Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Blair woke up in a brown chair, in a brown room, surrounded by brown candles, wearing a silk robe that matched the one violated by her brother’s dick. For a full three seconds she considered the possibility that she had died and this was hell’s waiting room.

Then she saw the bed.

She was going to need a moment. And a very strong drink. And possibly an exorcism.

Blair shook her head once. Blinked. Nope. They were still there. That image was burned into her retinas forever.

When the fuck did that man get into the bed?

Last time she checked, this was not a joint custody arrangement. Apparently, HER dress up doll was also Maddox’s emotional support doll.

The man had been told ”no physical activity” by a Luminari healer, and his interpretation of that medical instruction was to big spoon his wife in his brother’s bed. One of his legs was draped over her like a safety harness. His hand had found its way under her robe and was resting flat against her bare stomach.

All of this was happening with Kael on her other side. The woman was sandwiched between the two brothers, her forehead resting against Kael’s bare shoulder with Maddox plastered to her back. One of her hands rested on Maddox’s forearm. The other on Kael’s arm.

All three of them were glowing like gods. This was different from the flame Blair had seen Guinevere wrap around people. That was external. This was coming from inside their bodies, radiating outward through their skin.

The kind of glow she had only seen from Guinevere. Apparently, her brothers could do it too, powered by Guinevere who had zero clue she was doing it. Even out cold, she was carefully splitting her magical glow fifty-fifty, babying two massive man-children simultaneously.

It was almost cute in the way a three-headed puppy might be if you were half-blind, emotionally compromised, drunk, and squinted just right.

Actually no it wasn’t. What the fuck was this shit? A goddamn glowing sleepover with HER dress up doll. She had dibs. DIBS. She had grounded her and revoked visitation rights. And these two were now cuddling her like a litter.

Blair looked at the bed. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at Gerald, who stared back with dead-eyed judgment.

”Gerald, if you tell anyone about this, I will throw you in a fire. I might just do it anyway because you are as ugly as this room.”

The rug didn’t reply. He was a goddamn professional.

She crossed to the foot of the bed and grabbed the brown blanket folded there. She draped it over Guinevere, whose hair was still wet.

For a second, it stayed.

Then, in his sleep, Maddox’s hand came up, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it off Guinevere and onto himself in one smooth, unconscious motion. He muttered something that sounded like ”mine” and burrowed his face deeper into Guinevere’s hair.

The blanket barely covered his torso.

Blair stared at her brother. The Dragon King. Blanket Thief. Fire-breathing man-child with the impulse control of a golden retriever in a room full of socks. Except this golden retriever had a history of biting his wife. She had never been less proud of her bloodline.

She walked into Kael’s closet to find another. It was well organized, down to the hanger spacing. She could give credit where it was due. She rifled through zip suits, cloaks, and battle suits, until she found another blanket on the top shelf. Another shade of shit. Naturally.

She brought it back to the bed and froze.

Kael shifted in his sleep. His arm moved, palm up, like he wanted Guinevere to hold his hand. Then he mumbled, ”No, no. Fifteen percent.”

Blair rolled her eyes and draped the new blanket over Guinevere and Maddox both. It thankfully covered Maddox’s feet. She tucked it specifically around Guinevere and NOT around Maddox, which was petty and deliberate and exactly the kind of small war she was built for.

From behind Guinevere, Maddox sighed, and muttered, ”Denied.”

”I am going to need so much therapy,” Blair snapped at Gerald.

She turned from the bed, rubbing her eyes, and that’s when she noticed Kael’s desk.

Brown. Rectangular. Sitting proudly on the corner like it was the centerpiece of the room.

He had a fucking sand garden. A brown one. He probably read a book about it. The man had been living a double life of secret competence and Blair was furious she hadn’t caught it sooner.

Her eyes snagged on a velvet box sitting on the corner. There was a red bow on it. A gift for someone. It looked out of place.

Then she heard the whispers.

Low, layered, coming from inside the velvet like a chorus pressed under a lid. Words she couldn’t make out, spoken in a voice that sounded like it was coming from very far away and very close at the same time.

Well. That wasn’t ideal.

Whispers from an object in a room full of dark-magic survivors. She should mindlink Jaxon. That was the correct, responsible, not-stupid thing to do.

If not Jaxon, any rational, intelligent, self-preserving person would call for backup of some kind before approaching the whispering box. Blair was all of those things. She was also already five steps closer to the desk than she’d been when she started that thought.

Her legs continued to move on their own.

She crossed the room towards the desk with the calm, measured stride of a woman who was absolutely in control and absolutely walking toward a whispering box against her own judgment.

The whispers got louder.

Don’t touch it. Don’t touch the whispering brown box in the half-dead man’s room. Don’t touch it, Blair. You are smarter than the box.

That’s when she noticed parchment scattered around the it. Some were crumpled, others torn, a few scratched through so hard the pen had ripped the parchment.

All definitely out of place on his immaculate room. Another red flag. Her nosiness overpowered it.

She picked one up.

Kael’s handwriting.