The Chronicles of a Thieving Dragon

6. | Silken Secrets

His head was killing him the next morning, he had definitely gotten one too many Runeshine shots.

What made matters worse was that he found horse hair all over his clothes. The stableboy who brought him Keldi had refused to tack her up. It was somewhat fair since he had sold all the tack the last time, but it wasn't like the King was too poor to buy a new damn saddle!

Greedy bastard.

Laid back on the horse, eyes closed, he allowed the stubborn mare to lead the way. The morning sun kissed his skin, the horse's smooth movements and the warmth of the sun almost lulling him back to sleep.

However, his tranquility was interrupted when the horse suddenly stopped, and someone coughed to get his attention.

Mirk reluctantly cracked open a tired eye, almost regretting it when he realized that the familiar face of the venerable butler, Galahad, was there to greet him. Even the horse seemed to shoot him a disapproving look. Mirk sighed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the already throbbing headache, he threw his leg over the horse and slid down smoothly.

 He hadn't even gotten both feet on the ground when Keldi was already making her way towards the stables. A wave of pain shot up his leg. 

"You're late." the butler frowned, looking displeased as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Better late than never, what gods awful job do I tackle today?" he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

He wasn't the most pleasant company when nursing a hangover.

Before Galahad could even open his mouth, a voice he knew all too well reached them from the two open front doors.

"He's with me today Galahad, you need not to worry. I'm afraid I wasn't quite clear with my rules the last time."

He straightened his back immediately when the Fae Lord joined them on the front steps, silver eyes cold with disapproval. Mirk averted his gaze, looking at the peculiar rose bush instead.

"Very well, I shall inform Theodore." the butler bowed and hurried off, leaving Mirk to face the angry lion alone.

Well, he never imagined this would be the way he died.

"Nice morning, eh?" he chuckled awkwardly as the fae merely raised an eyebrow. His gaze briefly lingered on the bruise on the side of Mirk's face. 

"Come, there's a lot to do." he said, not bothering to answer. The air around him seemed to cackle with irritation, although his face hid it well.

Mirk waited until he was a step of two ahead before following. Razaël halted, looking over his shoulder expectantly until Mirk stood right next to him. Only then did he continue heading upstairs.

It was as though he demanded Mirk to walk next to him, the silence never spoke so loudly.

He bit down on his lip, his stab wound slightly bothering him when they climbed the grandiose stairs.

They didn't stop on second or third floor. But on fourth.

Mirk found himself deeply engrossed in his own pain, only to be abruptly startled by a question that cut through the cocoon of his thoughts.