Sated: A Reverse Harem Dragon Shifter Fairytale Book (Goldilocks and The Three Dragons Trilogy 3)

by Delia Castel

  Marigold jerked her shoulder out from Polaris’ hand, nostrils flared, and lips pursed into an angry, thin line. “Very well.” She turned to Matheson. “I will be ready in ten minutes.”

  Matheson raised his brows and glanced at Polaris, who at least had the decency to look shamefaced behind his curtain of dark hair.

  She rushed past them and ascended the grand staircase. When her angry footsteps had receded upstairs, Matheson turned to Polaris. “King Vulcan announced your betrothal last night to Princess Snowdrop. From her cold reaction, I take it that you haven’t yet explained your duplicity?”

  Polaris turned his head. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m listen—”

  “And not anything I wish to share with you.” He strode past and stalked toward the grand staircase.

  Shrugging, Matheson headed out toward the stables. Buckley was probably still out with Nanny, visiting Berrin. Matheson would get the cabriolet ready for their trip to the jailhouse. Judging by Marigold’s sense of double betrayal, it would be a very silent ride.

  About three-quarters of an hour later, Matheson and Marigold entered the Sheriff Court, a stone-fronted building constructed like a stronghold, complete with four towers and its own internal courtyard. Like the High Sheriff, its interior was sparse, consisting of oak doors set within unadorned, lime-rendered walls. The cells were located in the basement level of the main building, underneath the offices of the sheriffs, forensic wizards and court officials.

  Berrin’s cell was no longer the sparse room of stone he had seen the night before. Nanny had brought a slew of items from home, including quilts, cushions, books, and even a bouquet of Mother’s marigolds. Their floral scent mingled with the aromas from the buffet table she had set up on the far side of the cell, laden with this morning’s breakfast. The young dragon himself slumbered among the cushions like a pretty, blond cherub, clad in a linen shirt and breeches. Tension melted from Matheson’s shoulders to see his little brother looking so well.

  A cry reverberated from Marigold’s throat, and she rushed forward.

  “Stand back, My Lady,” said a guard, whose slight build and mud-colored hair marked him as a human. He wore the gray uniform typical of those employed by the court of the High Sheriff. “This here dragon is a maker of cuckolds.”

  She ignored him and reached her hand through the bars. “Berrin.”

  He raised his messy, blond head, blinking. Matheson’s chest tightened. Uncle Hertz would pay for putting his innocent, little brother behind bars. Life infused his large, blue eyes, and he rushed to the bars. “Mari!”

  The guard, a six-foot tall human, sidled up to Matheson. “Is that your mate, My Lord Dragon?”

  “Yes.” Matheson watched them exchange frantic kisses.

  “You do realize he cuckolded a great dragon lord? Looks like he’s working his magic on your lady over there.”

  “If you bugger off now,” muttered Matheson, “I won’t slash sense into you with my claws.”

  The human bowed and scurried out. Matheson leaned on the far wall, trying not to watch Marigold fuss and sob over Berrin, and attempt to straighten his rumpled, linen shirt. All this time, he had been an idiot to second-guess her affection when it was clear that she loved his little brother desperately. A lump formed in his throat. After the events of last night, she would never give him her trust, let alone feel any affection towards him.

  “Did Governor Hertz do anything to you?” she whispered.

  “Apart from hurt my head with his incessant chatter, no. He tried telling me that he didn’t kill Mother and Father.”

  Matheson’s blood pressure rose, and he clenched his teeth against the pounding in his head. What in the name of Vulcan had Uncle Hertz been trying to do by bringing up the murders? Incite Berrin into attacking him so that the sheriff would arrest him for assaulting a high-ranking government officer? He stared in the direction of the love-struck couple. Berrin’s arms were wrapped around the waistband of Marigold’s tight little breeches, and she was pressed up against the bars.

  “Filthy wretch,” she spat. “He was saying the most disgusting things last night.”

  Matheson narrowed his eyes. Had Uncle taken advantage of Marigold’s paralyzed body?

  “Did he hurt you?” Berrin’s voice trembled.

  Marigold shook her head. “He was mainly arguing with an accountant from the Assassin’s Guild. He owes them a lot of money, and they’re threatening to turn him into meat and leather.”

