The Chronicles of a Thieving Dragon

7. | Strange Solace

Mirk had never had the luxury of bathing in a literal pool with almost hot water. Even the water smelled sweet! At first, Kian had insisted on staying to make sure Mirk wouldn't drown, but the smirk on his face indicated that he just wanted to annoy him.

Finally, after Kian left, Mirk climbed in. He'd never known bliss like that; the warmth gave his skin a pink hue as he hurriedly washed his body and hair with the soaps he had been given.

It wasn't like he would decline the offer.

Once he climbed out, he realized that his clothes weren't there; instead, new ones were in their place, neatly folded.

Some of the dread disappeared when he noticed his belt and shoes. He had a knife hidden in his boots and some coins.

The pants were made of black leather and sat snugly around his hips. The shirt was deep red with black embroidery on the collar and the hem. He tightened the ropes on the collar, amazed at the texture. It screamed wealth; he hadn't seen any nobleman or woman wearing a shirt made of this type of material. Sure, perhaps a scarf or two, but a shirt? Never.

He wondered how much it cost.

He pulled his boots on and tied a belt around his hips loosely, the knife and pouch still intact.

He tried to dry his hair to his best capacity, not sure how his curls reacted to hot water.

Frankly, he didn't care much.

Stepping out of the bathing chambers and into the hallway, he found Kian leaning against a windowsill, deep in thought.

He had changed, too.

The walk down to the dining room was thankfully short, and the meal was already on the table. The steaming stew wasn't his favorite, but the big chunks of meat in it made it bearable.

He had barely managed to sit down before pulling the bowl closer to himself, away from anyone else's reach.

"Heard you had a busy night," Kian drawled, leaning back in his chair as he sipped whatever drink was in his goblet.

Mirk grunted in confirmation, not bothering to lift his gaze from the warm food.

"Wanna tell me what it was all about?" It was obvious he was prying, and Mirk didn't feel like sharing his private life with the snobby rich pureblood.

"None of your business, Ginger-Snap," Mirk grumbled, taking another bite as he glared at the man.

Kian's nostrils flared; the obvious reeled-in anger pleased Mirk slightly.

"I would be really careful with your words here, boy." It nearly made him snort. Mirk took another bite, his eyes glimmering with mischief as he realized just how pissed the other male was.

"Was I lying?" he asked in a taunting manner, enjoying the flare of redness that covered Kian's cheeks in pure frustration.

"Stop it, both of you," Razaël cut in.

"He started it," Mirk mumbled, chasing a piece of meat around the bowl with his spoon.

"Sounds like you're asking to get spanked," Kian narrowed his eyes. To Mirk's utmost horror, he sounded serious.

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?" The surprise turned into horror. What did he think he was, 7?

"You're not excused."

"I'll be excused if I bloody wish to be excused, dumbass."

"Silence, Kian. If I hear another threat from you, you can consider your punishment doubled." There was a clear threat in Razaël's tone, daring either of them to try and cross him. He turned his unnerving gaze on Mirk, who lowered his eyes immediately, feeling tension creep up his shoulders.