a room off the kitchen. I’d call it a breakfast nook. But this nook is bigger than the North Dakota kingdom house’s formal dining room. The ornate crown molding is back and covered in gold leaf. There are silk drapes in here too, and the walls are painted cerulean blue, maybe to match the sea beyond the arched windows. I also notice a dazzling chandelier overhead as I drop into one of the white quilted chairs, surrounding the room’s main piece of furniture—a huge marble table.

“Ah…” I sigh, suddenly understanding the true meaning of take a load off when I shift Bazzi to my lap. It’s like the end of an arms workout. My belly may be big but I’m going to put on some serious biceps muscles carrying this boy around.

Speaking of which. I frown at Damianos, who’s taken the seat right next to me at the circular table. “How did you explain your flying kid to the she-wolf in the kitchen?”

I knew all about “the serpents” thanks to growing up with two dads, still traumatized by their attack on their village. But as Rafes was always reminding me, only a select few wolves were aware of the dragon threat or even that they existed at all.

Damianos shifts uncomfortably. “I acquired the neighboring kingdom island a long time ago by your species’ short standards. It was after your industrial age but prior to the technological one before the concept of magical beings had been regulated to myth. While I doubt the younger wolves believe the old stories of who I am, they exist. And as for Agda…”

He glances toward the door that leads to the kitchen. “She is ungodspoken, but it was necessary to leave a few instructions in place. She believes in the old stories. To a certain extent, she understands what I am, even if she does not understand that I am the same drakkon she believed to be my father in her younger days. However, like Colby, she is not allowed to speak of what she knows. That is safer, for both them and us.”

“So they’re free, but with, like, the strictest non-disclosure agreement ever.”

There goes that ripple of amusement and instant squash again before Damianos answers, “Yes.”

“And that’s what Other You meant about Bazzi being the Prince of both wolves and dragons. He wasn’t referring to my North Dakota original title. He was talking about this other island you own. Because here he’s the Prince of both. And I’m the queen of both.” The idea of more responsibilities sinks in my bones, but I do not shy away from the challenge. I peer at my mate. “Damianos, what are my powers here? What do you want me to do for this kingdom? For you?”

I can tell I’ve strayed into dangerous territory by the way our mate bond suddenly goes numb. Like he’s ruthlessly suppressing an emotion before he can even start to feel it.

“Basileios requires much tutoring in the way of drakkon.” Damianos rises from his seat.

Huh, what? So, he’s just going to ignore my questions?

“We will begin now and leave you to your breakfast.”

“Oh, he can stay here with—”

Damianos makes a scratching sound in the back of his throat, and Bazzi flies out of my arms to his father before I can finish that sentence.

And then they’re leaving me to feel some kind of way about all the supposed progress we’ve made. My dads are still alive. We escaped without anybody getting harmed—at least physically. I’m here in his castle because we chose each other. But for reasons I still don’t understand, he’s shutting me out.

This has to work. Everything…my family’s lives, our future happiness—it all hinges on this relationship.

But doubt overwhelms me as I watch them leave the room. Father and son in a way that I could never replicate as Bazzi’s mother.

Will we pull this family stuff off? Can we, considering where both of us come from?

Those questions ring in my head as Agda comes in with a tray filled with food for my fat tummy. And I guess she has a point. Because my tummy declares every unnecessary pinch and word forgiven when I see the spread. A basket filled with breads and pastries, a tray filled with fruit and various cheeses, and thank the Fenrir wolf, a porcelain carafe filled with coffee.