A Queen of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 4)

“So the defeatist kind.”

He laughed, slowing so that he could give me a deep, consuming kiss. “That kind, yes.”

“What about the cat shifters, or bears, or…”

He shook his head. “I’m still trying to understand the situation, but it’s a weakness, that much I know. We simply cannot have a kingdom this diverse entirely ruled by one type of creature.”

“Well, yeah. Logic, right? I’ve brought that up a time or two.”

“It is logic to you, looking at it with fresh eyes. But for us…” He walked through the halls slowly, peering through doors and scanning the ceiling and floor. His eyes caught a few times on a smattering of glitter or a streak of dirt. “We’ve only known one way of doing things. This is a dragon kingdom, so of course it is ruled by dragons. In a wolf kingdom, they are ruled by wolves. Anyone with power, like Weston, usually seeks out a ruler who shares their animal. There, they can elevate themselves within the court. Those not of note, or without power…file in.”

“They get shuffled into the cracks and forgotten about, you mean?”

His sigh ruffled my hair. He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. We both knew my whole village had essentially been forgotten.

“Except the dragons in the Flamma Kingdom didn’t seek out the dragon kingdom,” I said.

“Yes. Before the curse, I heard a lot of stories as to why, but I doubt any of them were accurate. My mom, the one person who knew the other dragons, never said a word to me about it. I suspect that meant my father or this kingdom was probably part of the problem.”

“And yet no one overthrew him.”

“This kingdom was wealthy, and my father had a strong army—outside kingdoms wouldn’t wish to upset the status quo, and the people… Well, what could they do? I’d hoped to change things, but…my life took a few strange turns.”

“But you ended up in the right place. You have the chance to change things.”

He squeezed me as we walked.

“I’ve been to the dragon villages in Flamma—they are small and quaint and peaceful. They’re ruled by a council of elders, I guess, and there’s no widespread poverty like in many of the villages here. No obvious class system or stuffy court with lofty ideals.” I was still annoyed about Xavier’s personality shift, something that had gotten a bit bolder over the last couple of days. It had been mirrored, to some degree, in the other Wyverner dragons.

Dragons had always been placed on a perch in this kingdom, and they knew it.

“But they are essentially ignored by their kingdom,” I continued. “And then there are the dragons from other kingdoms. That surprised a few people in the dungeons.”

“The dungeons, yes,” Nyfain growled, meeting his valet, Urien, just inside the door to his rooms. Our rooms, now. “One of the things on my list is to listen to you and the other dragons recount your experiences in the demon kingdom. But not yet. It will overwhelm me with rage, I’m sure, and I can’t have that distraction until I can act on it.”

“Sire, milady.” Urien gave us a stiff bow.

“Finley needs to see the seamster,” Nyfain told him. “Find her lady’s maid and Hadriel and tell them she is ready. They will escort her. I’ve told Leala what Finley may need. Cecil should remember the particulars. He was a great favorite of my mother before—”

He clenched his jaw. He had been about to say before she died. Except…those words no longer applied. In reality, they never had.

“Sire.” Urien bowed again before excusing himself, closing the door behind him.

Nyfain let me slide down his body, his eyes hooded as I did so. He pushed in close, crowding me with his heat and his scent.

“You allowed my mother to work with you today,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich and intoxicating.

“She was helping me with the everlass. She and her friend don’t seem to like me much—or at least Delaney doesn’t—but they respect the plants and work together really well. So I figured…if they could help, I would accept their help. And then you joined us…”

He ran his fingertips down the side of my throat before bending to follow them with his scorching mouth. He stopped to nibble my collarbone but continued to glide his hand down my body, flowing over my budded nipple and then the side of my stomach. He pushed his palm firmly against my lower abdomen, his fingers pointed downward, and kept sliding. His fingers slid over my clit, the sensation dulled by my pants, and continued, curving under and cupping my mound.

I sucked in a breath as I melted against the wall, pounding for him.

“We need to meet with her,” he murmured against my skin. “I’m having the formal dining room and cutlery polished up. I need to know if she is a threat. If she had a hand in the curse.”