Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Pincushion-Palm Parley

In the span of thirty minutes, Guinevere Lunaris had been escorted through a sex circus, reunited with her father, served whiskey by a stranger, haunted by a dead jester, and had a Master Mage at blade point. She was still in her pajamas. The evening was young.

"Your pet," she said to Marek, "just tried to kill Lunaris’s Beta. Why?"

Behind Marek’s left shoulder, she caught movement. Kael looked like he was scanning the tent. His face hardened into something.

Guinevere blinked. He was gone.

Fantastic. She had almost forgotten about those hallucinations of Kael. That was on the library list that she hadn’t gotten to yet.

Truly the cherry on top of this shit sundae of an evening.

She looked at Marek with cold in her eyes and zero fear.

"Get. Rid. Of. It."

Marek laughed, low, quiet, and genuinely amused, as if being held at knifepoint by an angry little girl was the highlight of his evening.

"You are remarkable," he commented.

Wrong answer.

Eyes on his. Blade at his throat. Her free hand ripped the letter opener from his sleeve and drove it through his hand in a blur.

It was over before he could move his arm. His laugh turned into a shriek that would definitely keep her awake at night.

It was cut-throat, but she didn’t flinch, because right now, Guinevere Lunaris was an actress playing a role and not Guinevere Lunaris.

And nothing said negotiation like a pincushion-palm.

Round two, Asshole. You picked the wrong night to fuck with me.

"There’s no need for the theatrics," Solandris’s relative said. "We want you, girl, to get rid of it. That’s all we’re after."

His tone was calm, almost bored, as if the shitstorm in front of him was an incompetent but amusing waste of his goddamn time.

"Why am I here, Solandris?" she asked without moving her eyes away from Marek.

He ignored the question entirely and turned to her father, who hadn’t moved a muscle since the blade came out.

"She’s got your balls, Renwick. I’ll give her that." He gestured at her. "For future reference, in Velkaris, court-trained-and-quiet means they don’t stab someone without blinking."

"For future reference, in Nyros, demonstration doesn’t mean casualty, Eron," Renwick replied. "You tried to kill my Beta. She intervened. I’m not mad."

Guinevere caught the name. That was no accident. Renwick was throwing her a bone. Eron Solandris was Lord Solandris’s brother. She knew the name from studying the houses.

"If I wanted your Beta dead, he’d be dead," Eron said. "You also didn’t tell me she was blade trained. So we’re even."

Lovely. They were keeping score. This negotiation was going spectacularly.

Guinevere pulled her blade back an inch, no more, just so it wasn’t touching Marek’s skin. She flexed her flame muscle. It ignited in gold immediately.

The fire surrounded her body as well, then moved to her father and Beta Draven on its own. She was grateful it didn’t cover Marek or Eron because she had zero control over who it protected and who it burned. Her subconscious did what it wanted.

In her peripheral vision, Draven shot out of his chair. Understandable reaction.

Eron gave a slow clap. The universal language of ’I’m impressed but also annoyed and would like you to stop embarrassing my staff.’

"Yes, I’ve heard all about this from my men who attended last night’s festivities, girl. But we didn’t drag you here to watch you play with fire or blades."

Eron exhaled in pure frustration, the sound of a man whose meticulously planned evening had just gone straight to hell-in-a-fucking-handbasket.

"You do realize you just stabbed the Second and Master Mage for House Solandris," he commented. "A man who could knock you out or kill you right now if he wanted to. He is choosing not to."

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