  Matheson snorted. “It’s the least he deserves.”

  Marigold shot him a cold look, which hit him like a bucket of ice water to the gut. She continued talking to Berrin in a lower voice, and Matheson strained his ears to listen.

  Uncle Hertz must have poisoned Berrin’s mind a little, because he kept asking about the conditions for women in the House of Corrections, and he even mentioned a boudoir Uncle Hertz kept in the building. Matheson swallowed. He hated the idea of a she-dragon being forced to such depths to survive, but he believed Marigold when she told Berrin she had chosen to take beatings and fewer rations for not giving the guards favors.

  “What a heart-rending family reunion!” proclaimed an annoying, nasal voice.

  Matheson whirled around to the far side door. Uncle Hertz sauntered in, dressed in a purple, velvet frock coat the same shade as the lounges at the Papaver Palace. His hair was dyed a matching shade of purple, and a beauty mark the size of a man’s thumbnail marred his gloating face.

  “Berrin…” His eyes lingered on Marigold’s form. “I didn’t imagine that you would flaunt your liaison with your brother’s mate in front of said sibling.”

  “Why don’t you stop leering and crawl back to the pleasure house?” Matheson snarled.

  Uncle Hertz ignored him, instead, heading for Marigold. “You look a vision in those breeches, Merry. And the way your nipples protrude from your shirt like red berries is magnificent. It makes me want to pluck them.”

  The pounding in Matheson’s head quickened, accompanied by the rushing of blood past his ear drums. He bared his teeth, emitting a growl that joined Berrin’s.

  Marigold pressed her back against the bars, her eyes wide with fear. “Stay away!”

  Uncle pressed his palm to his sternum, feigning innocence. “Why, I merely wish to converse with my new niece. Nothing wrong with a bit of family bonding, is there?” Still advancing on Marigold, he chuckled. “Unless you’re Berrin, of course.”

  Matheson’s hand transformed into claws. “Take one more step, and I’ll cut your throat!”

  He raised his hands, smirking. “I wouldn’t grope a lady unless she pleaded for it.” Winking, he asked, “Isn’t that right, Merry?”

  She didn’t answer. Matheson wondered how much of the abduction she had spent possessing Berrin. He held his silence, not wanting to give Uncle Hertz information that would help Marigold during a future attempt.

  “Get out,” snapped Matheson.

  “Actually, I came to release young Berrin.” Uncle twirled a key ring in his finger.

  “Why have me arrested in the first place?” asked Berrin.

  He shrugged. “Petty spite. Jealousy, I suppose. It isn’t right that a dragon so young should have everything I was denied as a fledgeling.”

  Matheson stepped forwards, claws at the ready. “Now that you’ve seen the error in your ways, release my brother.”

  Uncle Hertz waggled his finger. “I wish to make a bargain. Judge Embers has scheduled our trial for five o’clock.”

  “You’re not having Marigold!” Berrin yelled over Matheson’s snarl.

  “No, no!” Uncle shook his head. “I would not dream of taking her away from her home.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?” spat Matheson.

  Uncle Hertz smoothed back his hair and raised his chin. It was an action designed to keep everyone in suspense, but only served to make Matheson’s blood boil. He lengthened his claws, ready for any excuse to attack Uncle Hertz. After severa
l moments of tense silence, Uncle said, “Let me ask you something: do you know what happens to a dragon who imbibes too much papaver?”

  Nobody answered. Matheson was sick of Uncle’s little games, and he supposed everyone else in the room shared the sentiment.

  Uncle Hertz glanced around, waiting to be prompted to speak. When it became obvious that his attempt at garnering curiosity had failed, his shoulders sagged. “My own family rejects me.”

  “That tends to happen when you murder them,” said Berrin.

  Uncle Hertz shook his head. “I did nothing of the sort.”

  Marigold’s head snapped up. “Yes, you did! You handed over their bodies to the Assassin’s Guild, so they could sell them for meat and leather! I heard you talking about it with that wolf shifter!”

