The sacrifice turned with him, but he never looked away from Fiora. Now that he was closer, Fiora could see the sacrifice’s expression, and it wasn’t what he’d expected. The man looked curious, interested, but hardly impressed and certainly not afraid.
How dare he be so composed! Fiora was bloody well terrifying, wasn’t he? Sour, self-defeating rage rose up in him, and he welcomed it. If he was forced to hide away in lonely misery from the human world, to stifle all his longings, then he’d be a dragon, and that meant fear, people cowering and running and begging for mercy when he chose to appear before them.
Fiora landed with a great thump on the grass to the side of the carriage drive, tossing his horned head in the air and allowing two delicate streamers of smoke to escape his muzzle. With an elegantly executed fold of his wings and a curl of his spiked tail, he settled on his haunches and regarded the group with what he hoped was a suitably baleful eye.
The councilors stumbled back a step almost as one, muttering in shocked voices, the whites of their eyes showing all around. Andrei bowed. The sacrifice lost his grip on his coat for a moment and had to jerk his arm to catch it, but otherwise — well, otherwise, he simply stood there.
His eyes were brown, damn him. With little flecks of gold. Fiora gazed into them, caught and held. It wasn’t wise to look into the eyes of a dragon, the legends said, for you’d fall under their spell.
Fiora thought miserably that the stupid legends seemed to have gotten it the wrong way around.
Thank God for Andrei, who cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment and drawing the sacrifice’s attention away from Fiora. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present you to His Excellency, the master of this castle and lands and your neighbor — and patron. I believe we placed an order for ten bolts of silk and twelve of wool from your warehouse only last week, did we not, Councilor Barclay?”
In his human form Fiora might have had to stifle a laugh at Andrei’s pointedness. As it was, he simply puffed a little more smoke, drawing awed murmurs. That was more the reaction he expected and deserved.
He glanced sidelong at the sacrifice — who was glancing sidelong at him. And still not terrified.
Was Fiora really so pathetic, even as a fire-breathing scaled near-invulnerable beast with claws and enormous pointy teeth? God forbid this man see him as a thin little human with oddly-tinted skin. He would dismiss Fiora completely.
Councilor Barclay, whose stomach fought his bushy gray mustache for least attractive feature, had turned an equally unattractive shade of brick-red. “I have many large orders,” the man brayed. “Certainly, it’s a fine amount of fabric, but —”
“Present your gift to His Excellency,” Andrei interrupted, raising his voice. “If you please.”
The elderly lady Fiora had seen from the turret stepped forward, and to her credit — though it only made Fiora’s self-respect take another plummet — stepped closer to Fiora in the process, offering him a stiff but well-executed curtsey. Her hat miraculously stayed in place. Was she a witch? Not impossible. Fiora fought the urge to shift uneasily.
“Your Excellency,” she said, her voice strong and clear despite her age. “May I present Deven Clifton. He is truly a son of Ridley, and a valued citizen. We couldn’t part with him to anyone less worthy than yourself, if I may say so, sir. And we will all miss him terribly.”
Lost as he was in contemplation — Deven, what a charmingly suitable name for such a broad-shouldered and long-legged vision, and Fiora was a foolish idiot who needed to slap himself silly once he had his hands back — he almost missed the slight smile that curled the corner of Andrei’s mouth.
“Oh, no need to mourn his absence,” Andrei said, in a soothingly unctuous tone that spelled mischief. “He won’t be a prisoner here. He’ll be more than welcome to visit the town at any time he likes.”
Shocked dismay crossed the spokeswoman’s face almost too quickly to see. But Fiora did see it, and so did Andrei, judging by the tiny widening of that malicious smile of his.
“No, no, we wouldn’t want to interfere with the arrangements of His Excellency’s household,” she stammered, glancing back and forth at her fellows as if to say, Help me out here, you useless fuckers. “He can stay here. As much as he’s, er, needed. We’ll all be fine,” she concluded somewhat desperately.
Fiora leaned forward, amused despite himself. Clearly the council wanted their sacrifice to stay just where they put him, for whatever purpose still remaining to be discovered. Andrei, the clever bastard, really enjoyed wrong-footing those he didn’t like — and had he caught some undercurrent that Fiora had missed? Fiora risked another look at Deven, still silently standing off to the side. His mocking smile matched Andrei’s, and his eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Interesting. Did he find his own town council as irritating as Andrei did? Or was Fiora the only one missing something?
“No doubt,” Andrei said, with the brisk tone of one who’d gotten what he wanted and now desired only to have a stiff drink with someone other than his current company. “I’m sure he’ll visit when his duties permit.”
His duties? What bloody duties did Fiora have for an unwanted — or, more honestly, unasked-for — tribute? A few possible duties Fiora could assign flickered through his mind, and his mood fell a little further. Not possible duties. Sucking Fiora’s cock was impossible, given Fiora’s thrice-damned limitations. And Deven wouldn’t want to, anyway.
The councilors had begun to bow and shuffle away as quickly as they could while going respectfully backwards, and Andrei was calling something after them. The words were along the lines of “So glad to see you, thank you so much,” while his tone said, “Go fuck yourselves.” There was a reason Fiora paid him so well.
A soft breeze brushed past, caressing Fiora’s tail and ears. It ruffled Deven’s mass of golden-brown hair so that it looked like someone had been running his fingers through it. Ugh. It wasn’t fair.
Andrei stood quietly and at his ease until the councilors had made their way to the turn in the drive, almost out of eyeshot and well out of hearing, only holding up one finger to bid Deven wait when he opened his mouth to speak.
“Well, here we are,” Andrei said at last. “Mr. Clifton. Welcome. His Excellency’s not going to eat you, by the way, just in case you had any concerns in that direction.”
Deven laughed, a low, musical chuckle that would have had the hair on the back of Fiora’s neck standing on end in his other form. As it was, his scales vibrated in a way that was just on the edge of pleasant.
“Well, I’ll admit it’d crossed my mind,” Deven said, his voice as low as his laugh. Smooth, and soothing, like brandy on a cold night. “But someone who likes southern wines as much as His Excellency does, going by what you all buy down in town — well, his palate’s probably too refined for the likes of me, wouldn’t you say? And anyway, I don’t think that vintage would complement my flavor, such as it is.”
The grin that went with that was like looking into the sun, and Fiora blinked, then blinked again. When he opened his eyes, Andrei was grinning too. Andrei, unexpressive, reserved fucking Andrei — grinning. Like an idiot. Yes, that smile was so infectious even his dragon’s jaws were aching with the need to match it, but…but oh, God. If Deven could charm even Andrei within seconds, what would he do to Fiora, after days, weeks, months of being trapped in the castle with him?