Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

The Third in Command of Drakencrest, the man who had been standing at the back window covered thirty feet of throne room floor in under a second.

He moved in front of Blair before the blast could hit her, taking it square in the chest.

WHOMPF.

He hit the stone floor without a noise.

He didn’t get up.

The bracelet on his wrist flashed bright white.

”Whoops. You caught me. That cast was not a memory wipe,” Emma said with a grin. ”Oh interesting. Who gave you that, honey? I guess we’ll never know. It’s mine now.”

✦✦✦

DRAKENCREST - THE KING’S CHAMBERS

Guinevere and Maddox were both fast asleep, both glowing a soft gold.

Her eyes snapped open, glowing gold and, Maddox, the Dragon King of Velkaris, negotiator with sociopaths, went from asleep to airborne and screaming so fast the blanket hit the ceiling.

His dragon was wide-awake. His dignity was still asleep and would not be recovering.

The guards immediately opened his chamber doors at the sound of his distress. They would spend the rest of their careers pretending they hadn’t heard the Dragon King scream like he’d been launched from a catapult.

Maddox’s chest was heaving and he was confused because the green in his wife’s eyes was gone, replaced by a gold he had only seen a few times on her.

Her hair was glowing from root to tip, white going bright, the glow filling the dark bedroom like a lantern someone had kicked awake.

Romantic? No. Terrifying? Absolutely. On brand for their week? Unfortunately, yes.

Maddox then realized he was no longer holding onto her and his dragon did not approve. The beast had one rule about Guinevere: hold her. The rule did not include exceptions for glowing, possession, or the apparent will of ancient magic. It rumbled a low warning against his ribs that roughly translated to: You had one job.

”Hey, Gwen. What is it?”

His arm snaked around her before she could move.

Guinevere didn’t respond. Her gold eyes were locked on the bedroom double doors that were wide open with guards standing there.

The focus was absolute and completely wrong for a woman who had been sleeping. There was no disorientation. No adjustment. No waking-up fog.

”Do you need to go somewhere?” Maddox asked softly.

The question was diplomatic. The answer was obvious. She was already pointed at the door like an arrow that someone had forgotten to release.

Her urgency was bleeding through their matebond at maximum volume.

She gave a single nod and was already swinging her legs off the bed. Her movements were fluid, purposeful, the movements of a body being steered by something that knew exactly where it was going and had zero interest in explaining.

Maddox moved with her, off the bed in one motion. ”Hang on.”

His hands found her boots on the floor, and he knelt, guiding her into them one at a time with the speed and steadiness of a man who had dressed unconscious women before and was adding possessed women to the skill set.

”Gwen, blink twice if you’re in there. Once if something else is driving.”

She blinked once.

”Fantastic. Welcome aboard. I’m Maddox. I’ll be your husband for the evening.”

He grabbed the cloak draped over the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the hood up. Then he pulled his own boots on in three seconds. A personal record set entirely out of the knowledge that Guinevere would leave without him and feel zero guilt about it.

She was already at the door. Of course she was.

The guards hadn’t moved since opening it to check on their king. Neither reacted to the glowing, which told Maddox they had seen it probably one too many times and the novelty had worn off. At this point, she could have sprouted wings and the guards would have held the doors wider and carried on.

Maddox grabbed her hand before she took another step.

Then she ran.

No warning. No countdown. No ”ready, set.” She just went. Maddox would have appreciated a three-count. He did not get one.

The speed hit like a switch being thrown. One second she was standing in the doorway. The next she was thirty feet down the corridor and accelerating, cloak streaming behind her, boots striking the stone.

Maddox didn’t let go of her hand. He ran beside her, matching her stride for stride. Dragon King speed. No problem. He had known she was fast. He had watched her run a Skyrunner lethal simulation and chased her in the forest. But he had never run with her before. This was different.

She was FAST.

Genuinely, absurdly, what-the-hell-are-you fast. Her strides covered ground that her frame had no right to cover, and the mechanics were wrong for a wolf, wrong for a dragon, wrong for anything he had a reference point for. This was something else.

”I’m going to ask where we’re going,” he commented. ”And you’re going to say nothing, and I’m going to keep running. This is our system now. I’ve accepted it.”

She didn’t fight his hand. Her fingers were locked around his, warm and tight, and whether that was Guinevere holding on or whatever was driving her allowing him to stay, the grip said you can come but you will not slow me down.

They tore through the corridors of Drakencrest Keep like a comet with an escort. Guards flattened against walls. Servants dove into doorways. One servant had been carrying a tray of pastries. The pastries did not survive. The servant would tell this story for decades.

A mage carrying a stack of books dropped all of them and pressed himself into an alcove as the glowing woman and her king blew past at a speed that left his robes flapping. The mage would pick them up in the wrong order and spend the next three days sorting them, cursing the Crown the entire time.

Maddox didn’t ask where they were going. His dragon was silent behind his ribs, which was worse than roaring because silent meant the dragon understood something the man hadn’t caught up to yet.

She turned left. Down a staircase. Through the gallery. Past the grand corridor.

They stopped in front of the throne room doors.

She pushed them open.