The King stood beside Sunkiath. Towering and broad-shouldered, he was a giant of a man, yet next to the dragon, he seemed almost fragile, like a shadow cast by something far greater.
There was a strange, magnetic pull, soft, invisible, that tugged Gloria closer to the beast. It wasn't conscious, this movement was more like a calling that echoed in her bones.
To everyone's astonishment, Sunkiath didn't growl or expose his fangs. He didn't recoil or snarl like he usually did with strangers. Instead, the dragon remained still, watchful, curious, and eerily calm.
"Be careful, Arkilla," the Luna Queen warned, her voice low so as not to cause tension. "He might not harm Gloria or me, but he doesn't know you."
Arkilla's spine stiffened as a chill licked down her back. Fear crept in like a cold mist curling under a door. She didn't want to become a drifting plume of ash, not because of one misstep, a misstep a moody dragon might decide was unforgivable.
