13. Thalia

THIRTEEN

THALIA

T halia spent the remainder of the day submerged in pure bliss. She hadn't seen her father so healthy since her mother had passed. It gave her a sorrowful kind of pang in her heart to remember those free, wholesome days. But she knew even deeper within the wells of her soul that her mother would be just as enthralled by his convalescence.

And it was all because of her. Her hands had touched her father's forehead, the conjuring that swelled within the bones of her body bloomed like some inexplicable rose, and they had healed him.

It happened in a feverish moment, the speed of a galloping horse whipping by. He had been lying there in a terrifying catatonic state, then hardy colors rushed into his face. When he'd opened his eyes, Thalia saw herself reflected in them, the identical shade of hazel, brimmed with golden light.

Like magic .

With the heavy worry of her father's state vanquished Thalia was free to spread her wings along a scene that she had barely tread on. The exploration of the opposite sex.

She flitted through the garments in the closet with a girlish mirth that the witch had never been privileged to indulge in. Sure, she had a few boys smitten with her in the village. She knew that most men were gluttonous for what lay between her legs.

And she couldn't judge that. She had personally pined on lonesome nights for a hand, even a sweet mouth, to take her to the peaks of bliss. She was a full-bodied, hot-blooded woman after all, and yielded on a handful of occasions to the appetites of a few boys down at the tavern.

Each exchange of bodily fluids had fallen short of her expectations. She had done it when she was particularly downcast, longing for a distraction that would remove her from her earthly woes, even for a minute. But it only left her feeling even more disheartened.

Thalia knew that the king would be different in every way imaginable. She'd felt the heat between them before and even more after the kiss. She had felt giddy for him, feeling a bit like a vapid little girl as she selected an outfit that was slightly scandalous, yet, royally genteel at the same time.

She washed the grit out of her hair, her natural waves bouncing and buoyant from the soap she applied. She pulled on the gorgeous, noble beaded dress, sewn together with the finest midnight flax linen and blue pomegranate trim.

The lengthy bell sleeves and form-fitting silhouette enhanced the witch's already fetching features, along with a wide scoop neckline that teased a short plunge of her tasty cleavage. The skirt ran along the floor in merriment, giving her the sensation of flying.

Thalia felt elegant and alluring. And for the first time, inescapably powerful.

As she applied the final touches of the plum lip color, she mused on everything Drake had done for her that could have been otherwise. Zendel had not asked for her consent when he crashed through the inn window and captured her in his claws. If Drake really wanted to, he could have done just that.

She didn't enjoy the idea that he had murdered the enemy dragon on her behalf. But she accepted that in wartime, drastic measures had to be taken.

It was also abundantly clear to her that Drake, despite his initial sullen countenance, had her best intentions in mind. He had brought Sorcha to her, as well as Nerin, aware of how her father's vitality was quickly diminishing. And he was actively fighting an animalistic sexual hunger that was intrinsic to his kind.

He had done all of that in the middle of a war. Not to mention his inherent beauty, striking blue eyes, and marble-carved physique obscured by the thick layering of traditional garb.

Thalia clenched her legs together at the thought of the kiss. She was going to give him a chance, though she knew in the attic of her mind there had been no man she was as eager to open her legs for as the great Dragon King.

Hold the reins, but celebrate, she thought to herself unscrupulously.

They met at dusk, surreal streaks of vermillion leading their way to a horse-drawn carriage. Drake somehow looked even more handsome in the light, soft and delicate as a dove.

The blue of his eyes was torrid with anticipation. Wearing a sable black tunic and accompanying cape, he smiled at her as he climbed into the carriage.

"You look divine," he whispered.

Thalia donned a light shawl over her dress and felt like tossing it into the air and letting the heat that stitched along her chest and neck roam free. She was as light as a feather.

"You are rather celestial yourself, My King," she responded.

They trotted into town, following the sunset. Drake offered her his arm as they strolled through the township. A calmness had washed over the settlement as dusk faded, with shops and homes settling into a tranquil doze.

They received a handful of looks and nosy leers, but it wasn't anything Thalia wasn't used to. They were all well-mannered and addressed the king with a gracious aura.

"They are all struck by you," Drake said, hushed in the cool air. "They are starting to wonder who the goddess is linked on the king's arms."

Thalia felt faint at the thought of being inundated with Drake's charms on a daily basis. She squeezed his bicep, as stout as a tree trunk, and leaned her head against him.

He had a woodsy, vanilla-soaked bouquet to him. It was sensual and made the witch's knees nearly buckle.

"Won't your establishment be closed soon?" she asked, diverting the attention she wasn't accustomed to.

The king shook his head smugly.

"My darling, when you are the king, you control when eateries close. Also, the owner is a close friend of mine. He is very anxious to meet you."

They ambled toward a small building with torchlight flickering at its front doors and gold-plated lettering reflecting in the flames. It read The Claw's Inn .

When they walked inside, Thalia was struck by the sheer quaintness and cozy ambiance. Handcrafted cherry oak tables and chairs sat empty, the spectral of dinners emanating through the scuffs along the floorboards and stains dotting the surface. The witch was impressed by the simplicity.

"My King."

A man with long dark hair held his arms out to greet them. As he grew closer, he reminded Thalia of a crow, but one with an aristocratic cheerfulness. He embraced Drake as if he were embracing a loyal customer, then bowed his head when addressing her.

"My Gods," he said with a gasp. "This must be the renowned Creation Sorceress, great Thalia Hafeld. I am beyond honored to make your acquaintance. My name is Benedict Meridian."

He held out his hand in reverence, and Thalia took it. He gave her fingers a dainty kiss, then rose, his hands fixed behind his back. He grinned with a discreet knowledge that Thalia considered only dragons to be privy to.

"Shall I lead you to your private table, My King?"

"You shall," Drake said, then knitted his brows playfully. "And you can stop calling me that. We are brothers in arms, Benedict."

Benedict's tongue slipped out from between his teeth, then turned to lead them through a narrow corridor.

"If that is what you desire, My King," he teased.

They were guided back into the cool night, the sky twinkling with the emergence of pulsating stars. The moon was shy, gleaming in a thinly cut crescent behind slate clouds.

"The usual then, My King?" Benedict said.

"The finest of your vintage red, good sir," Drake said, settling in the seat opposite Thalia. "Bring us a menu if you'd be so kind."

"Right away."

The tall man raced inside as Thalia tucked the hem of her skirt beneath the table. The furniture was ramshackle after years of use, but they were concealed under a dark green tarp that appeared as if it had been laid out that very same day.

Drake watched her, assessing with big round eyes.

"I hope that this establishment suits you," he said, sounding a little terrified. "I have known Benedict since I was a lad. He used to visit the castle as the son of one of my father's housekeepers. He had not been blessed with the exorbitant wealth and privilege as I have."

Thalia shook her head, unable to escape the joviality flooding through her body. She laid both arms on the table and held out her hands, palms open to the sky.

The king gazed down at them, sweetly shocked.

"I love it already," she mused. "Come. I will not bite."

He smirked, then placed his hands in hers. They were rough and warm.

"I am so glad to be here with you," she murmured into the night. "What you've done for me, for my father…I cannot put into words how thankful I am."

She felt her voice become gravelly with a wave of grief and grace, and Drake must have noticed. He lifted her hands up to his mouth and moved each finger along his lips with a mellow stare.

"I know you are. I care for you, dear Thalia. My words will not suffice."

Benedict returned with two dark red glasses of wine. Drake did not take his eyes off her.

"When you are finished with your appetizer," Benedict said, jesting with the king. "Would you like to have your supper?"