Dante Dragona suppressed a sardonic smile as he strolled into the empty grand foyer of Castle Dragon, feeling more than a little foolish. “This is silly, Mina. I’m still not sure I understand the purpose.”

Mina’s girlish laughter, after all these years, filled the hall with merriment. “The purpose is purely selfish, and you don’t have to understand it,” she said coyly. “It will be healing to my soul, and reaffirming to my heart. Please, my king, just go along with it.”

King Dante Dragona sighed, even as he checked his surroundings one last time to make sure no one was watching. “Very well,” he barked, feigning annoyance, “then stand in place, and let’s get on with it.”

Mina pranced across the hall like an excited filly and came to rest in the exact place and position she had been standing in thirty-one years ago—the day Prince Dante and Mina Louvet first met—and then she took a slow, deep breath and began to study the foyer in earnest: Her eyes swept around the enormous vestibule in slow, deliberate turns as she measured the grandiose architecture, appraised the refined, priceless artwork, and studied the pure blue veins and pearlescent arroyos in the magnificent modern floor. After a few moments, she nodded, and Dante instinctively knew that she was recreating every thought, every memory, every detail that had stood out to her on that fateful day so long ago. Her eyes darted up to the fifty-foot-high ceiling, and she scanned the coffers, the tiles, and the uncut beams before turning her head toward the round table by the grand entry, the duo of golden wing-back chairs placed on either side of the mammoth staircase, and last, the pair of vintage velvet sofas that sat up against the textured walls.

How intimidating all of it must have been to an eighteen-year-old girl from the commonlands, Dante thought.

For the first time, he realized she had donned the same outfit she’d been wearing all those decades past—a calf-length, flowing tunic of emerald green and opal white over a tight-fitting undergarment that hugged her hips, thighs, and legs—and he understood, more acutely, why she had asked him to wear his form-fitting breeches and his silk black shirt, the one that bore the unmistakable emblem of the dragon in the upper left corner, the one with the deep bloodred royal sigil, the dragon embroidered in gold with a diamond—rather than sapphire—eye beneath the serpent’s angry brow.

She was truly recreating the original scene—the day they had met—in intricate detail.

And for whatever reason, she needed this.

As he had done so long ago, he practically glided as he walked, slinking forward into the foyer. As was natural for his kind, his muscles contracted and released in waves, rising like the flanks of a jungle cat and descending like the ocean’s foam, and it only took a subtle shift of power—projecting his serpent outward—to cause his hair to shift in a preternatural breeze, to cascade around his proud, broad shoulders.

Thinking of it now, he wondered why he had projected so much supernatural power toward three innocent, terrified girls on that day. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision. Sighing, he realized that on some base level, he had always been King Demitri’s son: raised to be a primordial dragon, raised to be a monster of sorts…

Raised to intimidate everyone around him just because he could.

He allowed his power to radiate outward from his unseen aura, knowing that his midnight-blue eyes were shining, reflecting their hidden flames. And for the first time, Dante Dragona saw—he felt and understood—all that Mina had seen that incipient day: His bearing, his feral motion, his very core was deceptively calm, even as a predatory animal stalked the shadows of his soul.

Stalked the slaves in the foyer.

That was what he’d shown to his precious Mina…

As the Sklavos Ahavi bowed her head and averted her eyes, Dante remembered the governess, Pralina, how she had simpered, genuflected, and generally kissed his ass like a beta wolf pup cowering before an alpha male, how she had greeted Prince Dante with such unconcealed arrogance and pride in her station.

How she had intimidated the hell out of the girls.

“Say it,” Mina prompted, pointing to the empty space in front of her as if the long-dead governess was still standing in the foyer.

Dante shook his head.

“Please, my king,” Mina pressed. “Just say it.”

A muscle in Dante’s jaw ticked as he forced himself to continue the reenactment. “Governess,” he drawled, prowling before Mina. “Name them.” He flicked his wrist in Mina’s direction, and his gut clenched.

Name them.

Like they were little more than cattle.