  Matheson’s heart stopped. The pounding in his head stalled, and his breath hitched. Blood drained from his face in a slow trickle as the revelation worked its way through his brain. Marigold had said the unthinkable. Without funeral rites, Mother and Father’s souls would never know peace. He turned his gaze to Uncle Hertz, who smirked at having been acknowledged, and Matheson’s heart, along with his rage, exploded into action.

  On legs powered by a half-transformation, he leapt at Uncle Hertz and slashed at his disgusting mouth. Blood sprayed onto Matheson’s face, warm and wet and satisfying.

  Uncle shrieked, raising his hands in self-defense.

  “I’ll kill you!” Matheson growled.

  “I think not!” Uncle Hertz shoved him hard, throwing Matheson several feet back. His spine hit the wall, sending tingling shockwaves through his limbs. Matheson collapsed onto the ground like a broken marionette, glaring up into Uncle Hertz’s snarling face. “You’re as weak as you were when you last attacked. One would think—”

  Uncle Hertz stopped and turned to Marigold, who had shrank into the bars, clutching at Berrin. Then, his eyes widened, and his ugly mouth spread into a wide, malicious grin. “This takes me back.”

  Matheson’s limbs, which were stuck in their half-transformed state, spasmed with the shock of being thrown against the wall. He wanted to jump up and attack, but he’d lost control of his voluntary movements.

  “That fateful day I came to pay my condolences,” said Uncle Hertz, his voice full of wonder. “Merry had disappeared from the wine cellar, and young Berrin had apparently been too distraught to greet his dear uncle.” He chuckled, and the sound curdled Matheson’s stomach. “I would bet my last scale that Merry was in Berrin’s bedroom, hiding in the arms of her fledgling lover. That’s how you became a full-dragon, eh, Berrin? Did they teach you in your academy to take advantage of damsels in distress?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Berrin snarled.

  Uncle shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. It’s obvious that Berrin is the true mate, not Matheson. Merry likely consented to the King’s Blessing to make Matheson eligible to fight me in court.”

  “You’re wrong.” Her voice shook.

  He advanced on her with the patience and deliberation of a tiger stalking its prey. “Then why, Sweet Merry, can Berrin transform while Matheson is still as weak as a fledgeling?”

  Matheson’s eyes bulged. He wanted to say something, but his nerves were still jangled from the impact of being thrown against the wall.

  Marigold’s face paled. Her mouth opened and closed. There was no explanation. No excuse. Uncle Hertz had guessed everything, down to the chronology of events.

  “Oh, this is delicious.” Uncle rocked back on his feet, chuckling to himself. “You’re delicious! I was going to offer to hand over the fortune in exchange for one night of pleasure with beautiful, little Merry. You see, there is a legend that one as… unique as her has the power to cure a dragon of any ailment.”

  Matheson clenched his teeth. He tried to pull himself up, but his limbs still shook. The pain in his cursed arm stretched all the way to the socket of his shoulder, and his other arm throbbed in sympathy.

  Uncle flicked back his purple wig. “But now that I have Merry’s mate in my grasp, I no longer need to barter the fortune. You have three days to present yourself to me at the Bordello Bagnio. Wear that boyish little outfit... I will enjoy peeling it off.”

  Matheson would have spat out a retort about Lady Brimstone, but such words would be naive and futile. Uncle Hertz had no regard for the former Princess and no intentions to use his funds to hire a militia and to give her back her Kingdom. All his promises had been a ploy to persuade the she-dragon to sell her stepdaughter’s inheritance to fund his vices. Now that he had depleted Ella’s fortune, he no longer had any use for Lady Brimstone.

  “Marigold isn’t going anywhere with you!” snarled Berrin.

  “She may reconsider when she learns what will happen at the end of the three days if she does not appear.”

  A silence as thick as blood stretched out as they waited for Uncle Hertz’ revelation. Matheson’s heart pounded fast, pumping blood and feeling back into his limbs. He supposed Uncle Hertz was enjoying their discomfort.

  After several moments, the older dragon huffed. “What is wrong with the youth of today? You don’t ask the relevant questions!”

  “Get out.” Matheson’s voice shook. “No one wants to listen to your lies.”

  “This is no lie. It’s a promise. Merry will present herself to me—her choice of attire is optional—or I will have Berrin’s wings clipped.”

