Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

LUNARIS DUNGEONS

”Get away from me,” Cassian snarled. The snarl lost most of its authority because half his face was melted and the sound that came out was closer to a hiss from a deflating balloon.

”I’m here to treat your burns, my Prince,” the healer explained, kneeling beside him.

”YOU LIED. You knew. You knew he was a dragon and you let me put him in silver.”

The old man blinked a few times. ”Your Highness, the man was grey, unconscious, and bleeding. I treated him the same way I would treat any person.”

The healer’s tone was the tone of a man who had spent thirty-one years not giving a shit about politics and was not about to start in a dungeon at three in the morning.

Tyler made a sound that was legally a cough but spiritually a full-blown laugh.

”I’m glad you find this amusing, Tyler,” Cassian snapped.

Tyler pushed off the doorframe. ”We need two things from you. Your face treated, and your blood.”

”My BLOOD?”

”For your sister. Her blood loss is severe.”

Cassian stared at him with the full emotional range of a man being asked to donate blood to the sister he had whipped two hours ago, by the dragon who had melted his face.

”Absolutely the fuck I will not.”

Tyler didn’t even blink. There it was. The most predictable sentence in the history of Cassian.

”I thought you’d say that.” Tyler stepped into the cell. ”The dragon said if you don’t cooperate, he’ll kill you and take my blood instead for her.”

”He’s bluffing.”

”He snapped three necks in one second and branded your face tonight. At what point in this evening has he bluffed?”

Tyler let the question hang. It was rhetorical.

Cassian’s retort formed, met the memory of Kael Ashenvale’s palm on his face, and died quietly in the back of his throat.

”I hate him.”

Tyler looked at the healer. ”Tell him the other part.”

The healer cleared his throat. ”My Prince, you’ve been in silver for several hours. Silver suppression leaves trace amounts in the bloodstream. If I take your blood now, the silver contamination could harm her rather than help her.”

”Good,” Cassian muttered.

Tyler’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. The healer continued as if the prince hadn’t spoken.

”The silver needs to flush from your system. But the burn on your face is a more immediate concern. If that wound becomes infected, the infection enters your bloodstream.”

Cassian connected the dots and hated every single one. Refuse treatment, blood goes bad, sister dies, dragon kills him. Accept treatment, give blood, sister lives, dragon still wins. The bastard had boxed him in from upstairs without saying a word. What a spectacular mindfuck.

His jaw flexed, tugging the burn and sending a wince down his neck that landed squarely in his pride.

”Fine. FINE. Treat the goddamn burn. Take the goddamn blood. But I want it on record that I am doing this under duress.”

”Noted,” Tyler said. ”Deeply noted.”

The healer moved in before the prince could change his mind. He uncapped a salve and reached for Cassian’s face.

Cassian flinched back so hard he hit the dungeon wall. ”WHAT IS THAT?”

”Calendula and comfrey paste. Mixed with honey. It prevents—”

”It smells like a garden threw up.”

”It smells like medicine, my Prince. Hold still.”

The healer’s fingers made contact with the edge of the burn. Cassian inhaled through his teeth so sharply that the sound echoed off the dungeon walls.

”That STINGS.”

”Yes. Burns tend to do that when treated.”

”Can you be GENTLER?”

”I am being as gentle as medically possible. You are being as difficult as humanly possible. We are both operating at maximum capacity.”

Tyler’s cough returned, less convincing this round.

The healer applied the paste in silence. Cassian screamed, then whimpered, then shut up. Fastest Tyler had seen him learn anything.

”The silver cuffs,” the healer said, finishing the last section. ”They need to come off now. The sooner the silver leaves his system, the sooner his blood is clean.”

Tyler considered this. The healer was right. The cuffs coming off was a medical necessity. It was also the thing that gave Cassian his strength back, and a Cassian with strength was a Cassian who might do something stupid.

”The cuffs come off,” Tyler said. ”You stay in this cell. You cooperate. If you try anything, I don’t need to remind you what’s upstairs.”

”The dragon.”

”Yes. Here’s what he agreed: in four hours the healer takes your blood.” Tyler crouched to Cassian’s eye level. ”In exchange, you keep the face treatment and you keep your life.”

”Generous,” Cassian said, the word tasting like garden salve.

”Considering he wanted to kill you, yes. Generous.”

Tyler pulled the key from his belt and unlocked the silver cuffs. They fell to the stone floor with a clatter. Cassian rubbed his wrists, the red marks already fading as his wolf began healing what the silver had suppressed.

The healer handed him a waterskin. ”Drink. All of it. I’ll be back in four hours.”

Cassian took the waterskin and drank with the aggressive silence of a prince who was cooperating and wanted everyone to know he hated every second of it.

Tyler turned for the door.

”Tyler.”

Tyler stopped.

”Is she...” Cassian paused. The question was trying to come out and his pride was trying to stop it, and for a moment the two forces were at war in his throat. ”Is she going to make it?”

Tyler looked at him for a long time, deciding how much honesty he deserved.

”If your blood is clean in four hours, yes.” He held Cassian’s eye. ”So drink the water and do the goddamn right thing for her, even if you have to hate yourself while doing it.”

The door closed.

Cassian sat in the dark with a treated face, uncuffed wrists, and a waterskin. For the first time all night, the dungeon was quiet and the loudest thing in the room was not his anger.

It was the question he hadn’t asked out loud: what have I done?