Chapter 37

Kit

We arrive at the pier just as a green dragon soars in from the sea, shifting into a young uniformed guardsman as Cyril steps up toward the observation platform. The male salutes with quick military precision, then marks me at Cyril's side and drops to one knee.

"My queen." He lowers his head, the wind ruffling the blond bangs hanging over his face.

Cyril nudges me.

"Get up, please," I say quickly. I'm getting better at it, but we are going to have to work out something because in addition to being ridiculous, the whole kneeling thing is quickly becoming inefficient. The guard gets up, but still seems uncertain as to who to address.

"Name?" Cyril demands, making the guard's choice for him.

"Bodie, sir."

"Bodie, report," Cyril orders.

"Fleet on the horizon, sir," Bodie says. "A hundred ships?—"

Irritation flows through the bond, but none of it shows on Cyril's face. "That news was from half an hour ago," he says curtly but without the open ire that might shatter the young guard.

Bodie still flinches slightly. "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I did report a fleet earlier. And it's still there."

"Yes, I would imagine it is." Cyril's patience in waning. He has a looking glass, but the ships are too far to be made out with any clarity from the shoreline.

"But there is a second fleet too, now," Bodie explains. "Incoming from the south east. Just as large."

"Whose fleet is it?" Cyril asks, echoing the question Tavias is asking me mind to mind. He is already in the command tent, getting updates on our strength in numbers.

"I... don't know sir. I don't recognize the colors. Perhaps if I describe —"

"Describe it to your command," Cyril turns on his heels. "I've no time for it." Jogging to get some distance from Bodie and me, Cyril shifts, his blue scales a harmony to the roaring seas as he takes off above the waves.

Bodie curses softly.

I watch Cyril's powerful wings beat air for another moment, then head to join Tavias in the command tent.

"Someone really should tell Cyril that kings aren't supposed to go play scout," a musical voice says behind me a few minutes later, and I jump in surprise as Autumn enters through the tent flaps. Her hair, braided today into dozens of tiny braids, bobs with her bouncing steps. "Though if he is anything like my brother, all the words in the world won't do any good. Males are a thick headed bunch."

"Autumn!" Despite the danger bearing down on us from the sea, I throw my arms around her in a tight hug that she returns. When we pull apart however, I let myself feel the full pang of fear at what her presence here might mean. "What's happened? The little one?—"

"Was raising hell as usual when I last saw her. I've been away from the homestead a bit. Actually, I'm here now in my official role." She wiggles her brows.

"As... secret spy master?"

Autumn rolls her eyes. She is wearing one of her favorite outfits with loose pants and a crop top that leaves her midriff bare. And is that a new stud I see piercing her belly button? At my uncertain look, Autumn puts her hands on her hips. "As the diplomatic representative of the Slait Court seeking an audience with the Massa'eve throne, of course."

"Of course." I pull my eyes away from the piercing. "Umm, let me find someone for you."

"Brilliant. If you could get the queen, that would be lovely."

"I—" my mouth clamps shut.

Her grin widens.

"My queen," Bodie reappears at a full sprint, panting as he skids to a stop. "The new… errr the second fleet... I mean the fleet that's not the Separi fleet. It has signaled, and our vessels are relaying the flags now. The message reads, Long Live Queen Kit." He clears his throat. "We translated the message three times."

Tavias and I exchange confused looks.

Autumn stretches. "We'd have gone with something more descriptive, but hoisting those flags up and down the mast takes forever."

I twist to her. "We? Who is we?" Stars, I am sounding like Bodie. "What do you know, Autumn?"

She clears her throat, her voice mockingly official. "Oh. Right. Her majesty Queen Leralynn of Slait Court is respectfully requesting permission to dock at Massa'eve," she says. "Well, after she dispatches a set of snake pirates on the high seas, but that shouldn't take long."

"I beg your pardon?" I stutter. "Wait. What?"

"My question exactly," Tavias says, coming up to my shoulder. Just then a sudden rapport of a lot of guns echo over the water. Tavias stiffens. "Princess Autumn. Clarity. Please."

"Right," Autumn says without missing a beat. "Like I said, the fleet of her majesty Queen Leralynn of Slait Court is currently in free waters just outside of Massa'eve. The queen appears to have crossed paths with a few ships intending on mischief, and intends to deal with them before proceeding. The rapport of guns we just heard is likely a signal ordering the pirates to turn their serpent asses around."

"A few ships?" I start. "The Serpari?—"

"- have declared nothing," Tavias says, cutting me off quickly. "We don't know what's happening far out at sea. I'm certain Queen Leralynn is engaging pirates and not firing first shots at a nation state."

Autumn smiles. "Exactly."

