16. Drake

SIXTEEN

DRAKE

T he king woke with the Creation Sorceress in his arms. He felt complete, a soft solace akin to the flow of a gentle stream. She was dozing peacefully, lying on his forearm, her enchanting mind somewhere dreaming the most cosmically beautiful of dreams.

Drake felt like he was in heaven, or some otherworldly place where troubles turned to snow, and heartache was stitched together with sweet trails of kisses from his mate's bewitching lips.

Sex had always been routine for Drake. He had discovered it as a young adult, and like most shifters, took a shine to it as an expected and pleasurable practice. He enjoyed it as much as a flesh and blood man could but felt it grow dull as time passed. He thrived on the zeal of the many lovers who had joined him in his royal bed, usually for the sake of celebration or unwinding.

But it was always the same. The height of the moment, a physical crescendo, discharged and then lulled into bland nothingness. He didn't blame the women. He blamed his own sentimental nature but successfully abandoned the practice for nearly an entire journey around the sun.

Then he met Thalia. Everything changed then. His poetic soul finally felt justified and alleviated by the fears that lay coiled within the wells of his psyche. His parents had been void of the mate sense, but their allegiance went on effortlessly. The king had seen the way their respect, and at some points, authentic love had driven every decision they made for the family and the kingdom.

He knew from their example that, yes, he could certainly fall in love with another. But it would eternally fall short of the soul-stirring connection of a fated mate. If he settled for a formidable woman, the truth would forever itch the back of his mind. It wouldn't be a fair trade.

He settled against the pillow, watching her meditatively. He fantasized about a life without kingly duties, residing in a village similar to the one Thalia was raised in, tending to crops and cows and rising with the dawn, shrinking with dusk into their own private oasis.

There was a serenity to the image the king rarely felt. It reminded him of the days of yore, wandering the meadows and mountainsides as a boy, free from the authority of the crown that sometimes made his skull ache.

Making love to Thalia seemed to cure him of that affliction. Though he had yet to mark her, his dragon had been sedated by their dalliance. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her all day, rising only to eat and drink, then return to bed and engulf himself in her every twist and bend and whimper…

A knock at the door intruded upon his fantasy. Thalia was still.

"My King?"

It was Mads. The king grumbled to himself, not wanting to wake his treasured darling. He carefully slid his arm out from under her resting head, placing it tenderly on the feather pillow. He was thankful when she made a small moan, and then turned over to face the window.

Drake rose from bed and hastily dressed in a casual robe. He was irked but knew his trusted military strategist would not wake him during the early hours if the issue was not urgent.

He opened the door and stepped out into the corridors, pressing a single finger against his lips.

"What is the matter?" he whispered, closing the door behind him faintly.

"I apologize for the disturbance, My King," Mads said, his expression flushed. "But it appears there was an intruder on the castle grounds last night."

Drake grimaced, folding his large arms, one over the other. His thinking had been slowed by the previous night's indulgence. Even his dragon was currently relaxed and pacified. A restful but not entirely utilitarian state for the leader of the kingdom to be in. Mads peered at him with bated breath.

"That is alarming," he replied, trying to keep his voice to a dull roar. "Tell me what happened. And how on earth did someone manage to get inside these expertly guarded walls?"

Mads appeared as if he too had been on the edge of sleep when he was informed about the incident. It wasn't commonplace for a military strategist to be having a discourse with the king at such an ungodly hour unless war was at hand.

"We found him in Thalia's room, My King," he said, hesitantly. "A guard came upon him during the morning rounds. He was detained for questioning but had a poisonous capsule lodged within his back tooth. He managed to bite into it, ending his life before any information could be obtained."

A swirl of emotions snapped him from his drowsy state with the harrowing plunge of a dagger against his spine. He was roused, his dragon summoning a godless shriek along the cords of his throat.

"Thalia's room?" he repeated.

"Yes, My King."

"How were they aware she was here? Or where to locate her chambers?"

Mads shook his head, exasperated.

"We don't know, My King. His body is being assessed in the dungeon and a mortuary worker has been called in."

Drake considered scolding him for arriving so empty-handed, but it truly wasn't the job of a member of the war council to be delivering such disconcerting information. He maintained his composure, laying a hand on his strategist's shoulder.

"I appreciate your candor. Now, we need to…"

Pyralis had come around the corner impassioned and gasping for air. Drake caught the sound of his whistling breath and turned to find him standing beneath the subdued torchlight, his gaunt hands pressed wearily against his chest.

"My King," he squeaked out. "How glad I am to find you…"

Mads and Drake exchanged a befuddled look, then approached the atrophying man with concern. The flickering flames overhead spilled over his sleek bald spot like an unholy halo.

"Speak, good scholar," the king implored.

"My King," he repeated with a theatrical intake of air. "I have heard of the misfortune of the intrusion. I took it upon myself to do some digging into some of your staff members, and I have discovered something awful ."

He clenched what remained of his teeth into a hideous sneer, then paused, taking in yet another exaggerated breath. Drake snapped at him with a disgruntled impatience.

"Out with it, Pyralis. This is a matter of great importance."

He expected the old man to wince slightly, but he did nothing of the sort. He stood like a sail flapping in the wind with the sturdiness of a sword wedged in stone. He laid a hand on the wall beneath the torchlight, then looked off into the distance.

"I have learned that Sorcha Tolacas, your dear sorceress, is related to your enemy, Lucien Dastow. She is his cousin."

The truth washed over the king like a hurricane. He tried to listen closely, but fury had bloomed like the setting of a forest fire.

"Go on," Mads said. "Tell us everything you found."

Pyralis took his hand from the wall and cupped it over the other, pinned against his chest. He continued to speak out to some invisible audience.

"I am afraid that she was able to obtain work in the castle due to her rarity as a magic dabbler. That blinded us as to her background, which was why we are merely finding this out now. May I suggest that it is due to her connections that Thalia's room was located, and was likely the perpetrator that shared information as to the whereabouts of the inn?"

Mads grunted, and then the king found his voice, directed toward his military strategist.

"Mads, assemble a team of guards and raid Sorcha's chambers immediately. I want the traitor taken into custody."

"As you wish, My King."

Mads took a bow and then rushed down the hallway. Pyralis remained, bathed in that devilish light.

His expression was the same as how one smiles at mourners during a funeral procession. One of pity.

"Tell me, how did you find this out?" the king asked.

Pyralis was quick in his response.

"A scholar has connections, My King. But it wasn't too difficult to find. I am afraid that whoever hired Sorcha was likely impressed and ... distracted."

Pyralis raised the pitiful scattering of eyebrows, the sunken darkness of the eye sockets flagrant and eerie.

He was a well-educated man, but there was something else about him that was galling. It didn't matter in that moment though. A simple gust of wind would have ruffled him.

"Sorcha is going to get her comeuppance for attempting to fool a king," he said, gritting his teeth.

"Indeed, My King," he said, bowing, then slowly slithered out of the light. "Please call for me should you require any more dialogue."

Drake turned from him, enraged. When he returned to his chambers, he was frightened when finding the bed cold and empty. But when he dashed into the lounge area, relief warmed him.

Thalia sat in one of the back-wing chairs, sulking. She wore one of his robes, absurdly drowning in its immensity and fidgeting with the armchair.

"Thalia, are you…"

She shot up from the chair, strangely upset.

"You can't arrest Sorcha! She is not the villain!"