Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

In the span of thirty minutes, Guinevere Lunaris had been escorted through a sex circus, reunited with her father, served whiskey by a stranger, haunted by a dead jester, and had a Master Mage at blade point. She was still in her pajamas. The evening was young.

”Your pet,” she said to Marek, ”just tried to kill Lunaris’s Beta. Why?”

Behind Marek’s left shoulder, she caught movement. Kael looked like he was scanning the tent. His face hardened into something.

Guinevere blinked. He was gone.

Fantastic. She had almost forgotten about those hallucinations of Kael. That was on the library list that she hadn’t gotten to yet.

Truly the cherry on top of this shit sundae of an evening.

She looked at Marek with cold in her eyes and zero fear.

”Get. Rid. Of. It.”

Marek laughed, low, quiet, and genuinely amused, as if being held at knifepoint by an angry little girl was the highlight of his evening.

”You are remarkable,” he commented.

Wrong answer.

Eyes on his. Blade at his throat. Her free hand ripped the letter opener from his sleeve and drove it through his hand in a blur.

It was over before he could move his arm. His laugh turned into a shriek that would definitely keep her awake at night.

It was cut-throat, but she didn’t flinch, because right now, Guinevere Lunaris was an actress playing a role and not Guinevere Lunaris.

And nothing said negotiation like a pincushion-palm.

Round two, Asshole. You picked the wrong night to fuck with me.

”There’s no need for the theatrics,” Solandris’s relative said. ”We want you, girl, to get rid of it. That’s all we’re after.”

His tone was calm, almost bored, as if the shitstorm in front of him was an incompetent but amusing waste of his goddamn time.

”Why am I here, Solandris?” she asked without moving her eyes away from Marek.

He ignored the question entirely and turned to her father, who hadn’t moved a muscle since the blade came out.

”She’s got your balls, Renwick. I’ll give her that.” He gestured at her. ”For future reference, in Velkaris, court-trained-and-quiet means they don’t stab someone without blinking.”

”For future reference, in Nyros, demonstration doesn’t mean casualty, Eron,” Renwick replied. ”You tried to kill my Beta. She intervened. I’m not mad.”

Guinevere caught the name. That was no accident. Renwick was throwing her a bone. Eron Solandris was Lord Solandris’s brother. She knew the name from studying the houses.

”If I wanted your Beta dead, he’d be dead,” Eron said. ”You also didn’t tell me she was blade trained. So we’re even.”

Lovely. They were keeping score. This negotiation was going spectacularly.

Guinevere pulled her blade back an inch, no more, just so it wasn’t touching Marek’s skin. She flexed her flame muscle. It ignited in gold immediately.

The fire surrounded her body as well, then moved to her father and Beta Draven on its own. She was grateful it didn’t cover Marek or Eron because she had zero control over who it protected and who it burned. Her subconscious did what it wanted.

In her peripheral vision, Draven shot out of his chair. Understandable reaction.

Eron gave a slow clap. The universal language of ’I’m impressed but also annoyed and would like you to stop embarrassing my staff.’

”Yes, I’ve heard all about this from my men who attended last night’s festivities, girl. But we didn’t drag you here to watch you play with fire or blades.”

Eron exhaled in pure frustration, the sound of a man whose meticulously planned evening had just gone straight to hell-in-a-fucking-handbasket.

”You do realize you just stabbed the Second and Master Mage for House Solandris,” he commented. ”A man who could knock you out or kill you right now if he wanted to. He is choosing not to.”

Marek glanced down at the blade. ”The jester is gone.”

”Were you responsible for earlier today?” Guinevere’s voice came out softer than she intended for that question.

”No,” Marek replied. ”But you still have shards in you. That’s what I drew from.”

His voice was polite, but he looked genuinely terrified, which almost made her want to lower the blade. Her gut, however, told her not to be a fucking idiot, so she stayed.

”Let my mage heal his hand,” Eron ordered, ”and don’t burn the goddamn tent down. I’m not in the mood to roast tonight.”

Ruthlessly, she tore the letter opener out of his palm without moving the blade at his throat.

”Tell me what is on that parchment and why you want me to touch it,” Guinevere said without hesitation, ”and I might lower my blade.”

”Daughter, that is enough.” Renwick’s voice switched to an Alpha tone. ”Stand down.”

Her muscles automatically complied. Her arm lowered as her flame went out. Her dignity followed. Three for three.

She glanced at her father with zero emotion.

Renwick returned the look, then turned to Eron, who let out a weary why-me exhale like he was regretting every life choice that led him to this circus.

Eron unhurriedly poured himself another whiskey, then refilled every glass except hers. Hers was still on the floor, keeping company with her pride, her patience, and her last fuck to give.

”The creature wasn’t trying to kill anyone. It was trying to make you react,” he said, settling back down in his chair. ”Sit, Girl.”

Guinevere sat, holding her bitch face like a goddamn professional.

If Blair were here, she’d have nodded approvingly.

Eron’s eyes dropped to her bleeding hand still gripping Draven’s blade.

”White magic. I had to step in at the Keep tonight because you failed spectacularly at summoning it. You failed again in here.”

Kael mentioned she summoned white magic, but Guinevere didn’t remember doing it.

”The parchment was signed before you were born,” Eron continued. ”It’s a blood contract between your father and my brother. Signed twenty-one years ago. Your father’s blood is on the left seal. My brother’s is on the right.”

She looked at Renwick, whose face gave nothing. Shocker.

”Why is it here?”

The question wasn’t for Solandris. It was for her father.

”Because the terms have been activated,” Renwick replied. His voice was stripped of everything except fact.

”What terms?”

Renwick glanced at Eron who looked at Guinevere.

”Open the parchment, girl. Your father won’t say it. I will, but you should read it first.”

”Why do you want me to open it so bad?”

Silence.

”Noted,” she continued. ”Let me guess: cursed, soul-binding, or just another way to fuck me over.”

For the first time all night, Renwick Lunaris showed emotion. His eyes widened for half a second and Guinevere knew exactly why: she said a swear word.

Her speaking out of turn and saying fuck was more shocking than her stabbing a man.

The tent flaps burst open.

Kael ran through.