Mina fell into the governess’ role, and her voice was condescending and hollow. “My prince, Dante: This is Mina Louvet…” She adlibbed for expediency. “She’s good with foreign languages and knows a lot about distant cultures.” She pointed to the empty space beside her in an exaggerated, derisive gesture. “And this is Tatiana Ward, who also comes from nowhere. She grew up poor, but she’s really smart—in fact, she’s excellent with numbers.” She pointed once again, and her voice took on an angry edge. “And this is Cassidy Bondeville…” She spoke Cassidy’s name with a haughty lilt. “Cassidy is from a well-bred family, unlike the other two. Her household was wealthy and respected, and she is very eager to serve the Realm.”

Dante stood in silence, listening to each of Mina’s words—the statements behind the words—and he almost called an end to the game. What had started out as an exercise in healing was quickly becoming something dark and potentially divisive. He cast a wary glance at Mina, questioning his queen with his eyes, and she sternly shook her head.

“No,” she clipped. “You didn’t look at me. You didn’t look at any of us.”

Dante turned away. “This is silly, Mina. What is the point?”

She stiffened her spine and squared her jaw. “Just finish, Dante…please.”

He glanced away, turned on his heel, and strolled to the castle doors, dismissing her without a word, just as he had done that day. He spun around in the doorway; his severe eyes met hers, and he practically growled her name. “Mina…”

She raised her jaw and stared at him.

“There are two horses saddled in the courtyard, a black stallion and a white gelding. The stallion is my personal steed; the gelding is now yours. Take your mount.”

She smirked, waiting for him to saunter out the doors, but he just stood there, staring at the Sklavos Ahavi—staring at his Sklavos Ahavi—trying to figure out what she wanted.

He was done with the ridiculous role-playing.

She gestured beyond the threshold with her chin. “Go ahead.”

He shook his head angrily. “No.”

She stood there quietly for the space of several heartbeats, then marched across the foyer, her boots clicking angrily against the tiles, and opened the doors herself. “You went out into the courtyard, and—”

“Stop,” Dante thundered.

Mina’s bottom lip began to tremble. “You went out into the courtyard, and I followed you. Then—”

“Stop.” He said it again, only this time, his voice was a mere whisper. “Mina, what do you want?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation, and Dante could tell by the slant of her eyes, the flare of her nostrils, and the quiver in her lips that her emotions had gotten the best of her. He had never seen her like this, not in all their years together.

Perhaps coming back to Castle Dragon had deeply unsettled his Ahavi…

Finally, after time had all but stood still, their emotions flowing back and forth between them like sands through an hourglass, he drew back his shoulders, hardened his resolve, and spoke curtly: “Fine.” He grasped her by the shoulders, released his wings, and flew them both back to the center of the foyer. “We do it again,” he commanded. “Only this time, you say what you wanted to say back then. You do what you wanted to do back then. You get it all out…once and for all.”

Mina shook her head. “No.”

Dante paced in front of her. “Yes.”

Mina waved her hand in a brazen, dismissive gesture. “Just…forget it.”

Dante laughed arrogantly to provoke her, and the sound was chilling, derisive, and patronizing. “Governess,” he droned, in the cockiest tone he could muster, allowing his lip to curve up in a scowl. “Name them.” He said it like a pompous, royal ass.

Mina stiffened, but she didn’t go along.

Dante smirked sardonically. “What? Cat got your tongue?” He glared at the empty spaces beside her, while fixing his eyes above, over, and beyond her head. “You wanted to play this game, Mina, so now we’ll play. The three of you were property—mine to do with as I pleased; Drake’s to do with as he pleased; Damian’s to do with as he pleased. I wanted to hear my properties’ names. Governess,” he repeated the word with a snarl. “Name them!”

Mina looked down at the floor, and her teeth began to chatter. “Mina,” she whispered, resenting the entire demonstration.

“I can’t hear you,” Dante snarled.

“Mina!’ she said louder.

Dante laughed. “Mina…a poor wench from Arns whose gorgeous emerald eyes are far more valuable to a dragon than all those extraneous languages she learned at the Keep.”

