Page 8 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
He holds me close, without speaking, and we hold each other’s gaze. I don’t know what he sees in me, but studying him, I discover much more than I expected.
He’s strong and fearsome, his grip firm. He’s uncertain, and his lip quivers. The way he looks at me, like I’m someone… special.
I don’t know how long we’ve held still, lost in this strange moment, but soon the female reaches us. The elder moves slower than him, only favoring her wings for short bursts.
“Hello,” she says, her voice creaky. “I’m Kaliyah, the clan’s elder. Welcome.”
“I’m Reina,” I reply.
“What a beautiful name. Welcome to Wisp. We’re a small isle, far from the main Isles of Fae, but our clan will be happy to care for you. Drakon tells me he found you on the beach.”
I nod. She is talkative, compared to stoic Drakon, and while I have countless questions, my body surrenders to the promise of safety.
I yawn, my jaw spreading wide as relaxation sates my body. Drakon holds me closer as I drift.
“I see,” the elder continues. “There’s much to explain, but the hour is late, and you need rest. Drakon will see to your immediate needs, and we can talk in the morning.” Her focus then drifts to Drakon, and she gives him directions for my care.
“You’re in excellent hands,” she concludes, assuring me—though I think she might be speaking to Drakon too. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she says, departing.
Drakon follows her instructions. He does so silently, and I let him work as I fall deeper into a slumbering haze.
First he carries me to the obsidian dais, settling me not far from the throne, and then he flies about the great hall, gathering the things Kaliyah suggested.
I cast my gaze about, but I’m too tired to move. From this close, the golden throne seems neglected—scratched and dirty.
There must be a window nearby, because I hear the rushing waves.
The sound lulls me as Drakon retrieves plush pillows and thick blankets. Kaliyah told him to build a nest for me, and I thought she meant something for birds. However, what Drakon constructs becomes more luxurious with every addition, and by the time he’s done, I’m eager to climb into it.
While he works, I collect myself, and I’m able to sit up by the time he presents a tray laden with water and food. He’s brought washcloths, salves, and bandages.
I reach for the water first, forcing myself to take a few cautious sips when I’d rather down the entire thing. Gulp and swallow. It’s a relief that my stomach doesn’t complain.
He’s brought me an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; some of it I recognize, but other offerings are strange to me. I take small bites, and upon finding the nut too dry, allow myself another sip of water.
He pushes the food closer to me. “Eat,” he says.
“Soon,” I reply. “I don’t want to be sick.”
I don’t think he quite understands, but he agrees, setting the food back on the tray. He hands me a damp washcloth. “For cleaning,” he explains.
I rub the salt from my face, running the cloth down my neck. It’s a simple pleasure, but delectable all the same.
Something tickles. Drakon is holding my foot!
“Hey!” I kick him away.
He picks up the salve from the tray. “This will help.”
I squirm, but he has a point. I’m exhausted, unsure whether I can properly clean my own feet. “Okay,” I agree.
It stings when he pulls off the fabric, my blood sticking to the strips, and I fight the instinct to pull away from him.
With another damp cloth, he cleans my feet, clearing the dirt and dried blood. He’s gentle, but even so, it aches.
“Thank you,” I manage through gritted teeth. I focus on my breath, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass.
Soon he finishes clearing the debris from both of my feet. I inspect them, relieved to discover none of the scratches are terribly long or deep. Drakon was meticulous in his cleaning, and while they look red and raw, I don’t think I’m at risk of infection.
