Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Nepotism Shitnado & Divine Horseshit

A Master Mage, a wolf princess, and a dragon walked into a tent. Nobody laughed. The punchline was a fifth term, and the joke was on every dumbass at that table.

To get there, we need to rewind five minutes, when Guinevere asked the Master Mage a direct question and the table waited for his answer.

"Because I watched you do it." Marek leaned back in his chair and smirked. "For someone who seems to have all the answers, that was quite a gap that you missed there."

Guinevere studied him for a full three seconds before responding. "You had nothing better to do than watch me read."

"Don’t flatter yourself, Sweetheart, I was trying to give you a goddamn envelope."

"A Master Mage with command of dark magic and the backing of one of the most powerful dragon houses on the continent could not deliver an envelope."

"I barely did any dark magic. Please."

"You put a demon on my ceiling while I was asleep. It also showed up in the mirror behind me twice and crawled backwards through a corridor."

Marek rolled his eyes. "You were not asleep. It was early evening."

"I was throwing up blood, jackass. Yes, I was asleep."

"You seem fine to me."

Kael dragged a hand down his face. "Let me clear that first part up, Stabby. Yes, she was throwing up blood and was running a fever. Yes, she was asleep." He paused. "You used dark magic on a sick, unconscious woman and you’re defending it instead of apologizing?"

Marek lifted his chin. "If she had used her white magic, it wouldn’t have mattered."

"Has it occurred to you that I don’t have your goddamn white magic? If I did, I would’ve used it already to end this shitnado circus you dragged me into." It took the table a moment to process what she had just said because her tone was light.

Kael’s hand was still on his face. It had been there since "dark magic on a sleeping woman" and showed no signs of relocating.

"You’re shitting me," Marek scoffed. "Your blood just blew a goddamn hole in the ceiling. But sure, I’m the asshole for noticing."

Guinevere crossed her arms. "How the fuck you became a Master Mage is either a testament to nepotism or the most compelling case for defunding magical education I’ve ever seen. A tavern fortune-teller would have a higher success rate tonight than you."

Kael turned his head very slowly at Guinevere at this, equal parts amused and impressed.

Marek looked genuinely offended. "A tavern fortune-teller? That’s... that’s just rude."

"It was accurate."

Draven leaned forward. "In Marek’s defense, the Princess has been an unusually difficult subject this evening."

"In my defense," Guinevere said, "I’ve been silver-cuffed, held at blade point, and attacked by cum-crazed-demons."

"That’s fair," Draven conceded. He looked at Marek. "She has a point."

Marek’s jaw dropped. "She stabbed me."

"You earned it," Guinevere replied.

"She did warn you," Draven added, picking up his glass. "Twice, if I recall."

"Whose side are you on?" Marek snapped.

Beta Draven did not respond.

"That happened hours ago," Guinevere commented. "Time to let it go."

Marek’s face cycled through fifteen different emotions in the span of three seconds at the sheer audacity of that statement. Five emotions per second. Every stage of grief, the seven deadly sins, and three feelings that didn’t have names yet.

It brought Guinevere great joy to watch.

Renwick closed his eyes.

"Daughter." One word. The word carried the specific frustration of a man who had raised a polite girl and was now watching her gut a Master Mage with vocabulary. "Enough."

Lord Solandris began speaking as if the interruption didn’t happen.

"After the Battle of Dying Light, the surviving Luminari returned their flame to the Gods in a ritual known as the Great Surrendering. From that point forth, flame, light, and shift were given only to sons, not daughters. Whether that was punishment or reorganization depends on who you ask, and I don’t particularly care either way."

"The correct answer is that’s fucked," Kael commented. "The Gods were on a day-drinking bender when they made that call."

"Nobody asked you, Ashenvale," Eron growled.

"I’m contributing. Your contribution tonight has been clap-yelling and bitching. Live a little."

TERM THE FIFTH:

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