“Mina!” she shouted again, her hands molding to her hips. “My name is Mina Louvet! And I am not…nothing!”

Dante stared her down, waiting for the volcano to erupt.

“I have a mother.” She choked on a sob. “I have a sister and a father. And I once had a life. Hell, I was promised to someone else, a mortal man from Arns, before I was carted away like a criminal and taken to the Keep, kept away from everything I knew and everyone who loved me.”

Dante’s dragon’s fire flared, and smoke wafted out of his nostrils. “Be careful, Mina. You’re playing a dangerous game.” The reference to Matthias was a bridge too far; his beast would not abide it.

“Am I?” she countered flippantly. “And what will you do?”

Dante took a slow, deep breath and reined in his beast. “What do you want, Mina? What did you want that day?”

She shrugged, the gesture clipped and defiant. “What do I want…what did I want back then? What have I always wanted?” She glared daggers through him. “You, Dante…always you.”

He frowned, truly at a loss. “You have me.”

She shook her head, looking lost and forlorn. “That day…that stupid, terrible, castigating day in this foyer, I wanted you to see me.” She tapped her chest three times and raised her voice. “Me, Dante! Not a slave, not a wretch, not a vessel to breed dragon-sons with—I wanted you to see me: a girl with a heart and a mind and a soul! A young woman with dreams and aspirations and talents—talents that were mine to cultivate, not the Realm’s to use!” She began to pace around the foyer. “And later, that day in my room, the first time you fed from my veins, when you gave me that doll? May the gods forgive me for being so naïve, so innocent…so stupid, but I wanted…”

“You wanted?” he echoed quietly.

She pressed a hand to her lower belly. “I wanted you to love me more than I wanted my next breath.”

He watched her like a hawk, carefully studying every nuance—her subtle expressions, her revealing body language, the very manner in which she breathed.

“That first day in the courtyard,” she continued quietly, “that night at the trader’s encampment…and every day and night since…I wanted you to love me.”

Dante angled his head to the side, desperate to break through the confusion…

The dissonance.

This was no longer just about the past…

This was something much, much deeper. “I do love you, Mina,” he rasped without guile. “I have told you this a dozen times.”

“A dozen times in thirty-one years,” she echoed. “And meanwhile, you left me at Castle Umbras with Prince Matthias. You went home, again and again, to Cassidy Bondeville. You lived with her. You raised Dario at her side. You kept your obligations to the Realm. You loved me from a distance, on occasional weekends, whenever you could. You served Warlochia, and I served Umbras. Just once, I wanted you to put me first.”

Dante swallowed her words like a land-bearing mammal inhaling seawater—they were foreign, bitter, and impossible to imbibe. Yet and still, this was Mina’s truth, the burden she had carried on her slender shoulders all these years. He gentled his tone and studied her beautiful eyes. “I understand your feelings. I know this place—this castle—is bringing everything back to the fore, but Mina, lest you forget: I put you first the day that I met you. I chose you in an instant. I put you first that day in the throne room when I took fifteen lashes upon my own back. I put you first at Dracos Cove when I left my brothers to fight without me, when I made love to my brother’s Ahavi and gave her my child. I risked my father’s wrath—hell, I risked death—and when push came to shove, I beheaded Prince Damian. I killed my own flesh and blood. And the gods know we have both done our duty to the Realm—this is true—but I never touched Cassidy, nor any other woman. You know this in your soul. And before all the Realm, with the gods as my witness, I have made you my queen. I don’t understand what you’re saying, Mina, and frankly, you’re scaring me now.”

Mina exhaled slowly. She stepped forward and cupped Dante’s face in her hands. “So handsome…” she whispered. “Blessed Nuri, you are so beautiful, King Dante. You always were. Beautiful. Lethal. Magnificent.”

He frowned, continuing to search her gaze.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push you away. It’s just…I’m so afraid.”

He gathered her in his arms and held her tight against his chest. “Afraid of what, sweet Mina?” He pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head. “Tell me, my Ahavi. What in all the Realm threatens you now?”

