The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 418

Chapter 418: Emotional Support Dragon Heist

DRAKENFELL — DRAKEN FORCES TRAINING FIELD

Bellatrix Drakenfell descended upon the dragon training field with the stride of a woman who had already decided the outcome of every conversation she was about to have and was attending the conversations as a formality.

Petra was three steps behind her, carrying a leather satchel that contained Onyx’s tuxedo, a velvet cushion, two jars of scale oil, and a porcelain dish for dried meat. The satchel had been packed with the precision of a woman who had correctly anticipated that the dragon would be leaving with them and had prepared accordingly.

Captain Halvek saw her coming from across the field. His clipboard lowered by an inch. The lowering was instinctive, the reflex of a military professional who recognized an approaching threat and was already calculating whether his rank was sufficient to address it. It was never sufficient when the threat was the queen.

The juvenile dragons were in formation at the eastern edge of the field. Onyx was positioned between two dragons four times his size, his black scales gleaming, his gold eyes locked on his handler, his posture carrying the rigid discipline of a creature who was following instructions he found professionally beneath him.

Avalon was three positions down, his blue-silver scales catching the afternoon light, his wings folded, his attention on the same drill Onyx was executing with considerably more enthusiasm.

Bellatrix crossed the perimeter line without acknowledging the perimeter line. She walked past the handlers, past the equipment racks, past two senior riders who opened their mouths and closed them again because the queen was walking and interrupting the queen’s walk required a level of authority that existed exclusively inside the queen’s own head.

A junior handler stepped into her path with the admirable, doomed courage of a man who believed his training jurisdiction applied universally.

"Your Majesty, the juveniles are in an active formation drill, and we ask that civilians maintain a distance of—"

"Bull-honkey."

The word landed on the handler the way a fly swatter lands on a fly: with complete dismissal and zero regard for the fly’s continued dignity.

Bellatrix walked past him. She reached the formation line. Onyx saw her.

The transformation was instantaneous. His rigid training posture dissolved. His wings snapped open. His tail went vertical. His gold eyes locked onto her face with the desperate, full-body recognition of a creature whose favorite person had just appeared at his place of employment and whose priorities had been permanently reshuffled.

He broke formation.

The handler behind him made a sound of professional despair. Sixty-five pounds of baby dragon abandoned his position, sprinted across the formation line, and launched himself at Bellatrix with the trajectory of a small, scaled missile.

She caught him. The catch was practiced now, one arm under his chest, the other supporting his hindquarters, absorbing his momentum with a half-step backward and a grip that had been refined through repetition. She settled him against her chest. His tail wrapped around her forearm. His head found the crook of her neck. His chirp was loud, sustained, and communicating his feelings about the training field, the formation drills, and the general indignity of being made to stand in line with dragons who could barely execute a three-count.

"I know," she said. "I know. You are wasted here."

Onyx chirped again. The chirp was emphatic, agreeing with her assessment and supplementing it with additional grievances that the chirp was too short to fully articulate.

"Did they make you do the triangle drill again?"

Chirp.

"You mastered that ages ago. This is an insult to your intelligence and I will be speaking to Colonel Morholt."

Chirp chirp.

"Are they feeding you adequately?"

A lower chirp. The chirp equivalent of a shrug.

"Unacceptable. We are leaving."

The word stimulated covered a range of activities that included a bath, a massage, scale oil, a tuxedo fitting, and being fed dried meat from a porcelain dish while sitting on a velvet cushion in the queen’s parlor. Halvek did not know this. Halvek did not need to know this. Halvek needed to survive the conversation and file the paperwork afterward.

Come with me.

I cannot.

Why?

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