Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69: Adaptability, Blair. We’re Women.

Guinevere grabbed the headless body by the ankles. Blair took hold of a torso.

They dragged the one and a half bodies into the closet with the coordination of two women who had committed a crime together in a previous life. They looked at each other. No words were needed.

Blair kicked the severed head inside for Guinevere.

Guinevere went back for the bottom half of the attacker Blair cut in half, noting this arrangement was not equal.

An arm blocked the door. She shoved it in. The head rolled left. Blair kicked it right. The door wouldn’t latch because of course it wouldn’t. Guinevere held it shut.

Two men rounded the corner. Armed. Heavy footsteps. Something inside the closet groaned and an arm shifted on its own. Both women watched it happen. Then looked at each other. No divine intervention came.

"The hostages are secured in the throne room. Four hundred." The men passed without looking left or right.

Guinevere exhaled through her nose, opening the closet door the second their footsteps faded down the corridor.

Hostages. Throne room. People who had been nothing but kind to her.

"Don’t say it." Blair already knew. She had watched Guinevere’s jaw set and her shoulders square and recognized the posture of a woman who was about to do something heroic and idiotic in equal measure.

"We have to go."

"I said don’t say it."

"Blair. There are four hundred people in there."

"Two of us against an army. One can’t shift and the other brings beauty, brilliance, and entertainment. None of that includes combat training."

Guinevere took a deep breath. "I’ve got this. You stay behind."

"Shut the hell up, Gwen. Obviously you’re not going alone. Do you have a plan at least?"

"No."

"Strategy?"

"No."

"Vague idea?"

"Walk in. Don’t die. Kill anyone who tries to kill us."

"THAT IS THE DUMBEST PLAN I’VE EVER HEARD." Blair’s volume control had left the closet approximately two dead bodies ago and was not coming back.

"Adaptability, Blair. We’re women. It’s what we do."

"This is insane."

"Yes." Guinevere stared at the severed head on the floor, then at Blair, then at the head again. "We need that."

Blair’s face went through five stages of grief in two seconds. She landed on bargaining. "Are you sure?"

"If he’s titled, that means he knows the person in charge. We use that."

"Guinevere. That is absolutely disgusting."

"I’ll get it." Guinevere spotted a wooden supply crate against the wall with holy candles. Ceremonial. She dumped the sacred candles onto the floor with zero fucks given.

"Fuck my life," Blair hissed, picking up the head by its hair without being asked.

She dropped it into the box. It landed with a meaty thud, the crown clinking against the wood.

Guinevere closed the lid. "Perfect. Carry this."

Blair took the box with two fingers, holding it at arm’s length like it was an STD in a box with a positive pregnancy test from a man she’d slept with once. "I want you to know that this is the single most disturbing thing I have ever done, and I once watched Sterling eat a raw onion on purpose."

Tonight was worse than the onion. She did not think that was possible.

"You could have kicked it into the box," Guinevere replied. "You’re the one who picked it up."

Blair’s jaw fell down.

"Keep up, Blair."

She turned and started moving.

Blair stormed after her. "’Keep up? KEEP UP? I picked it up because YOU were having a breakdown, Guinevere. I was being SUPPORTIVE."

They moved through the corridor. Blair’s commentary did not stop.

"This is heavy. Heads are heavy, Gwen. Nobody tells you that. In all the stories about warriors collecting trophies, they never mention the neck weight."

"Blair."

"If someone finds us right now, two women carrying a head in a candle box, we are going straight to execution. No trial."

"Blair."

They passed a mirror. Blair caught her reflection. "I am a princess carrying a head in a cum box. Sorry. Candle box. Same energy."

Blair switched hands. Then switched back. Neither hand wanted it. "There is a reason warriors have squires, Gwen. The squire carries the head. I am the squire."

The crown scraped against the wood. Blair whispered ’stop moving’ to the box like it was listening.

"If someone sees us," she said flatly. "I’m throwing the box at them and walking myself right on out of this. Sorry, Gwen, but I’m not dying holding a head."

"Blair. Shut up."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify