"Agnes, what part of 'stay out of my study' was unclear?"
Agnes sat on his desk like she owned it. Legs crossed, skirt high, the window light hitting her at an angle that no one would ever believe was accidental.
"The door was unlocked," she answered unperturbed. "Besides, I live here. Or I will. We both know how this ends, Dexmon."
"Get out."
Two words. No warmth. Dexmon didn't even look at her as he crossed to the side table.
Agnes closed the distance, placing one hand flat against his chest.
"Make me."
The words hung in the air, a challenge laced with heat. Her fingers trailed lower, pressing against the hard plane of his abdomen.
His hand locked around her wrist before she reached his belt.
"I said no."
The corners of her mouth twitched.
"Your mouth says no. The rest of you hasn't decided yet."
He should've thrown her out like he'd done every time before. But his mind was already somewhere else. Gavriel's blatant pursuit of Serena earlier in the hallway, and the panic that had flooded into Dexmon the exact moment Serena saw Agnes. It was too visceral for a stranger. He was missing something.
He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. She wasn't his.
It was at this moment that Dexmon realized Agnes had already removed his belt and freed him, wrapping her fingers around the base. He'd been so deep in his own head she'd bypassed every defense he had. He was half-hard from a tension that had nothing to do with her.
She stroked once, firmly, from base to tip, her grip possessive.
"There," she said, sinking to her knees. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "See? Not so difficult."
She took him into her mouth without pause.
A first. There was nothing amateur about it. She deep-throated him, her tongue swirling along the underside, while her rhythm built like a storm.
It should have worked. He felt nothing.
Frustration mounted in his chest with every minute. He wanted release, but couldn't when he looked down and saw black strands. His cock had opinions and they weren't about Agnes.
She hummed, a low vibration that Dexmon guessed had worked for her before. It had the opposite effect on him.
He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling to shut her out, willing his body to cooperate. Let the sensation be enough. Just friction. Nothing more.
Better. But not enough. Finally he caved, picturing who he'd been trying to get out of his head.
Serena.
He wondered how beautiful her body was. Her skin against his. If her cum would taste as good as her scent. How tight she would feel around him.
His hips jerked forward involuntarily, thrusting into Agnes's mouth.
A sound tore from his throat, his body locking for three punishing seconds before the release ripped through him. He came so hard his vision whited out. Agnes would take credit for this until her dying day. She would be wrong.
The door to his study slammed shut, jerking Dexmon out of his release.
"Show yourself," he called. No one answered. The silence was damning. He stood, breath ragged, fists clenched, with her name thundering in his mind like a battle drum.
Agnes pulled back slowly, eyes bright with satisfaction, and wiped the corner of her mouth.
"You needed that."
She looked proud. He wanted to set the desk on fire and start his entire day over.
"Get. Out."
When he moved to the door, the scent lingering made his blood run cold.
✦✦✦
The study door was cracked open. Serena wished it hadn't been.
She had returned briefly to freshen up, and was on her way back to meet Alaric and Elara when she passed it. Curiosity took over before common sense could stop it. She silently looked through the gap.
Agnes was kneeling in front of Dexmon, and the corridor tilted.
She slammed the door shut before her mind caught up. A panic reaction. The second she did, she realized she'd just announced herself to the Crown Prince of Drakenfell while he was mid-act with his betrothed.
She bolted before anyone saw.
When she reached Elara outside, her expression must have said enough, because Elara's smile disappeared.
"You look like you swallowed a wasp. Talk."
"Nothing. Wrong corridor."
Alaric continued the tour of the grounds, but Serena hadn't heard a word. The emotions bubbling in her chest had no right to be there and she knew it. Then she saw the dragons, and everything else evaporated.
"Dexmon said, and I quote, 'do not bring them near the dragons.' I said, and I quote, 'I'm a healer, not a babysitter.' Those are the dragons—"
The largest dragon in the fleet lifted its head and his eyes locked on Serena.
King Tiberon Drakenfell was on the field at that moment and followed the dragon's line of sight.
He did not know her, which meant this was the girl his son had brought back. His attention sharpened as it settled on her, instinctively cataloging details the way a king did threats and assets alike. He had been hearing mindlinks about her all morning. Whispers. Fractured impressions. None of them sufficient.
Then he noticed the light coming from her, and he froze.
Her eyes were solid gold light, and her hair glowed in answer. He blinked once. Twice. She was still glowing.
In a lifetime as a king, he had seen wars, coups, and his wife's rage. But he had never seen anything like this.
"Serena!" Elara hissed, pulling the hood of Serena's cloak over her hair and face. Their plan had been: arrive quietly, draw no attention, leave before anyone asked questions. They had, in fact, accomplished the exact opposite of all three with remarkable efficiency.
The dragon who had been watching Serena began moving towards her.
Gasps rippled outward as his eyes began to glow gold matching hers. Elara's internal monologue was a string of profanity so creative it would have impressed sailors.
Serena was moving, aware but not in control anymore, like something older had taken over.
They met.
Her hand lifted, touching the space between the dragon's eyes.
Gold light flared outward in a blinding pulse, knocking everyone to the ground.
The dragon made a sound, almost a purr, and nuzzled into her palm.
Velkaris.
His name landed in her mind like it had always been there, waiting for her to show up. It was the last thing she registered before the world dissolved and everything went black.
Shouts echoed somewhere behind her, but Serena was already gone. She climbed the dragon as if she had done it a thousand times, and Velkaris shot straight into the air, wings slicing like blades.
All eyes lifted to the sky. Servants spilled from doorways. Riders stood rooted in place. The city beyond the castle went still.
"Shit." The word slipped from Elara's mouth before she could stop it.
Several heads turned towards her.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment, forcing herself to breathe through the frustration. The damage was done. Too much attention invited questions. Questions they were not prepared to answer. They had only just escaped and would have to leave here immediately to avoid going back.
Velkaris folded his wings, driving them so fast they looked like a streak of gold.
Alarm rippled across the field. Even King Tiberon had gone still, his color draining as he tracked the arc of gold through the sky.
"That's a Truebond Veil," someone shouted.
It was meant only for the purest bonds. If either rider or dragon lost focus, even for a moment, they would die. No one had attempted it in over a century.
The king had seen enough.
"Eron. Now."
A black-scaled dragon reared at the sound of his name, answering instantly. Tiberon vaulted onto his back in one practiced motion, crown abandoned, cloak snapping violently as they launched skyward.
Three servants dove for the crown simultaneously. The resulting collision would be discussed in the barracks for weeks.
"Block her if she falls," the king commanded.
Eron rumbled once and surged forward, wings tearing into the wind.
He was not trying to save a woman. His instincts had already named her and his instincts were never wrong. This woman was his son's fated mate. Dex had not admitted it yet. But he would.
Velkaris slowed, then dropped cleanly back into the field.
A successful Truebond Veil.
Tiberon exhaled and his heart rate returned to normal.
His relief lasted exactly two seconds. Velkaris took off again then tossed the girl off his back. She flew at least fifty feet in the air. For one frozen heartbeat, it looked like she just got bucked off a dragon.
Tiberon's stomach left his body. His dignity followed shortly after.
Gavriel, who had been stone-still beside his dragon since Serena arrived, broke formation, launching towards her on his dragon. Tiberon was too far to break her fall but he wasn't.
Before Gavriel could reach her, Velkaris dove, cutting sharply beneath her, and she landed standing on the dragon's head. Every dragon on the field roared in unison.
"I'm going to need a minute. Possibly a year," Gavriel said to no one. This was going in every toast, every pub story, and his eventual memoir. Chapter one.
His dragon snorted beneath him, which, in dragon, meant: you are being dramatic. Also, same.
Tiberon closed his eyes for exactly one second because he needed it.
Standing. On. His. Head.
No rider had ever done this. It did not exist in theory or practice.
And of all dragons it could have been, it was THAT dragon.