Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 137

Chapter 137: Jerking Off At The Negotiation Table

Beta Draven had served Renwick Lunaris for decades. None of it came close to preparing him for this particular shitshow. He killed his whiskey, then reached over and killed Renwick’s as well.

"Keep him," Renwick ordered. "He’ll be useful."

Kael snorted. "Keep me? You should know, I bite, I shed, and I will absolutely shit on your rug the second you turn your back."

Two men slammed Kael to his knees. One grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back violently while the other pressed steel to his throat.

"Really," Kael said flatly. "Easy on the hair, ladies. I just washed it."

Renwick’s hand closed around Guinevere’s cuffed arm. He led her to the center of the tent and shoved her on her knees.

"You’ll cooperate or I open your loud dragon’s throat and let his brother find the pieces. No flame. Do you understand?"

RULE 18: Take his words and fuck him with them sideways. A man hearing his own line come back at him from the wrong mouth is a man who just watched his dick get stolen.

She tilted her head up at him with fond amusement.

"You do realize he’s the Dragon King’s brother, Father, right? I admire the confidence. I question the strategy."

He had said that a few weeks ago during her auction. She saw the exact moment it clicked behind his eyes. He tried to hide it. Too slow.

A man unhooked the chain between her wrists, pulled her arms to the front, and locked it back. The cuffs never left her skin. The silver never stopped burning.

"Ashenvale is a traitor, girl," Eron Solandris scoffed, arms crossed. "You know nothing of his past or dragon politics. I’ll fill you in. Two days ago this man was in a cell."

Guinevere gave him a detached once-over, before turning her head away. "The house currently holding the Dragon King’s brother and wife at knifepoint is lecturing me about traitors. Brilliant."

"Watch your mouth, girl. You’re a guest in my tent."

"A guest," she repeated flatly. She glanced down at her cuffs.

From behind the blade pressed to his throat, Kael produced a strangled noise that was 30% cough, 70% laugh.

"You should show more respect, girl," Eron boomed.

"Respect is earned, Solandris."

"You earn respect with actions, girl. So far your actions include stabbing my mage and bleeding on my rug. Shall I clap?"

"Clap if you want. Then uncuff me, pour me a goddamn drink because I need one now, and start this conversation over like you should have the first time."

Eron barked a laugh at this. "Bold. You’re in no position to bargain."

"And yet you keep negotiating."

"You are surrounded by dragons, girl. I could give the order and end you right now."

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

Somewhere behind her, Renwick’s composure cracked for a tenth of a second. She didn’t see it, but that one was just for him.

It lunged, she kicked it flat in the chest. "I’m not your goddamn vessel."

It staggered.

"Cunt... filthy little cunt..."

She headbutted the thing so hard it folded. Then she kicked it in the ribs. Once. Twice. Three times in the same spot.

Eron pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched a girl in pajamas dismantle a dark fae. Across the tent, Renwick wore an identical expression. Father and host, mirrored, two powerful men united by a single migraine.

Lord Edward Solandris dragged his hand down his face and looked at Renwick.

"Is she combat trained as well?"

Kael laughed. It came out of him sharp and genuine and entirely uninvited, the sound of a man who possessed certain knowledge that the rest of the room did not. Every head turned. The blade pressed a fraction harder into his throat for the interruption.

"Oh, no. Don’t mind me." He lifted his cuffed hands a polite inch, palms out, surrendering the floor. "Continue."

Then looked past the lot of them to the girl kicking a demon in the face as it screamed ’CUNT’ at her.

"Doing great, Honey. Stomp that creepy little jingle-bell into next week."

"No," Renwick answered, eyes never leaving his daughter. "She is not blade trained, nor is she combat trained. Three weeks ago she’d have flinched at the sight of it. After three weeks with dragons she apparently has a complete and casual disregard for inflicting bodily harm."