Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

The muscle in Nicholas’s jaw twitched hard enough to be visible from across the square.

"Absolutely not."

Two words. Both doors closed. She opened her mouth to argue anyway.

"Everything I touch gives away our location. But alone, you actually have a shot." Her hand squeezed his once and then loosened, and the loosening was the part that gutted him. "You are a king with your whole life ahead of you, Nicholas."

"So do you, Guinevere."

"Unfortunately it’s a bit too late for me. I am a wanted criminal in Lunaris for treason, which is punishable by death. I broke a military contract, defied a direct Alpha command from my father, and marked you in front of witnesses. To say I am royally screwed is an understatement."

Nicholas’s blood ran cold and then hot. There was not a chance in hell he would let that happen. He kissed her before she could add another item to her own indictment.

She jolted surprised.

"No. You’re mine," he said against her lips. "If Drakencrest breaks that contract, then you are coming back with me. To Shadowfell. As my Luna."

He proposed mid-manhunt. Proposed asylum. Proposed marriage. Sort of. Still counts. Tomato, tomahto. Romance was alive and it was running from the cops.

"That’s very kind of you," she managed with a blush.

Warmth hit him through their matebond, at the idea of it and because it genuinely hadn’t occurred to her until right now. But, underneath that, was a sadness, a shadow chasing the light. Nicholas felt both at the same time and the contrast between the two made his throat close.

"That means I’m not leaving you here, Guinevere," he said, already pulling her into the tavern.

As soon as they entered, she let go of his hand and clapped. The clap was involuntary, pure excitement. The abandonment was total. Nicholas’s abandoned hand just hung there. Nicholas looked at his empty hand and then at her, then completely melted because of that damn smile.

"Not now because I’m a terrorist, but hypothetically, in a future if they let me off for good behavior, can we try one of those?"

He followed her line of sight. A drink was glowing blue. Smoking on top. The kind of drink that looks like it was invented by a wizard who got bored of saving the world and opened a bar instead.

The bar had a full rainbow of glowing cocktails, some smoking, some pulsing, all looking like potions brewed by someone who went to bartending school in another dimension. Each one was more absurd than the last and all of them looked like the best thing he would ever put in his mouth.

He would have gotten them one if they weren’t surrounded.

"You just called yourself a terrorist and asked me on a second date in the same sentence. Yes. The answer is yes."

In front of them, a few people did a cheers and took a glowing shot together.

"They just bumped cups before drinking," she stated. "A synchronized consumption bonding ritual. Likely rooted in their ancestral customs."

Nicholas glanced down to see her observing with fascination. Of course she was. The laugh out of his mouth caught him off guard again as much as it did her. Third time today, which was three more times than he’d budgeted for joy.

His fingers wrapped around hers again before she could get distracted by another cultural observation. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it with the energy of a man reclaiming stolen property.

They exited through the back, where there were more.

"Three more added on rooftops. This alley has a spotter at both ends. Go back through the tavern, into the square, and wait for me to leave."

She rattled off the tactical intelligence the way a woman rattles off a grocery list. Roof. Alley. Spotters. Milk.

"Guinevere, you’re asking me to leave you in a foreign city to get arrested. No."

"Just temporarily," she countered. "Find their Master Mage and open a cross-cultural dialogue. Present yourself as a visiting dignitary and explain that the acts of terrorism were due to ignorance and I am still learning their ways of life. I imagine a civilization this advanced practices some form of a forgiveness ritual."

Nicholas’s brain was stuck somewhere between ’forgiveness ritual’ and ’cross-cultural dialogue.’

"If the Master Mage cannot help," she continued. "Then perhaps they will let me reduce my sentence for good behavior. By year three, I should be eligible for community service and supervised outdoor privileges. By year five, I should be free. Less ideal but it’s workable."

"You’re joking," he said flatly.

She was not, in fact, joking. It was a five-year prison plan.

"Your window is closing. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this," she said, attempting to push him back towards the Tavern with the full determination of a woman who thought she could move an Alpha when in reality it was the equivalent of a kitten headbutting a brick wall.

"Yeah, no," Nicholas said, picking her up, moving back inside the tavern.

The negotiation was over. The prison plan was vetoed. The cross-cultural dialogue was cancelled. Nicholas had made an executive decision and the executive decision was fuck no.

Guinevere blinked a few times, now hanging upside down. One second she had been pushing a king towards a door. The next she was inverted over his shoulder processing the fact that her escape plan had been physically overruled.

Before she could say anything, Nicholas flipped her into his arms like she weighed nothing, then kissed her forehead.

The forehead kiss was the kill shot. You can’t argue with a man who just vetoed your prison plan and kissed you on the head.

The protest she had been forming died before launch.

"FREEZE. YOU’RE UNDER ARREST."

Twenty men stood simultaneously. Half drew blades. The other half had light loaded in their palms, pointed at the Alpha holding a woman like a bride who was still processing a forehead kiss.

The rest of the bar went into full chaos.

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