Chapter 41 Girl Talk and Dragon Trouble
I’m mid-conversation with Gilfred about our side quest adventure with Damien when Ashlyn waltzes in, completely unannounced, with a guard hot on her heels. He’s whisper-yelling that she can’t just walk in here, but I don’t think she’s even listening.
“Ma’am, I apologise deeply, she—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “It’s fine. I’m pretty sure she just does what she wants everywhere.”
He nods, clearly relieved to be dismissed, and with one last wary side-eye at Ashlyn, he leaves. Ashlyn dramatically swings the door shut behind him and turns to me with a grin.
“Okay, so who’s starting with how their first night went, you or me?”
I smile as she flops down on the bed beside me, all elbows and energy. “You go. How was your night?”
She blushes. Hard. Like, fireball-level red.
“I—It was… magical? Amazing? Mind-fucking-blowing?!”
I gasp and smack her with a pillow. “Ashlyn! Did you…?”
She gasps in mock offence, clutching invisible pearls. “I’m not a hussy, Bella! Not yet anyway.” Then she winks, wicked and proud, and I can’t help but laugh.
“The guys are lovely! All of them. And I don’t think they have any problems with sharing, but at the same time, I am a lady and they will have to court me properly before they fuck my brains out.”
“Oh. My gods.” I shake my head, trying not to grin.
Because lady is not a word I would ever associate with Ashlyn. But she deserves to be treated like one, at least before she’s licked, sucked, and—well, you get the picture. Thankfully, Gilfred scurried off the second he realised it was girl talk time. He can be a bit of a prude like that sometimes, bless him. Plus, there are limits to our friendship, unlike my friendship with Ashlyn, where there are apparently no limits at all. She proves this immediately by launching into a full report of her night, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and sound effects.
“Picture this,” she says, “I wake up this morning, right? Room full of tents.”
I blink. “Tents?”
“Tents,” she repeats, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
“Oh gods.”
“Right?!”
I groan into a pillow, half mortified, half amused. “You’re going to get us both thrown out of this kingdom.”
“Please. I’m a delight.” She flips her hair. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re living with a dragon king. That’s basically the upgraded version of my situation.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Big, broody, built like sin. Oh, and let’s not forget—he’s literally obsessed with you. Tell me that’s not hot.”
I throw the pillow at her again. “He’s not obsessed.”
“Sweetheart, he imprinted on you. That’s the dragon version of a wedding ring.”
“That’s not—okay, first of all, slow down. Second of all, it’s not like that.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth. “Mmhm. Sure. So, tell me everything. How was your night with the broody beast king?”
That one word—beast—makes something in my chest pull tight. “He’s not a beast,” I say before I even realise I’ve said it out loud.
Ashlyn freezes, pillow in mid-air. “Okay, that was defensive.”
“I just—” I sigh, sinking back against the headboard. “Everyone treats him like he’s this monster, but he’s… he’s not. He’s quiet, awkward even. Like, painfully awkward. And he tries so hard to seem in control, but I can tell he’s… lonely.”
She’s quiet for a beat, studying me. Then she grins. “Oh my gods. You like him.”
“I don’t like him.”
“You like him.”
“I pity him,” I correct, maybe a little too quickly.
She smirks. “Sure, pity. That’s what we’re calling it now.”
I pick up the nearest thing—a small cushion this time—and lob it at her head. She ducks easily, cackling as it hits the floor. “I’m serious,” I insist. “He’s not what I expected. When he talks, it’s like… You can almost hear the weight in his words, like he’s used to people flinching at every sound he makes. And when they do, he just shrinks a little smaller every time.”
Ashlyn’s grin falters, and she sighs, her tone softening. “That’s actually kind of sad.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It is.”
Then, because she can’t stay serious for more than two minutes, Ashlyn nudges me with her elbow. “So, on a scale of one to dragon-fire-hot, how attracted are you to him?”
I snort. “Negative five.”
“Uh-huh. And what does negative five look like? Blushing every time he looks at you?”
“I was cold.”
“You’re immune to cold.”
“Shut up.”
She smirks, stretching out on the bed beside me. “You know, Bella, you could just admit you like the big scary king and save us both some time.”
“I've known him less than twenty-four hours,” I say, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
Ashlyn hums a little tune that sounds suspiciously like a wedding march and I grab another pillow. “Ashlyn.”
“Fine, fine.” She holds up her hands in surrender, though the smirk never leaves her face. “But if he starts carrying you around the castle or calling you ‘my treasure,’ I’m getting fitted for a bridesmaid dress.”
“It's 'snowflake' actually,” I mutter.
Gilfred chooses that exact moment to reappear, hopping onto the windowsill with a chirp that sounds suspiciously judgmental.
“Ah,” Ashlyn says, pointing at him. “The moral compass returns.”
“He’s not a moral compass,” I say. “He’s a gecko.”
Gilfred flicks his tail indignantly, and Ashlyn laughs so hard she nearly rolls off the bed. I toss the pillow at her one more time just for good measure. When we finally calm down, she looks around the room with a little sigh. “You know, for someone who got kidnapped by a dragon, you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
“I like to think of it as… being strategically relocated,” I say with a grin.
“Right. Relocated. Into a castle with a king who stares at you like you hung the stars.”
I look away, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. “It’s not like that.”
“Maybe not yet,” she says, pushing herself up from the bed. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Bells. And the way you talk about him.”
She straightens her jacket, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off her sleeve. “Anyway, I should head back before your guards start thinking I’m planning another coup. But I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Daily visits. Even if it’s just to gloat about how I’m living my best fairytale life.”
I smile, standing to walk her to the door. “I’ll hold you to it.”
She turns back before leaving, her grin softening into something almost gentle. “You sure you’re okay here?”
I hesitate. The truth hovers somewhere between yes and I don’t know.
“I think so,” I say finally. “Yeah.”
She nods with a smile and with that, she’s gone—leaving a faint trail of perfume and chaos in her wake. Gilfred chirps again from the window, like he’s asking if I’m going to listen to her. I exhale slowly, glancing toward the frost-touched glass and the distant shape of the gardens below.
“Yeah,” I whisper, “Maybe.”