Tavias tilts his head in a way that says he's relaying information to Cyril, then bows to Autumn. "However your are doing it, please tell Queen Leralynn that a host of dragons will escort her vessels in when she is ready." He clears his throat. "And then perhaps you can explain what dark deal you made with physics to make any of that possible."

For once, Autumn's smile is anything but kind. "Not with physics," she says. "With a priest."

"Emric," I whisper.

"Let us say that he had a change of heart at the end of his life," Autumn says. "And wanted to… make amends. Anyway he could."

Three hours later we are in the receiving room, Cyril and I standing shoulder to shoulder to welcome Queen Leralynn to Massa'eve. Tavias and Hauck are one step behind us and Quinton lurks by a wall, a familiar stone expression on his face.

In a gorgeous red dress that flows off her shoulders, Leralynn carries herself with an easy regalness that I don't think I will ever master. "My apologies," I tell her, wincing in Quinton's direction once the official greetings are completed. "I'm afraid that's as friendly as that one gets."

The large yellow-eyed wolf at Leralynn's side snaps his jaw toward Quinton's shadows.

I feel more than see Quinton open his mouth and instinctively know what's going to come out of it.

"Offer him a chew toy and I will cut off your balls," I hiss at my mate. If I know that one of Leralynn's mates is a wolf shifter, then I'm willing to bet my soul Quinton does to. Whatever reason the shifter has to choose his wolf form now, the least we can do is respect it. Especially after Leralynn just saved us from invasion.

Quinton shrugs.

My face flushes. "I'm so sorry." I tell Leralynn again. "I seem to be saying that quite a bit."

The Slait Queen grins, then leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't trouble yourself on our account. Really, he'll be content with any old leather shoe to chew on."

The wolf snorts.

Ironically, Quitnon does too.

"I think you might be my new best friend," I tell Leralynn.

She laughs, but the third and final member of her party looks far less amused. Blond, beautiful and deadly, the dark-clad male standing behind Leralynn has piercing eyes and more daggers on him than I've seen in armories. Although he towers over the queen, there is an echo of her in his too-long lashes and the way his chin dips slightly, just as hers does, when he turns his head.

"Why are we not in the throne room?" the male asks, surveying the receiving room as if expecting archers to come out of the corners and attack. "This isn't protocol."

Leralynn holds her hand out to him, her mouth tightening when the male steps forward. "Allow me to introduce my son, Kai. He is not a member of our diplomatic corps."

"A pleasure," Cyril offers his hand.

Kai crosses his arms over his chest, and I don't miss that the motion puts his hands within easy reach of a pair of daggers strapped at his ribs. Distrust radiates from every line of his tense, chiseled body. I can't help but wonder what happened to him to make him like this, especially given his mother and aunt's friendly nature. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Kai shifts his attention to me. His face darkens.

Cyril pulls his hand back diplomatically, and bows instead. "To be blunt, the throne room is in shambles just now," he tells Kai, inviting everyone to sit. "Does the informal setting bother you?"

"No."

I swear I see a shadow leak out from Kai's back and skitter around his feet. Kai shifts his weight and the shadow disappears, but not before Quinton marks it. I know, because I can feel my mate's interest through the bond. Since Autumn enhanced our pack's connected magic, Quinton has been able to summon the darkness more and more. Apparently, he isn't the only one with such magic.

Leralynn sinks happily onto a velvet couch, the wolf jumping up to curl at her side. Kai takes up a post behind his mother.

"I would like to thank you for the unexpected aid," Cyril says formally. "Might you accept some refreshment while we discuss?—"

"- How exactly I brought a fleet of ships to your border from across the world?" Leralynn supplies easily, accepting a glass of wine Cyril pours.

"I understand from Autumn that it involved fancy magic, Emric's life, and a leverage of the Gloom passageways not previously known to Massa'eve," says Cyril. "I do not wish to sound ungrateful, but I must ask why."

Leralynn swirls the wine in her glass then nods, as if having come to a decision. "Salazar's ethics, as well as those of the Serpari's queen, do not align with our own. Especially their outlook toward humans. I wished to see an ally on the Massa'eve throne."

"I thank you on behalf of Massa'eve and our mortal neighbors," I tell her sincerely. "If there is a way Massa'eve might express its gratitude -"

"Actually, I do have a personal favor to ask." Leralynn's smile reminds me of a cat with a bowl of cream. "If you are amenable, I would ask the Massa'eve throne to extend a temporary position in its court to my son, Kai."

Kai's head snaps toward his mother at the same time as Cyril's eyes narrow. "In what capacity?" both males say at the same time.

Leralynn shrugs one shoulder. "I leave that to you to work out. I would personally steer away from diplomacy, but then again, perhaps fire breathing dragons are exactly the kind of beings he'll do best with."