by A. M. Deese
Was this a threat? Beshar didn’t care. “No.” He smiled. “Actually, gentlemen, I feel that my cadet is exactly where she needs to be.”
“Cadets can grow expensive. Surely it’s more rewarding to own a dragon than to pay toward a gladiator’s freedom?” Tommon smiled, holding up a halting hand to Beshar’s chest. “What if we could offer you an arena dragon that would match the ferocity of your Inferno?”
Beshar frowned down at the hand in disgust until Tommon dropped the offensive appendage down by his side.
“If you’re offering a trade, I cannot accept. This discussion is over. You must excuse me. I have pressing issues at the Palace.” He didn’t, but he couldn’t stand to continue this boring conversation for another minute longer. He shoved his way past the men and called for his litter. Likely he’d made enemies with the council. What did it matter? he thought with a sly smile. Let them double his dues. He could more than afford it now. I’m having the best day ever.