The Last Dragon Shifter

Chapter Eighteen

"What was that about? Does your father want to see me or are you making that up?"

"You were on the list, weren't you?" Sam interrupted and sighed at her obliviousness.

"Think, dummy. Think," he said before walking off, presumably to go pull the car around.

Ignoring his jibe, Naomi stayed focused on Malcolm.

"What does he want?"

"An update on how things are going. He wants to meet with us over lunch."

"An update on—it's been one day. How far could things go?"

"You tell me." Malcolm raised a questioning eyebrow. "You're the one he wants to see."

A trickle of dread pierced Naomi's consciousness. What was the king going to ask her? She didn't have much time to consider it since Sam reappeared with the car. Figgis headed toward it without hesitation, but the prince had to push Naomi along to make her join them.

"Come on." Malcolm tugged on her elbow again.

"Fine. Can I go see my father after this?"

"No. I'm to take you to and from the castle, and that's it. Besides, you heard Mrs. Tinkle. You want to stay on that woman's bad side?"

Begrudgingly, Naomi relented and got carted away.

The car ride to the castle wasn't filled with trepidation like her previous journeys there. While she was nervous about what the king might say, unlike the other times, her life wasn't in danger.

As they arrived at the front gates, the illustrious palace loomed large. More than four stories high, with dozens of polished windows, the building held a sophisticated grace. It was kept so clean that the ivory veneer sparkled. Situated on the various towers, proud red flags with the classic golden crown emblem flapped in the breeze.

Passing other guards as they entered the building, Naomi wondered if she was properly dressed for a meal with the king. The last time she was here, they gussied her up like a prized doll. Taking a quick survey of her appearance, she noticed a hole in her shirt. A hole! She thought she had sewn that one up. Her pants could have been cleaner too. Naomi's cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"Um, am I...should I...?"

"Out with it, Naomi," Malcolm said indifferently, unaware of her dilemma. Comfortable in his home, he marched up the stairs with practiced ease. She trailed behind him with less poise, finally speaking up when they'd cleared the story landing.

"It's just...do I look okay?" she ended dumbly.

It must have been dumb because Sam snickered. He only stopped when Figgis pinched him, causing him to howl in pain. Malcolm hesitated, giving her a once-over with critical eyes.

"You're fine—wait a second. Is that a hole in your shirt?"

That did it. Sam cackled—literally cackled—with joy.

"Oh my gosh, there is. There is a hole in her shirt. You poor lass!"

Figgis shoved his partner hard enough that he nearly fell to his knees.

"Shut up, Sam," he hissed.

"Yes," Malcolm said. "Please do. You can leave me and Naomi alone. I can take it from here."

Figgis mumbled a quick "Yes, sir," and then dragged Sam off. As they walked away, she heard him indignantly chastising his coworker.

"Seriously, Sam. Sometimes, you go too far..."