A Kingdom Of Dragons, The Dragon King and The Werewolf Princess

Chapter Three.

Chapter Three.

Lucias let out a low groan of pain as he rose from his bed. It had been six full days since he had ventured into the fae markets to purchase his magical pain relief, and now he had run out once more. The dragon sat up, his left arm was black, the scales which, even in his human form, surrounded his forearms resembled charcoal, a stark contrast to those on his other forearm, calves, and breast plate, which acted as permanent armour, protecting the vital areas, even when in his human form. His golden blonde hair hung free, the sides and back shaven, the longer lengths from the top long enough to kiss his shoulders. His strong chest muscles were still obvious under the golden scales that protected his heart and lungs, which descended his abdomen in a thin line, down his 12-pack of abdominal muscles, much like a human happy trail, before spreading out once more at his pubic bone. Where humans had groin hair, he had tiny golden scales, but his morning glory revealed the smooth skin of his appendage.

‘Appendage Head’, that is what she had called him, the girl who flooded his dreams. She was beautiful, yet she had been young, and the one girl in school who resisted his charms with such ferocity it deflated his swollen ego, with one sour look on her gorgeous face. Those were the days when Princess Uki had refused to utter any words that might offend. However, she learned a few choice words soon after and had no problem screaming them in his face. Seeing her lose control in that way was something he had been strangely proud of. The undeniable fact that he could get right under her skin, to wind her up so thoroughly that she lost control of her tongue and fiery temper. At that time, it had given him a great deal of amusement and, if he was honest, pleasure, which he would work out in a cold shower after.

“Enough”, his deep, gravely voice groaned as Lucias shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of her. It served no purpose to dwell on her fiery temper that many a dragon would be proud of. Or the large innocent ocean blue eyes, on her small heart-shaped face.

He pulled back the covers of his bed, which sat on the back wall of his dark, single-roomed apartment, and swung his long legs over the edge. Absentmindedly, he itched at black, scarred skin on his arm, his face wincing in pain immediately. At least he had not itched the charcoal scales, those were even more painful than the damaged skin. He let out another long groan as he moved to the single chair, which sat at the small square table, pulling his leather seal-skinned pants, which hung off the back, and dragging them over his legs. Lucias grabbed a cheesecloth collarless shirt and pulled it over his head, not bothering to tuck the hem into his trousers. He glanced in the long, cracked mirror which hung on the wall at the bottom of the bed.

“I am even dressing like a f*****g werewolf now,” he muttered to himself, before grabbing his long lengths of hair and pulling them into a small bun at the top of his head. He moved then to the large porcelain bowl that sat atop a dark wooden cabinet, grabbing hold of it, before placing it under the solitary faucet, and began to pump the handle, filling it with fresh, cool water. He walked back to the cabinet, replacing the now-filled bowl, and proceeded to wash his face. Lucias grabbed the toothbrush, the handle was pale wood, and the bristles were made from horse hair, and proceeded to clean his teeth with the baking soda paste he had made, which sat in a small tin. He winced once more as the itching turned to the low burn, which, within a few hours, would become excruciatingly painful. The death waters were no joke, and the only thing, other than fae magic and freak ice, weighing down a wing mid-flight, which could kill a dragon. He was lucky to have survived.

However, Lucias did not feel lucky. Not because he lamented pushing his father into the spray which had erupted from the princess’s cannon, no, his father’s death was justified. He had compelled the dragons to attack the werewolves, all because his half-sister refused to be controlled by him or her queen fae mother. No, the reason he did not feel lucky was that in that moment, his dragon had been able to fight the compulsion and stop his father from burning her, the werewolf stiff, whom he loved to hate. To be able to do that could mean one thing only, and the thought of which filled Lucias with dread. Finished washing his face and cleaning his teeth, Lucias moved to the small door which led to the privy, and relieved himself, with a long sigh. He needed to head to the market once more, grab his elixir, and wait for the green dragon who lived as part of a pack to arrive. Augustin was the only dragon he could trust in that moment, because he would understand, of that he was certain. He had sent a note, three days before, and expected the man he counted as a friend to arrive later that day.

Lucias pulled his black cloak from the hook on the back of the wooden door and draped it around his body, pulling up the hood to cover his head and distinctive golden yellow, elliptical-shaped eyes, then moved outside, once again hiding in the shadows, as he began his long walk to the Fae Markets.

Lucias sighed; it would be so much quicker if he could fly; however, that was an impossibility. Not because of his injury, but because he would be instantly recognised. His dragon was the biggest now. Other than his three uncles, all individual kings, who were still in deep hibernation. In 90 years, he would begin his own, and rest for three hundred years, when King Mattias would awaken and take over as ruler of the kingdom of dragons, before passing the baton onto Sebastian, then to Marcus, the war dragon, before Lucias would awaken once more and lead his people. His long hibernation was another reason he could not bear the thought of being with her, because she was a werewolf, and for all their long lives, they did not hibernate as dragons did, and she would undoubtedly perish before he awoke once more, probably at the hands of King Marcus, who would never accept a werewolf as one of their number. Lucias shook his head once more, hating that once again, Uki had invaded his thoughts.

Finally, he arrived at the Fae markets, heading directly to the stall that sold his medicine.

“My lord, you have returned,” the vendor smiled at him, clearly giving Lucias special treatment, because he had paid him so handsomely at his last visit.

“Here are your five bottles,” the fae man stated with a smile, once again using his light rainbow magic to pack the tiny bottles for Lucias and floated them into his hand.

“I must warn you, though. Our king has reduced the amount we can sell once more, to three bottles once these are finished,” he said, as Lucias resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, the fae king had done that; he was determined to force Lucias into action, to return to the sand lands where his pain would diminish. Lucias passed the vendor another golden coin, waving off his attempt to reimburse him with the difference between the value of the gold and the cost of the magic.

“My lord. Have you heard the news from the sand lands?” the vendor asked, turning his head left and right, ensuring nobody was within earshot.

Lucia furrowed his brow, then shook his head slightly.

“The dragons are attacking each other. Two of them flew over the Neutral zone, in the dragon quarter, and fired upon each other. It has caused quite the controversy, as you know, to fight within the Neutral Zone is strictly forbidden, and a council of the kings of the four kingdoms has been called,” the vendor whispered.

Lucias froze slightly, wondering if Zamir had informed this vendor to tell him of this news, or if the vendor had worked out who he was, despite his efforts of concealment.

“As always, you are assured of my secrecy,” the vendor answered Lucias’s unasked question, before the dragon turned on his heel and began the long walk back to the tiny room he called home once more.