Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 133

Chapter 133: Bishop Takes Queen? Nah. Reverse The Scene.

Kael: Gwen. What is the situation?

Guinevere: One that will require you to say fuck the rules, and one I have no right asking for your help but I am anyways.

Kael: Where are you?

Marek’s eyes moved to Solandris. The glance was brief, a fraction of a second, the kind of look an employee gives a boss when the pitch isn’t landing and the client hasn’t picked up the brochure.

Filed.

Guinevere: Solandris’s tent.

The jester’s bells slowed into a sickening lullaby rhythm.

"Jingle jangle, tattle tale,

Mindlinks crack and mindlinks fail."

Lovely. Guinevere had the distinct feeling that her mindlink did not go through.

The jester touched Guinevere’s face with its hand. Like a solid object would, not a ghost. That was different than before.

"SKREEEEEEEEK."

The noise that came from its mouth sounded like a dozen tea kettles screaming at the same time.

She looked straight ahead in its eyes like it wasn’t there.

Right as that registered, it picked up her whiskey glass, then turned it upside down. The whiskey poured out in a slow, steady stream across the wood, pooling against the parchment, soaking into the cord that bound it.

Beta Draven’s eyes dropped to the glass, which was either floating mid-air upside down to him or he finally cracked and acknowledged the thing on the table.

Her father’s eyes dropped to it as well, but he did not react. Interesting.

RULE 10: Threats are a man jerking off at the negotiation table. If he could finish, he wouldn’t need to tell you about it.

Touching her face meant it could pick up objects. If they wanted her dead, that jester would have picked up a blade or done something to her by now.

"Oops." It dropped her whiskey glass on the ground, then spun Solandris’s knife on the table.

A knife that looked like it was utility meant for opening letters. The kind of object no one tracked because it wasn’t a weapon until it was.

The blade lifted off the table.

Beta Draven’s eyes locked onto it. His mouth opened.

The knife rotated in its hand as it chanted.

"Round and round the blade will go,

where it stops, the blood will flow.

Spinny spinny, who’s it for?

One of you won’t reach the door."

It launched.

Guinevere moved so quickly, her chair kicked backward. She caught the blade mid-flight, two feet from Draven’s neck. The edge bit into her palm but she did not care.

She didn’t pause. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t look at the blood running between her fingers.

She threw.

The knife crossed the tent in a line so clean it didn’t spin. It punched through the sleeve of Marek’s robe, right arm, just below the elbow, and buried itself into the tent post behind him with a sound like a door slamming shut.

The fabric pulled taut. His arm jerked to a stop, pinned, and the surprise on his face lasted exactly long enough for her to confirm what she already knew.

He hadn’t expected that.

He looked genuinely bewildered.

She was already moving. Beta Draven’s blade was in her hand before Marek’s expression finished rearranging, pulled from the sheath at Draven’s hip in a motion that Draven didn’t resist because Draven was still processing what the hell just happened.

The blade touched Marek’s throat.

The tent went very still.

Marek’s pinned arm didn’t move. His free hand stayed at his side. His eyes, which had been clinical and fascinated for the entire evening, were now the eyes of a man recalculating every assumption he had made about the woman in the pajamas. She hoped "don’t fuck with this bitch" made the updated list.

"Your creature," Guinevere said, and her voice was low and even and carried no heat because heat was wasteful, "just tried to kill a man under my father’s protection. In a tent you invited me to after a hallway you orchestrated. Put it away. Now."

Kael: Gwen. Answer me.

Kael: Guard station seven, King’s quarters. Report.

Commander Black: Breach in the King’s quarters. Windows smashed, glass debris throughout the chamber. Site is hot.

Maddox: Guinevere.

Maddox: Baby, answer me.

Maddox: Guinevere. Talk to me.

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