Chapter 409 Bored, Surrounded By Idiots, & Needs A Fucking Wardrobe

“Fine,” she said to the sky. “Fine.”

She sat up. Picked Onyx up with both hands, lifting him off her chest with the practical efficiency of a woman who had decided that if she was going to be humiliated, she was going to be humiliated on her feet.

Onyx settled into her arms immediately. His head found the crook of her elbow. His tail curled around her forearm. His eyes closed halfway, and the chirping dimmed to a steady, contented purr that vibrated through her ribcage.

She looked at the handlers, who were watching with expressions that ranged from stunned to terrified. She looked at the dragon in her arms, who was looking back at her with an adoration that was chemically indistinguishable from love.

“He is coming with me,” Bellatrix announced. “He is bored, he is surrounded by idiots, and he could use a proper wardrobe. I will return him when I decide to return him.”

She did not ask permission. Queens did not ask permission. Queens informed.

The nearest handler opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he looked at the other handlers for support. The other handlers had developed a sudden interest in the horizon.

She turned and walked off the field carrying a baby dragon the way other women carried lapdogs, her stride unbroken, her chin elevated, her dignity reconstituting itself with every step.

Behind her, a blue-scaled juvenile dragon named Avalon watched Onyx leave in the arms of a woman who had never visited the field before today, and the look on Avalon’s face, as much as a dragon’s face could carry one, was the look of a creature who had been left behind while his friend went on an adventure and was deeply, profoundly jealous about it.

Avalon let out a low, mournful warble.

“He’ll be back,” a handler said.

Avalon did not believe the handler.

He let out a cry, louder, directed at the gate Onyx had disappeared through. Then he lay down with his chin on the ground and his tail flat and stayed there for the rest of the afternoon.

✦✦✦

STEP FIVE: DEVELOP A MYSTERIOUS HEALTH CONCERN

A woman who is unwell cannot be abandoned. The court will not forgive a man who divorces a wife in fragile health. Use this.

Bellatrix was in her parlor. Petra was beside the window with a pen and parchment. Onyx was standing on a low table being measured by a tailor.

The tailor, a compact man named Matthis whose client list included the royal family and whose professional discretion had been tested by thirty years of fitting garments for people whose measurements were the least interesting thing about them, wrapped the measuring tape around Onyx’s chest with the practiced calm of a man who had been told to build a wardrobe for a dragon and had chosen to execute the commission rather than question it.

He had fitted armor for wolves, gowns for queens, and once, during a memorable week in his early career, a ceremonial sash for a horse. The dragon was new. The dragon was cooperating better than most of his human clients.

Onyx stood perfectly still. His wings were folded. His chin was lifted. His posture communicated the innate understanding that he was being fitted for something and the fitting deserved his cooperation.

“Chest pains,” Petra suggested.

Bellatrix sipped her wine. “Chest pains. Explain.”

“Intermittent. Unpredictable. Severe enough to require rest but vague enough to resist diagnosis. Chest pains respond well to bed rest, which gives you a reason to cancel obligations selectively and forces Tiberon to visit you, which creates witnesses to his concern.”

“That is excellent, Petra.” Bellatrix set her glass down. “Chest pains have the additional benefit of implying cardiac distress, which at my age is plausible, and cardiac distress in a Luna Queen will generate sympathy from every noble house on the continent. The optics of divorcing a wife with a heart condition are catastrophic.”

“We will need symptoms that are consistent.”

“I will clutch my chest. I will wince during public functions. I will excuse myself from meals with a hand pressed to my sternum and an expression of brave suffering. The suffering will be dignified. The dignity will be the point.”

“And Alaric?”

Bellatrix looked at the ceiling. The Alaric problem persisted. Alaric was a man who could diagnose a fabricated illness from across a room and whose professional response to medical fraud was confrontation rather than discretion.

“We avoid Alaric. If he is summoned, I will have recovered by the time he arrives. Miraculous timing. The heart is unpredictable, Petra. Even Alaric cannot argue with an organ.”

Petra wrote this down. Then paused. “He will argue with the organ, Your Grace.”

“Then I will argue back. My heart, my rules. Alaric can debate with the Gods about cardiac autonomy. I will be in bed, suffering beautifully.”

Matthis wrapped the tape around Onyx’s neck. Onyx tilted his head to accommodate the measurement with a patience that would have impressed every handler on the training field and confirmed every suspicion Bellatrix had about the dragon’s intelligence.

“What are we thinking?” Bellatrix asked, glancing at the tailor. “For his wardrobe.”

“A tuxedo jacket would suit his frame, Your Grace. The chest is broad. The shoulders are pronounced for his age. Midnight black satin with gold accents to complement his scales and eye color.”

“Obviously gold accents. His eyes are gold. Do I need to state the obvious, Matthis?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“A waistcoat beneath. Something structured. He has the posture for it. And a collar. Something refined.”

Onyx chirped once, bright and affirmative, as though he had understood every word and endorsed the creative direction.

Bellatrix looked at the dragon. The dragon looked at Bellatrix. An understanding passed between them that transcended species: they were both creatures who appreciated looking good and would tolerate no compromises on the matter.

“Petra, make a note. We will need boots.”

Petra looked up from the parchment. “Boots, Your Grace?”

“Small ones. For his front feet. Something in black leather with a gold buckle.”

Petra looked at the dragon. The dragon looked at Petra. Petra wrote down boots and added it to the growing list of things she would never be able to explain to another human being.