Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11: You’re In The King’s Bed, Actually

Maddox Drakencrest had kissed a woman four times before she’d learned his real name. He was aware of the optics.

Make that five.

For medical reasons, that woman was lying on top of him in the exact spot he put her eight hours ago.

The Gods themselves couldn’t have made him move.

Ryker, however, could. And he did at dawn.

Ryker: Maddox. Raid on the eastern ridge. Three hours out by air. They hit the supply caravan coming in from Ironhold.

He spoke with the subtlety of a man who knew exactly what he was interrupting.

Maddox: Casualties?

Ryker: Two of ours. Six of theirs. We need you in the war room in ten.

He let out a slow breath. The one morning in a decade he actually wanted to stay in bed.

Maddox: On my way.

He pressed another kiss to the top of Guinevere’s head. Automatically. His mouth moved on its own like kissing her hair was a habit he had built over years.

Her fever was still there, but much better. The gold shimmer beneath her skin had quieted to a faint glow.

Then he noticed her wrists. Rope burns were visible with silver marks layered underneath.

His eyes flared dragon gold momentarily. He swallowed it down, then lifted her wrist carefully and pressed his lips to it. The kiss was gentle in a way that felt entirely unlike him, and the contradiction between what he was feeling and what his mouth was doing almost made him laugh.

"What am I going to do with you?" He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering for one second longer than he meant to.

Having a mate was easy. He didn’t know why everyone made it sound so difficult. The only thing that had changed was his sleep quality. Drastically improved.

The raid would take four hours at most. She’d been asleep for twelve. By his estimate, she had at least another four in her.

He’d be back before she opened her eyes. Simple. They’d continue from where they left off, which was her asleep on his chest.

Timing was everything, and he had to hand it to himself, his was impeccable when it came to her.

✦✦✦

Wrong ceiling. Warm. Missing dress. The trifecta of waking up in a situation that required immediate assessment.

Fucking hell. She was wearing a lace thong and strapless lace bralette.

The bed was the size of a small country. The sheets were silk, the furs were real, and the pillow under her head smelled like pine and something darker that her wolf recognized as male and safe.

A woman was sitting in a chair across the room, boots propped up on a low table, scrolling through a leather-bound book. Long black hair.

The kind of woman who looked like she could start a fire with her opinions alone.

Guinevere’s voice came out rougher than she expected. "Where am I?"

The woman’s head snapped up. Her gold eyes narrowed on Guinevere, and the book closed with a soft thud.

"I’m sorry. Who the fuck are you? And why are you in the king’s private chambers?"

The words took a full second to land. When they did, they landed with velocity.

Private chambers. King’s bed. Missing dress. Strange woman. Her brain assembled the facts into the worst possible narrative at record speed.

The furs had slipped to her waist when she sat up, and she grabbed them back with the speed of a woman who had been through enough public humiliation for one week.

Her brain finally caught up. The flight. The cloak. She didn’t remember anything after closing her eyes in the sky, which meant at some point between then and now, someone had carried her, put her in this bed, and removed her dress.

Her face heated.

The woman across the room watched Guinevere’s expression go through every possible variation of horror and then burst out laughing.

"Oh my gods, your face! I am a horrible person," she wheezed. "My brother sent me to sit with you while he handles a raid on the eastern ridge. I’m Blair Drakencrest and that was the best thing I’ve seen in a month."

Guinevere pulled the furs higher. Her voice came out very flat. "You’re the king’s sister."

"Guilty."

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