Dragons and Princes - [COMPLETE]

11. Faeana

When Faeana woke, she discovered Fae’s rough tongue licking at the ghost of a wound on her head, which had turned golden. She was weak with hunger, and her head was throbbing because of the crook in her neck, and she ached terribly for her room within the highest tower back at the Den. But to have Fae’s presence so near again elated her. "Fae . . ." she said with wonder. Faeana touched her frey cat’s mind and found her injuries had all healed completely. "Your paw," she commanded. Fae leapt up and extended her paw, flexing her toes outward so that her large, deadly claws arched into the air. Her chest rumbled affectionately when Faeana sat straight in the chair she had fallen asleep in. The princess examined it, pressing and prodding with her fingers but finding nothing amiss.

Fae pulled her great white foot free as though the pressing tickled and then pushed Faeana over playfully, kneeling and pressing her teeth about her shoulder, bruising her with even as gentle a bite as they frey cat gave. Faeana remained still despite the war cat’s insistence on playing when Fae’s wild tail whipped and she uttered a play with me growl.

"Fae, what have I told you?" Faeana scolded gently. Fae’s teeth left at once, and she plopped on her hind legs, ears back. The great golden frey cat huffed, watching Faeana with her mourning golden eyes. "Your teeth are much too sharp, and you are much too strong, to go about playing like a kitten." A twitch of a mock-snarl offset her whiskers. A glimpse to Faeana’s shoulder, and she pouted at the bruises she’d caused. Faeana sighed. "Silly Fae. I am glad you are well."

Fae licked her teeth, and her ears lowered, flattening against her head so that she looked quite odd as she tilted her head. Faeana reached up and laced her fingers through the frey cat’s fur, scratching under Fae’s chin just the way she loved, and behind her ears.

Faeana grew aware of being watched, and when she looked up, Marquis’s giant wolf Deáthan was prancing toward them, curious of Fae. She didn’t sense Marquis’s mind within the wolf, but she still did not trust the black thing. As it drew closer, she saw that the wolf’s eyes were not pure black, but a dark shade of green. Its vision swayed from them to Marquis, who was slumped against the throne as though he’d fallen asleep with much the same exhaustion as Faeana’s own, his dark hair falling in spikes over his face.

Marquis’s eyes were shadowed with dark rings, and only then did Faeana realize how utterly tired he looked. He couldn’t be much older than she was, but his grief had aged him like so many others she’d known. If he had been awake, she wouldn’t have gazed at him so openly, but he wasn’t quite so frightening as he slumbered. The Keisere had fallen asleep sitting up, and he looked as though he hadn’t moved once from his uncomfortable position. His right hand had fallen, draped over the broken dragon that served as an armrest, and his left rested over his stomach.

His face was not the roughly carved face of most Fenrir men. Instead, just as the Morganthes were set apart by their red, entrancing eyes, Marquis’s face was chiseled to perfection. His lips were sharp, and there was an almost unnoticeable curve where his fangs protruded. His nose was aristocratic, as were many of his other fine features, and he was built strongly. Faeana was startled to find that he was so handsome, and she blushed, unnerved at such a find, and she started to look away when she heard his breath hitch in his sleep.

Fear and grief twisted Marquis’s serene expression, and in his sleep, the hand resting over his stomach curled around the hilt of a dagger, tightening around the leather-wrapped handle. "Morgana . . ." the sleeping Keisere moaned with despair, his chest rising sharply. The name startled Faeana. She recalled him mentioning the name before, and she recalled Deáthan’s vicious reaction when Arrand mentioned the name to her. Arrand had heard Marquis say the name in his sleep, and now Faeana had as well. She knew not why Marquis was so haunted by whomever that name belonged to, and she wondered why it effected him so strongly. He feared that name, that much was obvious.