BEGIN ending

Seven

.DRADON.

Isaac Bear's body was wheeled out of Dradon's presence so the mage could be seen. He had expected the worst.
But Tamara was unscathed: marble-hard, stone-cold and surrounded by ash but unburnt. Now, Dradon could see all her womanly curves, the swell and slight sag of her breasts, but no matter how attractive she might have come across, the unnatural look about her (coupled with the fact that all she did was breathe) made her come off as unnerving.

She had been brought in carried by five of Richard's men, naked. Richard himself was bringing back their cargo with Nicolas.
"Get out and lock the doors", Dradon ordered all the men in his throne room. Not long ago, Nicolas had taken the civilians out of the throne room, as well as his father's battered corpse.
The only person who remained was that informative woman Dradon now held back at the door. She was the one who him how Ronn Harrow— the veiled monstrosity— had been snuck away immediately after his ceremony. By law, she explained, that bustard was still the king. To her, he said, "Wait for me in the king's chambers."
He turned back to cross-legged Tamara, hunched over her non-existent water bowls. Take away her rags and tent but she's still a powerful mage, he thought. "Thank you", he whispered, kneeling with his face at her feet. "Hail."

Dradon had given strict instructions not to be disturbed when he locked himself up in that throne room. No one could come in. So when the-now-not-blindfolded-Reigner arrived with Richard, she had the opportune moment to catch a sneak peek at Nicolas addressing the king's private city's citizens as they waited outside. Most were richly dressed. She couldn't hear much of what Nicolas said— she was eyeing the women. The gorgeous, robust women. She was a stick in comparison.
She pulled at Richard lightly when her eyes landed on the Northern gate's major road. Stores had been burnt down, soldiers were hurriedly removing bodies from the paved roads. "What happened here!?" She asked, gaping. "Did you do this?"
Richard paled. "You didn't see that", he hissed, placing hands on both sides of her face and turning her face to the doors of the throne room. She tried to say something but Richard placed on finger on her lips. "You didn't see that"— he brought out the blindfold again and covered her eyes—"And that's all you want to know."
She nodded slowly.

By the time Richard was called inside, Tamara had been taken to the topmost room of the highest tower. He walked in pulling a following Reigner by the hands.
"That will be all, Richard", came Dradon as he rose. "Join Nicolas and rest when the people are settled. Get some men payed to fix the Northern Gate. I address The Rocken later in the day"—Richard nudged Reigner forward—"It is just past dawn, my friend. It is too early to rub salt on my people's wounds."
"Hail." Richard bowed his way out, shutting the door behind him.

Reigner could hear Dradon's voice resonating all around her. This place must be huge! She stuck her hands out, feeling for him but the source of his voice just kept changing and changing. She got dizzy fast and plopped on the ground. Footsteps started to punctuate their charged silence, only growing to come to an abrupt end near her feet. Calloused hands untied her blindfold and flung it away. Those same rough hands stood her up and tilted her head till she started to sway.
Then their embrace began: the bulky mass of destruction and the stick. Her arms could never fully wrap themselves round his torso but his arms were good enough adhesives for them both. Her hand went to his armored thigh where she knew their mark would be instead.
"You wanted me to go away", she whined, piercing their silence.
"I did", he confessed. "But"— he held her at arms length—"what good would it do anyone if I put us both in harm's way?"—tucked in her hair—"why not the more important person safe and sound to live and love for the both of us?"
"That would be you, Dradon"
"Correction:that is you". He began to walk her to the throne, up those steep steps. "I want you to sit on it."
She beamed. "I'll be queen?"
He stopped, shaking his head. "You. Are. Queen."
She squealed and raced to where, only hours ago, an obese corpse rotted. Reigner pranced around the single chair without sitting though. Dradon cocked a brow.
"But I cannot sit on it if there is only one chair in the room. Clearly, it is for a king." She unconsciously licked her lips.
He noticed though, already anticipating all the wondrous things those puffy, pink lips could do. "Then we shall share it, my sweet girl"— he sat himself on his throne and jacked Reigner so she sat on his laps—"and we'll do anything you want."

His seemingly invaluable informant walked into the throne room just when Reigner was most comfortable: her legs dangling from Dradon's lap, she torso lying on his and her cheek just below his chest. She was asleep when Fannie, the said informant, barged in.
Isn't she meant to be waiting for me in my chambers, thought Dradon. He shushed her, motioning got her to get closer. He pointed at his snoozing bride-to-be.
"I thought you would want updates on the people's thoughts."
"Not interested in anyone's... 'thoughts'."
"Only saying, the last thing you need is mutiny. Best you know where you stand."
Dradon thought for a while before agreeing to hear her out. Reigner was taken to his room while Fannie conversed with him, batting those doe eyes all the way.

Reigner woke up at mid-night in the softest feather bed ever. She could feel Dradon's gold and diamond band on her finger. She could still smell the expensive perfume in the air. But she couldn't pretend to she care.
Whoever wanted to be queen anyway?
"All I desire is us and our tent back. That's all." Parched, her eyes searched for water and found none; drowsy, she searched for her viles but found none, still lying down.
She didn't even think she could stand. "Water", she croaked. "Someone. Please..."