  Matheson’s stomach plummeted. Berrin’s jaw dropped. Marigold’s eyes widened, and she looked from Matheson to Berrin, her eyes demanding the meaning of Uncle’s words.

  Uncle Hertz bowed with a flourish. Still bent, he peered up at Marigold through his lashes. “I will leave you to your… mates. Farewell, Merry Gold.” He straightened, turned to the door, strolled out with his hands clasped behind his back, whistling like a lunatic.

  Marigold rushed to Matheson’s side, her face stricken. She crouched in front of him, holding out both hands. “Are you all right?”

  Disgust roiled through Matheson’s belly, spreading up to his gullet like an out-of-control mud pool. Had he become so pathetic that he needed she-dragons who hated him to pick him up off the floor?

  He glowered into her slackened face. The tears now flowing down her cheeks were not for Berrin, but for him. Her pity was worse than the time wolf shifters humiliated him in the Papaver Palace. Worse than writhing in his own vomit in front of Nanny. Worse than discovering that no she-dragon would want him because he was an accursed, stunted wretch who couldn’t measure up to his brothers.

  Matheson bared his teeth. “Since you’re curious, I will explain to you exactly what Uncle meant.”

  “Matheson, don’t!” cried Berrin.

  She spared a glance for her true mate and then turned to him, face pale, eyes pleading. “I need to know. Do dragons die if their wings are clipped?”

  “Uncle Hertz is threatening Berrin with castration!”

  Her face crumpled, and the small measure of satisfaction he gained from wiping the look of pity off her face was replaced by a guilt so overwhelming it stuck in his craw and stole his breath. Once again, he had wronged Marigold.

  Closing his eyes from the sight of her pain, he promised himself to do better, and to do something about Uncle Hertz.

  Chapter 4

  Half an hour later, Marigold sat in the leather seat of the cabriolet with her head in her hands. Tiny glimpses of morning light peeked between her fingers, making slashing motions behind her eyelids. The vehicle bumped on the uneven road, unsettling her stomach, and she swallowed back her nausea. She would have leaned over the edge of the cabriolet to vomit on the cobblestones, but after last night’s magical purgative, there was nothing left in her stomach.

  A sob escaped her throat. Why would Governor Hertz threaten such a thing? The dragon was clearly demented, and there was no reason behind his madness. First, he had her sent to a brothel, then hunted her down with murderous bears, and then tried to capture her himself for so
me sort of money-making scheme. His proposal of one night of pleasure was inconsistent with his previous actions, unless he derived pleasure from sick and twisted acts of violence.

  “Don’t tell me you’re considering his offer,” said Matheson.

  Raising her head, she gazed into his blood-spattered face. His red hair was now disheveled, and the bloodstained hands holding the reins trembled. Sweat beaded on his brow, as though he was under the influence of something nefarious. After the events of last night, she didn’t know what to think of him. On one hand, he could easily have arranged with Governor Hertz to turn his back during the abduction, but on the other, the violence he had suffered at the hands of his uncle had been real.

  “A dragon like that won’t keep his word,” he added.

  “I know.”

  “Uncle Hertz is setting a trap. I saw it in his eyes when he worked out our true relationships.”

  She shrugged. That much was obvious, but what about Berrin? “He was serious enough about his ultimatum. If I don’t turn up, Berrin will be…”

  The words stuck in her throat, and she bowed her head, staring into her lap. She couldn’t say them. Not about the dragon she loved.

  “Hold your judgement until you speak to Polaris. He was going to the King’s Regiment Headquarters this morning. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, it’s him.”

  Gulping back the lump in her throat, Marigold nodded. Polaris was strong, resourceful, patient, and a great leader and teacher… it was a pity these high standards didn’t extend to his treatment of she-dragons. “I suppose.”

  By the time they arrived at the mansion, Polaris was already sitting behind the desk in the study, clad in his red King’s Regiment jacket. Light streamed in from the patio doors, accentuating his high cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. He was studying a parchment, dark brows furrowed and looking strong and authoritative. Marigold glanced away from the handsome tableau. He had never been hers to enjoy, and she wasn’t about to wallow in lost opportunities when Berrin faced an unfair and brutal ordeal for something he hadn’t even done.