She slid her arms around him and held on tight. “I don’t know. That’s just it. It just seems too good to be true. For so many years, the majority of my life, I was trained to serve you, and then, all I wanted was your love. Once I had your heart, I couldn’t have you—I couldn’t see you, live with you, reach out and touch you—assure myself that you…and your love…were real. For so long I have wanted, dreamed, desired, and hoped. And now, you’re here. We’re here…together. My king, I am terrified that it isn’t real. That I might close my eyes, go to sleep, and wake up to find it’s not real.”

Dante tunneled his hand in her long, raven hair, luxuriating in the feel of the silken tresses, the sweet scent of rosewater, and the truth of her nearness. “Mina,” he whispered softly. “I see you now, just as I saw you that day. You. A woman with a fiery will, a woman with an indomitable spirit, a woman with a beautiful soul. I saw the mother of my children…and a scared little girl. I saw a formidable foe…and a powerful ally. I see it all now. And I love you. I love you. I love you, Mina Louvet.” She shivered in his arms. “We rule a perilous kingdom. We live in dangerous times. The wolf is always at our backs, but we will meet this challenge together as king and queen…as husband and wife…as master and slave…just as the Realm requires.”

She drew back in surprise, her jaw dropping open. “As master and slave?”

He nodded, and then he dropped to one knee, took her hand in his, and bowed his head. “Once, I was a slave to my father, a slave to the Realm, a slave to the serpent inside me. And I cannot lie—I will not lie—I will always be a dragon: I will always serve my kingdom. But now, I am slave to only one.” He raised his head and met her emerald gaze, his own eyes brimming with moisture. “You, Mina Louvet. You are my only master, and I would grovel at your feet before I would relinquish your love. Stay with me, forever. Rule this kingdom beside me, not because you must, but because you want to. Let me love you as I should have all these years. Let me earn your loyalty and your trust. I am yours, sweet Mina: heart, body, and soul…if you’ll have me.”

Mina glanced around the foyer—at the art, the furnishings, the opulence—and her breath hitched in her throat. “Dante,” she whispered softly, no longer using his formal title, “we’ve come full circle, haven’t we?”

He rose to his feet and nodded. “Thirty-one long years.”

A smile as brilliant as the noonday sun gilded every nook and cranny of the opulent foyer, and she shuffled softly to the side, once again standing in the same place she’d stood all those long decades ago. “Hi,” she whispered coyly, holding out her hand. “I’m Mina Louvet.”

He stared at her elegant hand, her delicate fingers, her slender wrist, and took it in his own. “I’m Dante Dragona, your humble servant.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her knuckles…and she laughed with abandon. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

She snickered and tossed back her head. “Humble servant…humble?”

He shrugged.

“More like primordial dragon, fearsome beast, domineering monarch. Handsome—but deadly—predator.”

He sniffed. “I can be humble.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, and her shoulders shook from the mirth. “No, you cannot.”

“Sometimes?” He raised one brow.

She shook her head. “Pretty much…never.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic smirk. “Well, I can still be your servant, at least some of the time.”

She curled her pouty lips around her teeth, and bit down to keep her laughter from getting out of hand.

“On Sundays?” he proffered.

She angled her head to the side like an adorable little puppy confused by nonsensical words.

“Once a year?” he ventured.

Her laughter slipped out, and he smiled with abandon.

Ah, hell, so she knew him well. “Well, there is one place where I’m both master and servant,” he purred, allowing his fire to spark.

Her eyes grew wide and she took a cautious step backward, but her pupils betrayed her delight. “And where is that?” she teased him.

He moved so quickly, his motion was a blur, gathering her by the waist, tugging her back against him, and dragging his fangs along the slope of her throat. “In our bedchamber, Mistress Mina.”

She let out a responsive moan, reached back, and stroked his jaw. “Show me then, my king.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice.

Dante Dragona scooped Mina Louvet into his arms and headed toward the grand foyer staircase, eager to make love to his mate, to show her all the raw, eternal passion she truly commanded from his dragon.

This amazing, beautiful creature who had stolen his heart.

This brave, fearless Ahavi who had changed the fate of the Realm.

This unassuming slave who had become a queen.

His queen.