Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Getting to the palace was going to be a fucking struggle. The plants and fountains were cute. But now they were on a street with people and, for a goddamn glowing city, they sure as hell seemed surprised to see a glowing woman.

Every person they passed stared at Guinevere. Not the polite, fleeting kind of stare that strangers exchange in passing. The full-body, neck-craning, mid-conversation-stopping kind that said a woman was walking through their city glowing like the sun and nobody was sure if they should worship her or call someone.

A voice rang out from behind them, sharp and official.

"Terrace Unit Nine to Central. Visual confirmed on the person of interest. East concourse, level fourteen. Requesting immediate backup and containment perimeter."

A second voice followed, closer.

"Both hands where I can see them. Do not move."

"Oh, shoot," Guinevere said.

She said it the way a woman says it when she drops her keys in a puddle. Like she had genuinely believed the hair-tucking would work and was disappointed to learn that it didn’t.

Nicholas blinked. These guards were not being casual. It was like they knew who she was. Like she was an actual fugitive.

Weapons were drawn. Formations were forming. This was a full mobilization for one woman who had gotten lost.

More materialized from adjacent walkways. Guards or police, Nicholas couldn’t tell. Ten of them. Armor glowing. Blades out. Closing in on them like a unit that had been briefed, debriefed, and re-briefed on this exact target and was treating her like she had a hostage at blade point and a bomb taped to her chest.

The calm a moment ago from her changed rapidly into genuine panic that hit him through their matebond. It spiked so hard his own pulse kicked in response, and he didn’t like it. His wolf growled under his ribs.

So, Nicholas made a game-time decision. He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and ran.

Full Alpha speed.

Guinevere’s arms locked around his neck on instinct.

The terrace blurred. He cleared a railing and dropped two levels before the guards registered the movement. Stone lit up under his boots when he landed because apparently the entire city was her accomplice and had zero interest in helping them hide.

A shout sounded from above. Boots redirected.

He vaulted another railing. Then another.

Guards appeared on the terrace below. He cut left. Cleared a fountain that surged as Guinevere passed over it. Took a stairwell three steps at a time and came out on a market level packed with bodies and stalls and the blessed, beautiful chaos of a crowd.

✦✦✦

TEN MINUTES LATER

Nicholas handed a street vendor enough gold to buy the man’s entire cart and received two cloaks made of fabric thick enough to hide accidental glowing.

He wrapped the first one around her and pulled the hood over her hair with both hands before draping the second across his own shoulders, because she came first and he wasn’t subtle about it.

"Thank you," she whispered as she tucked a strand of glowing hair back under the fabric. It came right back out. She tucked it again. It returned. She gave up.

Nicholas watched the strand escape a third time and made no effort to help. When she looked up at him, he caught her chin with two fingers and kissed her like it was the most logical next step in the conversation.

Then he grabbed her hand and led her through the market. He was leading the mission now and nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. Once he got her to the palace, they would get a portal back to Greyhall and he would make damn sure that her father understood she was Shadowfell and not his to try for treason.

That’s when the observations started.

"Their marketplace is fascinating," she said, watching a Luminari vendor arrange glowing fruit in a display that pulsed softly with ambient light. "The produce here appears to be bioluminescent. I wonder if that’s a natural characteristic of their regional agriculture or if it’s a cultural practice of enhancement."

Nicholas stopped and looked at the fruit. It was glowing. He had noticed. Everything was glowing. He picked one up, paid for it without asking the price, and handed it to her without a word.

She stared at the fruit like he’d handed her something precious. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"Thank you."

The gratitude that hit him through the matebond was so genuine that it made his chest do things. The kind that only exists in people who weren’t used to something small like that and it meant the world to them.

He turned, lifted her chin, and kissed her. Unhurried. In the middle of a market in a kingdom where they were both technically fugitives.

"You’re welcome, baby."

Twice now he had kissed her in public in a foreign kingdom. Nicholas Shadowfell was not a reckless man. This was playing with fire for a thousand reasons. And he would probably do it again before the hour was out.

His fingers locked around hers and they continued on their way.

Then something small and fast ran past Nicholas’s kneecap holding a ball of light. Something smaller and faster chased it. Both were trailing sparks and neither appeared supervised.

"Their young exhibit bioluminescent play behaviors," Guinevere said in the tone of researcher observing nature and one who had forgotten she was glowing harder than both children combined. "I wonder if that’s a learned behavior or an innate trait. A recreational custom unique to their community."

Nicholas looked at the children ahead playing with their ball, then back at Guinevere.

Without breaking stride, he bought one from a passing vendor and pressed it into her hand. She stopped walking. Looked at it. Looked at him. Her eyes were doing something dangerous, like he just handed her something priceless. More matebond gratitude flooded into his chest. Over a toy.

"Some cultures call it a ball," he said lightly with a grin.

"Thank you. You don’t have to—"

He cut her off mid-sentence with a kiss. That was three.

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