Page 67 of Foundling

She wasn’t quite sure what she could’ve expected as their reaction, but it certainly wasn’t the perturbed, almost horrified looks they gave her.

Slimy doubt began to coat Leita’s conviction.

It was Marcades who finally broke the silence. “My Queen, are you hurt?”

Leita frowned. “No.” There was little chance of that—it was only a few dragons and a storm.

“You could’ve been!” The exclamation was so vehement and so out of character, that everyone turned to gape at Charis. The chancellor met Leita’s surprise with her own hard frown, and it was only she who dared to ask, “What were you thinking? You’re far too important to be chasing off dragons and storms!”

The scolding shocked everyone, Leita most of all.

“I…” She looked around, at her attendants, her guards, Tamerlan, and Charis. None offered her quarter, none praised her. No one thanked her. “Aren’t Queens supposed to protect Fallorian? I can do that at least.”

Charis’s lips drew thin, as though she had to clamp her mouth shut to keep the words back. She shut her eyes, let out the longest sigh, and then turned on her heels and stormed from the room.

Tamerlan, Marcades, and the guards bowed quickly and followed Charis out.

It was only Carenza who remained, drawing her away from the threshold and closing the double doors. “Let’s get you dry and warm, my Queen,” she urged in her gentle way. But Leita didn’t hear her, not really. She didn’t really sense anything at all.

Nothing, except that strange twinge below her heart, pulled taut into a true pain now.

17

When she took to her long sleep, Leita didn’t often dream. She preferred this, as dreams tended to unnerve her, memories and thoughts warped by unreality.

However, this time, this dream, wasn’t so bad.

No, indeed, when her lashes fluttered open to find her head pillowed by a scaled arm, Leita sighed happily.

She didn’t bother inspecting her surroundings much—she knew herself to be laying in a facsimile of the cave she’d shared with Attalus. It was also with him she lay in a nest of blankets, warm and comfortable.

Because this was a dream, she indulged perhaps more than she might’ve with the real Attalus. If she’d truly nuzzled into his chest, inhaling deeply of his spicy scent, he’d be insufferable for hours. Here, though, she could curl up at his side and tip her head back to admire his fine features.

He truly was a beautiful male. What gold he did wear suited him, an adornment that enhanced his wrought cheekbones and pointed chin. She knew from experience that his lips were impossibly soft, and she couldn’t resist stretching up to steal a quick kiss.

He was remarkably warm for a dream, and Leita’s palm nearly burned as she ran it over his bare chest.

How strange that he slept in her dream, his face placid. Perhaps this was how she’d find him, were she to wake beside him in that cave. She liked the thought.

In her dream, and given his quiescence, she found herself comfortable enough to admit, “I’ve missed you.” More than she thought possible.

Although she couldn’t imagine what Attalus would look like here, beside her in Fallorian, she longed for him nevertheless. That was the way of mates, she supposed. It was only natural to yearn for her azai—even more so now that she’d finally found him.

Perhaps it’d been unnatural to leave him. Perhaps it’d been a mistake. In her dream, Leita could entertain such doubts, soft and warm as she was beside him.

“I’m doing all I can,” she assured him. “Although, I think I may have done something…diplomatically inconvenient.” She blushed, even in her dream, and had to push away memories of Charis’s disappointment.

Leita loathed speaking of it again, and she didn’t want to admit to being wrong about this, even in the safety of her sleep.

Instead, she pressed closer to her sleeping azai, wishing she could do so for true. Wishing there were fewer complications keeping them apart. Wishing…that something could go right, just for once.

As she held him, Leita began to warm. Beyond comfort. Her cheek burned against his skin, and even in her dream, she felt the discomfort.

She didn’t imagine his noise of distress. Sitting up, Leita took in the whole of her supine dragon—and the breath caught in her throat.

He was so hot, he nearly glowed. Sweat matted his long black hair to his skull, and his cheekbones were far too sharp, even for him. She ran her hands down his chest again, not in a caress but a desperate search. What was wrong? Why did he—?

As her right hand passed over the healed wound, Leita gasped. She could feel how hard and swollen it’d become, pulsing beneath her fingers.