“Hush your whining. Wouldyouwant to live closer to my uncle?” Uncle Urien’s family consisted of only four dragons, but he still demanded half of the fifth floor to house them. An entire floor separating them from Elouan still didn’t seem enough.
Teron gave a mock shudder, mimicking the posh accent used by some of the more class-driven dragons. “On second thought, the seventh floor is lovely in autumn, wouldn’t you agree? The unobstructed view of the Swamp of Sorrow? Magnificent!”
“Agreed.” Elouan ignored the sarcasm and led the way down the stairs to the servants’ entrance, his dragon receding to the depths of his mind. Looked like the human half of their shared existence would navigate the next few hours.
Teron stopped Elouan with a hand on his chest. “Wait right here.” He exited the door, staying gone for a few moments beforereturning. “No one’s about.” He waved Elouan toward the door with an exaggerated flourish of his hand.
Elouan raised a brow, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. “You know that’s not necessary, don’t you?”
“Ah, how quickly you forget. Not a ten-day ago, ruffians lay in wait for you at the front entrance. Ruffians of the worst sort, I might add.”
“Those were my brothers, Teron.” And total pains in Elouan’s ass when they chose to be. Wanting to bash their heads together occasionally didn’t keep him from loving the scoundrels fiercely.
“Aaaand what did they do?”
“Pelted my new tunic with overripe tomatoes. You should know, since you were there and didn’t offer to help. You even snickered, if memory serves.” Teron might’ve lobbed a tomato of his own to impress Anrai.
“It was more of a full-blown belly laugh, but I believe I’ve made my point.”
Actually, Teron had fallen to his knees, doubled over, roaring with laughter. A few tears might’ve even made an appearance.
Elouan would never admit to laughing over the incident himself later. His brothers were nothing if not creative. No one would dare pull such a prank this evening, though, with Elouan expected to look his very best. At least he hoped not. He followed Teron out of the door, glancing from side to side for any sight of Daire and Anrai. The troublemakers should be safely ensconced at the meeting place by now.
A stone wall blocked the mountain view on the left. Though most threats came from above, his ancestors had still enclosed the town in protective walls, with the castle and three watchtowers marking the edges, during a time after a great uprising when humans became a threat.
In times of peril, more dragons would flood into the town from outside the walls, where they raised crops.
Teron walked backward to continue his own particular form of harassment. “Or how about some social-climbing mother, out to win the heir apparent for her son or daughter? Didn’t one try to catch you in a compromising situation once?”
“If I feared for my virtue, I’d accept Father’s offer of guards.” Of course, an armed retinue would be something Uncle Urian craved, not Elouan. He’d nothing to fear from his own people, and wouldn’t do anything to lord his rank over them. The social-climbing mother in question found herself sadly disappointed when the man in the back garden with her daughter turned out to be a randy guardsman, not Elouan, at the daughter’s own scheming.
They were happily mated now. Besides, research into the woman’s ancestry showed her to be a distant cousin, ruling her out as a potential mate for Elouan. He’d likely have to find a mate from an entirely different court.
Of the few still in existence.
Teron turned, striding by Elouan’s side down the rocky path from the castle to the bowl-like depression carved out of stone by the ancestors, or the Goddess, depending on which legend one believed. Elouan’s decorative but hardly functional slippers patted against the path’s flagstones. He rolled his eyes. Give him comfortably worn-in boots any day.
They both fell quiet as they encountered others, all heading in the same direction. Some gave him appraising glances before hurrying on their way. The last to arrive usually became the target of gossip.
Elouan had been the subject of gossip since his hatching day.
The setting sun ignited the tall spires of the surrounding mountains, some permanently capped with white. The air held a crispness of fall, with the scents of the evening’s feast wafting on the breeze. Elouan’s stomach rumbled. He sniffed the air. Venison. Chicken. Sage. Fresh bread. Hundreds of dragons.
Teron laughed. “Hungry, or is your dragon insisting on coming out to play?”
Elouan glared, but without heat. How he wished he could take dragon form and spend the evening riding the breeze. His dragon quietly agreed—not in words, but more in feelings. “You know I missed the midday meal for last-minute fittings.”
“Yet still the seamstress made your collar too tight.”
No letting an innocent woman take the blame. “I’m afraid I’m not good at following instructions. Patience is not a virtue I’m familiar with, nor is remaining still.”
“Neither is punctuality.” Teron sped up, urging Elouan faster.
Most of the court had likely already gathered at the traditional meeting place. Elouan paused for a deep breath and adjusted his overly stiff collar again before approaching the entryway. Not fashionably late—again—but pushing the limits of being on time. The things he did for family.
Teron followed, shaking his head and emitting a put-upon sigh—a sound Elouan heard often as of late. He’d actually come to miss the sound during Teron’s absences.
“Have you heard any word from other courts?” Elouan asked to pass the time.